8 | Second Weekend The Wasps
I held his hand a second longer than necessary. Warm, steady. Not trying to prove anything.
“Nice to meet you, James.”
“The pleasure’s mine.” His smile sharpened just a little. “Although I should prepare you—you’re about to become the main event in Monday’s group chat.”
I blinked. “I am?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He tipped his head. “Theodore hasn’t brought a plus-one in three years. Not one. And believe me, that was… not for lack of volunteers.”
My fingers tightened around the stem of my glass.
“Oh.”
“You didn’t know?” He studied my face, curious, not unkind.
“I just—” I glanced across the room. Theo was still with Vanessa, calm, composed, like none of this existed. “No. I didn’t.”
James let out a soft breath, almost a laugh. “He’s very in demand. Smart, polished, objectively unfair to look at.”
Despite myself, my mouth twitched.
“Women here have been circling for months,” he went on, casual, precise. “Very organized circling, too. Strategic.”
I took a sip of champagne just to have something to do with my hands.
“But he doesn’t do… depth.” James lifted his glass slightly, like he was choosing his words with care. “He keeps things light. Enjoys the attention, exits before anything gets complicated. Efficient. Emotionally low-maintenance.”
“I see.”
“Oh, don’t look like that.” His tone softened, but his eyes stayed alert. “It’s not a character flaw. It’s a lifestyle.”
He tilted his chin toward Vanessa. “Case in point. She’s been campaigning. Quietly, but persistently. And then you walked in with him”—a small, deliberate pause—“and suddenly she remembered she has feelings.”
I exhaled through my nose. “That explains the look she gave me.”
“Mhm.” He took a sip, watching the room over the rim of his glass. “That was not a welcoming committee look.”
Before I could answer, he straightened slightly.
“Ah,” he said under his breath. “Right on cue.”
“What?”
“The wasps.” His smile stayed perfectly polite, but something in it cooled.
A beat.
“And if you start feeling like you’re being politely dissected from across the room,” he added lightly, “you are.”
Three women approached—all beautiful, all polished, all fake.
“James,” the tallest one said. Blonde, sharp cheekbones. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“Of course. Ladies, this is Tessa. Tessa, this is Marina, Sophia, and Claire.”
“Hi.” I smiled and tried to look natural.
“So you’re the mystery woman,” Marina said, her tone friendly and her eyes not. “We’ve been dying to meet you.”
“Have you?”
“Of course. Theodore’s been so... private.” Sophia stepped closer, champagne glass tilted just so. “How did you two meet?”
“We grew up together,” I said. “Reconnected recently.”
“How sweet.” Claire’s smile was knife-sharp. “And what do you do, Tessa?”
“I’m a veterinary assistant.”
The silence that followed lasted half a second too long.
“Oh,” Marina said finally. “How... interesting.”
“You work with animals?” Sophia added, like she was trying to make sense of a puzzle. “That’s so different from Theodore’s world.”
“I suppose it is.”
“He usually goes for a certain type,” Claire said, swirling her champagne. “Career-focused. Easygoing. You know.”
Marina laughed—light, musical. “Well, physically she fits the pattern perfectly.”
I went very still.
“Pattern?”
“He’s very consistent that way,” Sophia added. “I went red for a while just because of that. Looked ridiculous, but it was worth it.”
Claire leaned in slightly, her smile sympathetic in a way that felt practiced. “Don’t take it personally. The rumor is he’s just—well, he knows what he likes. And he’s very good at the casual thing. Intense while it lasts.” She paused. “Honestly? Casual with him is worth the heartbreak.”
The words hit like a slap.
I forced my expression to stay neutral. Polite. Unbothered.
It’s fake.
“Good to know,” I said lightly.
Marina’s eyes tracked over my shoulder. “Oh, looks like he’s free now. You should probably reclaim him before someone else does.”
They drifted away, laughing softly among themselves.
I stood there, gripping my champagne glass too tightly.
Pattern. Type. Casual. Heartbreak.
Who the hell was Theo here?
Melissa would collapse if she knew.
James reappeared beside me. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“They’re not usually that obvious.” His tone was dry. “You must have them worried.”
“Why would I—”
“Because he brought you here.” James looked at me carefully. “Theodore doesn’t bring women to work events.” He paused. “Not until tonight.”
Before I could process that, a hand touched my back—warm, familiar—and I exhaled before I could stop it.
“Sorry about that.” Theo’s voice, close to my ear. “Vanessa gets intense about risk models.”
I turned. He was standing closer than necessary. Close enough that I could feel the heat of him through the fabric.
Up close, he looked different—sharper, more focused, the version of himself he wore at work. Confident, certain.
“Come dance with me,” he said quietly.
“What?”
He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “Dance with me. Let’s give them something to talk about.”
Something in my chest tightened.
He took my hand and led me to the dance floor.
The music was slow—jazz, something with a piano that made the space feel smaller and more intimate. Theo’s hand settled on my waist, firm and steady, his thumb brushing lightly against me as we moved. The other hand was holding mine, and we moved together in a way that already felt easy and natural.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
“You okay?” he asked finally.
“Yeah. Just—” I glanced around the room, at the polished smiles and expensive dresses and conversations that felt like chess matches. “Your coworkers are intense.”
His mouth curved slightly. “That’s corporate finance for you.”
“I think I prefer spending my day with dogs.”
“Honestly?” He looked down at me. “So would I.”
I laughed—surprised. “Really?”
“Really. Luckily my job doesn’t require too much actual conversation. Mostly just spreadsheets and risk assessments.”
“And breaking hearts, apparently.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Theo’s expression shifted, something tightening in his jaw. “What?”
“Nothing.” I looked away. “Just something someone said.”
“Tessa.”
“It’s nothing. Really.”
He was quiet for a moment, still moving with me across the floor, and then asked, “What did they say?”
“That you’re very popular here. That women have been... interested. That you have a type.” I met his eyes. “Redheads, apparently.”
Something crossed his face—surprise, maybe, or frustration.
“That’s—” He stopped. Started again. “That’s not what this is.”
“I know. We’re fake dating. I get it.”
“No, I mean—” He pulled me closer, not subtle this time, his hand tightening on my waist. “Whatever they said, whatever they think they know about me—that’s not—”
My fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket.
“Okay.”
“I’m serious, Tessa.”
“We are faking it. Don’t worry.”
The song shifted.
Theo didn’t let go.
We stayed like that—swaying together, not quite talking but not quite silent—until someone approached.
“Theodore, can I borrow you for—”
“Please don’t,” I said quickly. Too quickly.
Both Theo and the man—some senior analyst whose name I’d forgotten—looked at me.
“I mean—” I looked up at Theo. “Please don’t leave me with them again.”
His expression softened. “I won’t.”
He turned to the guy. “Whatever it is can wait until Monday.”
The man nodded and walked away, and Theo’s hand found mine and laced our fingers together.
“Come on,” he said quietly.
He didn’t let me go for the rest of the night. We moved through the party together—him talking to colleagues, shaking hands, making small talk—but he kept me close the whole time, his hand in mine or pressed against my back or resting on my hip, anchoring me.
After another hour, the crowd started thinning and the music got quieter.
“Want to get out of here?” Theo asked.
“God, yes.”
We slipped out while most people were distracted, down the elevator and through the lobby and into the cool night air.
The valet brought the car around, Theo opened my door, and I slid in, suddenly exhausted in the way that only comes from spending hours being someone you’re not quite sure how to be.
He got in beside me and started the engine, and for a moment we just sat there while the city moved past the windows. I stared at my hands in my lap, at the red soles of the shoes peeking out beneath the hem of my dress.
Casual with him is worth the heartbreak.
“Can I ask you something weird?”
Theo glanced over. “Sure.”
“Are we exclusive?” I paused. “Fake exclusive, I mean.”
He was quiet for a second. “Of course we are. Why are you asking?”
“I don’t know. The women tonight—they suggested that you’re…”
I searched for the right word. “Active. Like, very active, if you know what I mean.”
I looked out the window. “I never really thought about it before. It’s not a big deal, I just—you’re a man, and this is a weird arrangement, and I don’t want to be a burden. If you need to—”
He pulled over. Stopped the car completely, right there on the street, and turned to look at me.
“You are never a burden, T.” His voice was quiet but certain. “Whatever they told you, whatever they think they know about me—that’s not who I am.”
“Are you sure? Because I mean it—I don’t want to force you into anything. If you need to see someone while we’re doing this, I get it. But if Charles found out you were…” I trailed off. “It would be a disaster for me.”
Theo held my gaze, his expression hard to read—not quite frustration, not quite amusement, something in between.
“Tessa. I’m perfectly capable of not fucking around for a few weeks.” He said it plainly, with no edge in his voice, just matter-of-fact certainty.
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“Okay.” I exhaled slowly and felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. “Sorry. I don’t know why I—it just got in my head.”
“Don’t apologize.” He pulled back onto the road. “It was a fair question.”
We drove in silence for a moment—the good kind again, the kind that didn’t need filling anymore.
“For the record,” I said, staring out the window, “I’ll also try very hard not to sleep with anyone else while we’re doing this.”
Something warmed in his expression. “Good. I was hoping for that.”
“Not exactly a sacrifice.” I hesitated, then added, quieter, “Not like I have people lining up.”
A beat.
“So,” he said finally. “Next weekend.”
“Right. We don’t have anything planned.”
“Charles still goes to your gym?”
“Every Saturday.” I glanced over.
Theo nodded slowly. “What time?”
“Nine.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight-thirty.”
“Eight-thirty.”
????
And now I need to know: do you trust Theo, or do James and the others know something Tessa doesn’t?
Every comment and reaction means more than you know—if you’re enjoying the story, please leave a little trace. I read and love every single one.