One Midnight Kiss: A Billionaire Fake Fiancée Holiday Romance
One Midnight Kiss: Chapter 5

The moment I stepped into the room and laid eyes on the woman scrutinizing me, I felt it.

I looked directly into her big blue eyes and felt a little tingling at the back of my neck. It was like an itch in the back of my mind, a flicker of familiarity.

I shook it off. I didn’t have time for déjà vu, but there it was, gripping me by the throat as I tried to place her. The way she sat with her back straight and her chin up as she eyed me skeptically. Her posture was as rigid as a steel beam. It sent a tingle of recognition up my spine. I was left wondering why I felt like I knew her.

“Fox, this is Natalia Dawkins from upstairs,” Jerrod said.

My eyes moved back to hers. She stood up and extended her hand. “Natalia. I’m the marketing director for Williamson and Rodgers.”

I nod. “Fox Samuelson. CEO of HomeTech.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said with zero emotion.

My robots had more warmth.

“Thank you so much for making the time,” I said.

“Of course,” she said, her voice crisp and businesslike, but for just a second, the chill was gone from her voice. And there it was again—that familiarity. Like a distant melody from a dream, something I heard before but couldn’t quite place.

I had the urge to close my eyes and listen, to let the memory surface, but she was already sitting down, folding her hands on the table, a picture of calm composure.

She clearly didn’t want to sit around and shoot the breeze.

“Mr. Samuelson,” she said.

“Please, call me Fox,” I said as I took my seat at the head of the table.

She looked at me as if she was trying to figure out if my name was real or some self-given nickname. Her eyes were sharp, the kind that seemed to cut through the noise and go straight for the truth.

“I’ve reviewed the materials you sent over, and I have to say, I’m a bit perplexed,” she said.

I leaned back in my chair, studying her, trying to shake the sensation that I’d seen her before. I couldn’t seem to move past the sensation. “Perplexed how?” I asked.

“Well,” she started, her tone somewhere between condescending and curious, “you’ve designed a groundbreaking product. There’s no doubt Hanna could revolutionize smart home technology. But the messaging?” She waved a hand, almost dismissively. “It’s a disaster. You’ve marketed this like you’re trying to sell a robot nanny that’s going to spy on its owners. The public isn’t interested in an AI that’s smarter than they are, Mr. Sam—Fox.”

I felt a flash of irritation. Normally, this kind of strait-laced, type-A attitude grated on my nerves, but there was something about her that kept me from snapping back. I wasn’t sure if it was the faint pull of recognition or the fact that she was clearly brilliant, dissecting our strategy with precision. We all knew the marketing was flawed. That was why she was here.

I exchanged a look with Jerrod. I could tell he wasn’t handling the criticism well.

“We’ve been focusing on the tech side,” Jerrod said, his voice a touch defensive. “We thought consumers would appreciate the innovation. They need to understand what makes Hanna unique.”

Natalia’s eyes flicked to Jerrod for a moment before returning to me. “While true, it’s not the technology itself they’ll care about. It’s what it can do for them. You need to paint a picture, tell a story. Right now, that story is a horror movie. It’s something out of a bad science fiction movie that has people tossing their Alexas in the trash.”

The room fell silent for a second as her words settled. A flood of confused emotions stirred within me. A mix of annoyance, respect, and an unfamiliar feeling that was starting to disturb me the more I listened to her speak.

Jerrod shook his head. “I thought…”

Natalia’s lips curved into a tight, almost pitying smile. “You thought wrong,” she said simply. “You’re asking people to pull teeth and smile about it. Marketing AI is like trying to sell a root canal as a vacation. Nobody wants it because they’re afraid of it, and frankly, you haven’t given them a reason not to be. You’re trying to force your consumers to smile while you’re jerking their teeth out.”

Jerrod’s face went pale. He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but I leaned forward, cutting him off. “Ms. Dawkins,” I said, keeping my voice even.

One of her perfectly arched eyebrows rose.

“Natalia.” I corrected myself. I wasn’t sure why we were doing the first name thing. “How do you feel about having something in your home that stabilizes temperature, notifies you when there’s an issue with your HVAC system, and saves you money on utilities every month? Doesn’t that sound appealing?”

Her eyes flicked to mine, narrowing just a fraction. She was quiet for a moment, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. “Yes,” she admitted, her tone begrudging. “It’s a brilliant idea. However, many brilliant ideas don’t make anyone happy. Like prostate exams. We’re told it’s good for us and can save us, but are you really jumping at the chance to get one?”

I wasn’t expecting that. I braced myself for another cutting remark, another list of what we’d done wrong, but instead, there was a glimmer of something like approval in her eyes. Even if it was followed by something rather crude. Still, there was a look there I didn’t like—like she was sizing me up, looking down at me from a pedestal she’d built for herself. It made me want to knock her down a peg.

“So maybe we should be marketing this to single, career-driven women,” I said, a smirk playing at the edge of my lips. “Women like you, who don’t have the time to worry about things like thermostat settings or energy efficiency.”

Her glare could’ve melted steel. “If you think reducing your target audience to ‘single career women’ is the solution, then you clearly haven’t been paying attention,” she snapped. But there was a twinkle in her eyes—a flash of challenge that made heat course through my veins. She was playing the game right back, and damn if I didn’t love it.

Jerrod, on the other hand, looked horrified. He glanced back and forth between us like a spectator at a tennis match. “Uh, Ms. Dawkins, do you have any initial ideas about how we might salvage our public image? We’re on a tight timeline here. We need a campaign ready to launch as soon as possible.”

“Better than a prostate exam?” I quipped.

Natalia leaned back in her chair, tapping a manicured finger against her lips. I couldn’t help but watch, fascinated by the way her mind worked. She almost smiled at my comment.

Almost.

“You need to pivot,” she said decisively. “Right now, you’re marketing this as a necessity—something people have to have. But that’s not the way to go. You need to make Hanna desirable, something to aspire to. Something the cool kids have. The cool people have it, so they want it too. Start with high-end clients first—the luxury home builders and their buyers. Turn it into a status symbol, something people want because it’s what the Joneses have. Once you’ve established it in the upper echelon, then you can trickle it down to the mass market.”

I shook my head, leaning forward. “I didn’t create Hanna to be unattainable,” I said. “If it were up to me, I’d give it away for free. The goal is to make smart technology accessible to everyone, not just the elite.”

Her expression softened for a moment, the sharp edges of her demeanor fading just slightly. It was subtle but I saw it. And I wondered, just for a second, if she wasn’t as stuck up as she seemed. Was there more beneath the surface than what she was letting on?

“That’s a noble goal,” she said, almost gently. “But if you want to get there, you need to start somewhere. And right now, the luxury market is your best bet.”

I watched her, feeling something twist in my gut that I couldn’t quite identify. She was making sense, and I hated that I hadn’t thought of it first. Hated that she was right. But more than that, I hated the way she made me feel—like I was staring into the eyes of someone I’d met before, someone I’d lost and forgotten.

Natalia looked at her assistant. “I’ll get back to you next week with a plan.”

I blinked, surprised by the sudden end of the meeting. We didn’t even talk about what we wanted or our budget.

“Penelope, let’s go,” she said.

I watched her walk out, the click of her heels fading into the hallway.

Jerrod and I stayed seated like we were both too stunned to move. He let out a long breath, slumping back in his chair like he’d just survived a natural disaster.

“What the hell was that?” I asked.

“For a second there, I thought you two were going to start throwing punches,” Jerrod said.

I shrugged, not taking my eyes off the door she’d just walked through. “She’s got a mouth on her,” I said, almost smiling. “Which is good. We don’t have time for a timid approach.”

“Yeah,” Jerrod muttered, rubbing his temples. “And you just had to push her buttons.”

“Did you see the way she looked at me?” I asked more to myself than to Jerrod. “Like she’s seen me before.”

Jerrod gave me a blank look. “Maybe she’s seen your picture online. You’re not exactly a nobody, Fox. And you work in the same building.”

But it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the kind of recognition you get from a LinkedIn profile or seeing someone on the elevator. It was deeper and older. The memory tugged at me again, like a whisper I couldn’t quite hear.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Forget it,” I said, pushing myself up from the table. “Let’s just hope she comes through with a good plan.”

“Better than a prostate exam,” he said. “I can’t believe she said that.”

I chuckled. “It made a point, though, didn’t it?”

“It did,” Jerrod said. “She’s unique. I’ll give her that.”

I walked out of the conference room and headed for my office. The image of her face stayed with me. I thought about that night in Paris. The woman I’d met by chance, whose name I never learned. I tried to forget her. Buried the memory deep. And maybe that was why Natalia Dawkins looked so damn familiar.

But it couldn’t be her. It was impossible.

And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just come face to face with a ghost.