One Midnight Kiss: A Billionaire Fake Fiancée Holiday Romance
One Midnight Kiss: Chapter 25

I hadn’t seen Natalia in two weeks. Not since Thanksgiving. Not since she’d stormed out of Christa and Wilder’s house, leaving me standing in the driveway like a goddamn idiot. Since then, every time I called her office, I was sent to voicemail. They sent someone else to handle the meetings. I had become numb to the sound of executives from Williamson & Rodgers droning on about brand strategy, but I wasn’t numb to her absence.

It was calculated. She was insulating herself from me.

Why? I honestly couldn’t think of anything I had done wrong. I asked her several times if she wanted to stop that night. She had been all in. Maybe she felt guilty about it and was now making me out to be the bad guy. It was easier for her to blame me and be pissed at me than to consider the fact she wanted it.

Then I remembered the media circus. That was my fault. The convention might have been a success, but all anyone wanted to ask me about now was my fiancée. I couldn’t go anywhere without hearing her name tacked onto mine. Instead of talking about Hanna’s AI integration, reporters asked for wedding details. I couldn’t believe Christa had roped me into this mess, and yet, I had made it happen. I had even signed off on the PR strategy like it was just another business transaction. Now I was a goddamn tabloid fixture.

That was not part of the plan. Christa told me it was all good. The publicity was reshaping my reputation, just like she said it would.

But it left me feeling out of sorts.

With Christmas around the corner, I left the office early. I told myself it was to find gifts for Christa and Wilder, but really, I needed to get out of there before I did something reckless. Like going upstairs and storming Natalia’s office. Penelope would tackle me before she let me in again.

Instead, I drove around aimlessly, trying to clear my head. I pulled into the World Market parking lot, thinking I’d buy something simple. Dog toys, maybe. It was easier to shop for them than to navigate the minefield of buying a baby gift when I wasn’t sure if that would be too much or not enough. I didn’t want to buy a baby gift that they never got to use because the IVF failed again. I didn’t want to add any pressure or hurt them.

The store was crowded, but I spotted something that made me stop in my tracks—a quirky, hanging bookshelf. It was shaped like a tree, with little branches for holding books. It wasn’t practical, but it was charming. I knew Natalia would hate it. And love it. Her house was eclectic and warm, nothing like her or her office. Well, technically, Natalia was warm and fuzzy. She just didn’t like anyone to know.

I could picture the bookcase in her house, right in the corner of her living room. I could see the way her eyes would soften, despite herself, when she realized I had picked it out with her in mind.

I was standing in the middle of the store, having a goddamn daydream about putting together a bookshelf with her. About bickering over the instructions, her telling me to just read them and me insisting I didn’t need to because I was a man, while secretly hoping she’d never find out I’d always been the type to follow the manual to the letter.

Then we would have sex on her couch in front of the Christmas tree we picked out together like a cute couple from a freaking Hallmark movie and go to Wilder and Christa’s for dinner. We would openly kiss and hold hands in front of them. We would be a real couple. After a fun evening, I would take her home, to my place. We would spend the rest of the night naked in my bed. I could practically smell her even now. Her scent was permanently ingrained on me.

“Excuse me, young man.” An elderly woman tapped my shoulder, jolting me back to reality. “Could you help me reach that jar up there?”

“Of course.” I grabbed it for her.

“Thank you,” she said with a kind smile.

I tossed the shelf into my cart and headed to the checkout before I could change my mind. I wasn’t going to give it to her. Hell, I wasn’t even sure why I bought it. It was stupid, but I did it anyway.

Eventually, I ended up downtown at my favorite little bistro. I had placed an order for pickup—lasagna and a bottle of wine. I wasn’t planning on cooking for myself tonight, not after the day I’d had. It was going to be a quiet night. Me and Netflix and hopefully a really violent movie.

I walked inside, expecting to grab my order and leave, but then I saw him.

No fucking way.

It was him. Andrew. The ex-husband. The man who had taken and taken from Natalia until there was nothing left. The man that had turned her into an icy shell of a human.

He was seated at a table with three other guys, probably colleagues. He must be in town for a business dinner, I figured. I should have left it alone. I should have ignored him, but I couldn’t help myself. This was the moment I had been waiting for, picturing over and over. The moment when I would finally get to confront the bastard.

I walked right up to him. “Are you Andrew?”

He looked up at me, a little confused but mostly annoyed, like I was interrupting something important. He gave me a quick onceover. I knew what he saw. The PR people had me dressed in faded jeans, flannel, and a worn winter jacket. Now that I was popping up in the tabloids and people were taking pictures, I had gone along with it.

He must have thought I was homeless or begging for change because he gave me a look of irritation and pity. He pulled out his wallet and handed me a few dollar bills without a word.

“That’s all I have on me,” he said.

I stared at the money in my hand, then smiled. I counted it out slowly, deliberately. “Thanks,” I said. “This should be enough to cover the rest of Natalia’s student loans.”

Andrew’s face went pale. He glanced around at his buddies, who were watching us with a mixture of confusion and interest. He tried to stand up, but I grabbed him by the front of his fancy jacket and pushed him back down into his chair. The legs of the chair tipped up slightly. He let out a pathetic yelp.

“It was so nice of her to cover your wedding expenses, wasn’t it?” I said coldly, with a smile that felt like it could split my face in half. “Stay the hell away from her.”

The restaurant was dead silent now. A waiter rushed over, but I didn’t care. I released Andrew and straightened up, brushing the front of my jacket like I was wiping off dirt. I turned to leave, ignoring the concierge who was demanding to know what had happened.

“Was that Fox Samuelson?” I heard one of the men at Andrew’s table whisper. “Why’s he dressed like a farmer?”

I couldn’t help but smile. I flexed my fist, wishing I could have punched him in the face instead. I walked up to the counter and smiled. “Pickup for Samuelson,” I said politely.

The girl behind the counter, a petite brunette with wide eyes, seemed to have caught some of the tension. She glanced nervously over my shoulder toward where Andrew and his colleagues still sat. She handed me the bag with my order.

“Here you go, Mr. Samuelson,” she said.

I nodded my thanks and turned to leave, feeling the stares on my back. What had I just done? I didn’t have the luxury of acting out. Not when people knew who I was.

I walked out, picturing the headlines—Billionaire Fox Samuelson Causes Scene at Downtown Bistro. I sighed. I would have my PR team clean it up tomorrow, but tonight, it felt damn good.

I got back into my truck, the hanging bookshelf still there in the bed like a reminder of my own stupidity. I could picture her now, hearing about this in some backhanded way, shaking her head at me, calling me an idiot. Maybe I was.

I drove back to my apartment, the smell of the lasagna and garlic bread making me hungry. I tossed the takeout bag onto the kitchen counter and pulled a bottle of wine from the wine fridge. I quickly opened it and let it breathe while I changed into sweats.

I returned to the kitchen and unpacked the bag. Christa had assured me that this whole fake engagement would work in our favor, but that didn’t seem to be true. It was a disaster. I poured myself a glass of wine, but it didn’t taste quite as good as I was expecting. I leaned against the counter, looking out the window at the city lights below, and wondered how the hell I had gotten here.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I knew I should. I knew she probably hated me right then, but I couldn’t get her out of my head. I was screwed. The woman was under my skin, and I didn’t know how to shake her. I didn’t want to shake her.

Now, I had to wonder what happened if I did get an invitation to the party in Paris. Would I go? I wanted to see my mystery woman, but I also wanted Natalia.

I shook off the thoughts. I was trying to choose between two women that I didn’t really have the option to choose from. The woman in Paris was a ghost. And Natalia hated me. I was kidding myself thinking I had a choice at all.

I took the container and my glass of wine to the living room and sat down. I flicked on the television, hoping that some mindless background noise might dull the swirling thoughts. I found some action movie and turned it up nice and loud to try and drown my thoughts. Every sip of the wine seemed to fuel further introspection rather than the desired numbness.

I resigned myself to another evening of tortured thoughts about my complicated life.