One Midnight Kiss: A Billionaire Fake Fiancée Holiday Romance
One Midnight Kiss: Chapter 6

Friday night

I pulled up to Christa and Wilder’s townhouse, lucky to have found a spot pretty close. I noticed the Toyota Tacoma parked at the curb. It looked a little out of place in the neighborhood of Priuses and tiny economy cars. I parked and climbed the steep steps that led to the front door. As I got closer, the familiar sound of barking greeted me. I knocked on the door and waited.

Christa quickly opened it. The frantic scrabble of paws against hardwood floors sounded behind her.

“Hi, Frank and Harriet,” I said as the two Boston Terriers surrounded my ankles. Unhinged missiles of energy, they were very friendly and loved visitors, but they could be a little much.

“Get back, guys,” Christa said.

She pulled me in for a hug before I could object. Christa was the one person in the world I let get away with that. She had this way of enveloping you, like sunshine you couldn’t help but stand in. If she was going to hug someone, nobody was going to stop her. She was a genuinely kind, loving person. It was why she was going to be an amazing pediatric nurse. Her nurturing instinct showed through loud and proud.

“It smells good,” I said as I stepped inside. I handed her a bottle of wine I’d brought, an automatic gesture born of years of dinner parties and obligatory social gatherings.

She flashed me a grateful smile. “Thank you. I, uh, should have mentioned something sooner. Wilder’s brother is here tonight.”

“Okay. That should be interesting.” I shrugged out of my coat and hung it up on the coat rack in the corner.

“I didn’t think you would mind,” Christa said with a bright smile.

“It’s your house,” I said. “And your husband’s brother. Who am I to decide who can come to your house?”

I had forgotten Wilder was a twin. That was not entirely my fault. The whirlwind of my divorce from Andrew had overshadowed most of the time I should have been getting to know Christa’s husband before they got married. I had been wrapped up in my own world, learning to navigate life as a single woman again.

“Well, as long as you don’t mind.” Christa searched my face, then gave a little sigh of relief. “Good, good. Come on in.”

We walked into the dining room. The smell of rosemary and garlic filled the air. The table was set with mismatched plates and half-burned candles that gave off a soft, flickering light. And there, sitting at the head of the table, was that arrogant client, Fox.

The air seemed to shift when I saw him. As if he noticed, he looked up from his phone and our eyes met. That spark of recognition I’d felt earlier at the office hit me again, full force. This time, I couldn’t shake it off.

Christa passed me a glass of wine and gave me a hard pat on the back. “Well, I have some things to tend to in the kitchen,” she announced, entirely too cheerful. “You two chat. Get acquainted.”

Before I could protest, she was gone, disappearing into the other room. “I better help her,” Wilder said jumping out of his chair and practically running after her.

I took a deep breath, walking into the dining room with my head held high. “So, this is a surprise,” I said and pulled out a chair.

Now I understood why he looked familiar. He was Wilder’s twin. Wilder dressed differently and had a bit more of a reserved image about him but that explained why I thought I knew him in the conference room.

Fox gave me a smirk, the same infuriating expression he had during the meeting earlier. He set down his wine glass, regarding me like I was an interesting problem he couldn’t wait to solve. “Are you surprised? Or were you secretly hoping for this?”

I rolled my eyes. “In your dreams.”

He chuckled, a low, easy sound that put me on edge for some reason. “I wasn’t even considering being your friend, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Good,” I shot back. “Because I don’t mix business with personal.”

“Neither do I,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the evening.”

Enjoy? He infuriated me with that relaxed, amused tone, like he knew something I didn’t. I busied myself pouring a glass of wine, trying to ignore the strange feeling crawling up my spine. It wasn’t just irritation. It was something deeper, like a memory trying to surface from a fog.

“You’re staring,” Fox noted, lifting his glass to his lips.

I snapped out of it, narrowing my eyes at him. “I’m assessing.”

He arched a brow. “Assessing what?”

“You,” I said. “Trying to figure out why you look familiar.”

Fox didn’t answer right away. He held my gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then shrugged. “Maybe you’ve seen me on TV.”

“Not likely.” I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “I don’t watch much tech industry news.”

“Ah, you prefer something lighter? Reality TV maybe?”

“You really think you know me, don’t you?”

He tilted his head, studying me. “No, but I’m starting to get an idea.”

I took a drink from my glass. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to have to call for a ride later. But the man drove me to drinking. I couldn’t even explain why he got under my skin.

He went back to his phone, ignoring me.

Rude.

I sighed and glanced around the room, unsure of what to do next. Just as I was about to pull my own phone out for some much-needed dissociation, he glanced up and looked like he was about to say something but then quickly looked back at his phone.

“Alright, are you guys hungry?” Christa said as she walked into the dining room carrying a large dish. Wilder followed behind her with another dish.

“Smells good,” I said.

Fox lowered his phone again. “Christa, that smells divine.”

Her face lit up with a warm smile at the compliment. “Thank you, Fox.”

Wilder placed the dish he carried on the table and chuckled. “You never said that about my cooking when we lived together.”

Fox shrugged as he picked up his wine glass. “Your food was more experimental.”

“And your food was all microwaved,” Wilder shot back with a laugh.

Christa returned with a basket of hot rolls. Then everyone settled in and we dished up. Dinner was served family-style. It was comforting and familiar, and for a little while, the conversation flowed easily.

“What do you think?” Wilder asked Fox. “Remind you of Mom’s chicken?”

Fox laughed. “Minus the feathers.”

I frowned. “The feathers?”

“They grew up on a farm of sorts,” Christa explained. “Their mom was all about farm to table.”

“We caught, killed, and plucked our own chickens,” Wilder said with a big grin. “Sometimes, Mom would be in a hurry and didn’t get all the feathers. You get used to it.”

I didn’t know if I should be revolted or fascinated by the story. It was a far cry from the ready meals I grew up on.

“Sounds interesting,” I finally settled for, deciding it would be impolite to voice my squeamishness.

Fox looked over at me, his lips twitching with amusement as if he was relishing my discomfort. “You’re more of a supermarket chicken type, I’m guessing?”

“Yes, like the vast majority of people in this country.”

Wilder talked a bit more about what he called his hippie parents. I was surprised to learn where they came from. I knew Wilder was a hedge fund manager and Fox was a tech guy. I would never have guessed they grew up in such an alternative way.

Christa started to tell the guys about a time when we were at Yale and we went to a farmer’s market.

“That was right before you met Andrew,” Christa said.

I forced a smile to try and hide my discomfort. Thankfully, the conversation shifted back to Hanna. Fox gleefully talked about the new tech. So far, the conversation had avoided business. I felt a little strange mixing both sides of my life like this. With clients, I tried to maintain my professional demeanor. With friends, I preferred to loosen up and relax. Tonight, I was torn between them.

I kept my mouth shut and chose to just listen to him talk to Wilder about the tech. It was all information I could use for my pitch. Hearing his legitimate excitement made me see his product more favorably. It might not be dead in the water after all.

Christa lifted her glass and looked directly at her brother-in-law. “You know you need more than just a brilliant marketing strategy to get Hanna to take off.”

Fox shot her a look. His jaw clenched in what looked like a silent reprimand I couldn’t quite decipher.

“What exactly do you need, Fox?” I asked.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s what you’re working on,” he said before focusing on his meal again.

I didn’t have a chance to respond because Christa and Wilder were already clearing the plates, seamlessly shifting the conversation to lighter topics. I smiled and nodded along, but my mind was elsewhere, replaying the sharp look Fox had given Christa. It was like I was missing a piece of a puzzle. I dismissed it, figuring if it mattered, I would find out eventually.

The evening wound down with coffee and dessert. I checked my watch and saw it was late.

“Thank you for dinner,” I told Christa, giving Frank and Harriet a few cautious pats on their heads. “It was wonderful.” I hugged Wilder. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“We’ll do it again soon,” Christa promised, pulling me in for another hug.

I managed a smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Fox was saying his goodbyes at the door too. As I slipped on my coat, our movements synchronized without meaning to do so. Then he held the door open, letting me step out first.

“You must be a cat person,” he said quietly.

I turned, caught off guard. “What?”

“Cats,” he repeated. “Quiet, independent, keep to themselves. Reminds me of someone.”

The comment made me bristle. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” he said, that smirk back on his stupid handsome face. “I like cats.”

The way he looked at me made something flutter in my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was irritation or something else entirely. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Goodnight, Fox.”

He gave a mock salute, stepping back. “Goodnight, Natalia.”

I got into my car and shut the door, but I didn’t drive away immediately. Instead, I watched as he walked to his own car, feeling a strange, unsettled sensation take root inside me. It wasn’t attraction. It couldn’t be. It was familiarity.

Why? Why did I feel like I knew him?

For a brief moment, the memory of my beautiful night in Paris flashed through my mind. A man with a smirk just like that, a voice smooth and teasing. But I pushed it away. There was no way. The man I’d met in Paris had a French accent. Didn’t he? Or maybe it was the fact I was surrounded by French accents that I assumed he did.

I shook my head and started the engine.

As I drove away, I couldn’t help but wonder what exactly I’d gotten myself into. And why it felt like I’d just stepped into the middle of a game I didn’t know I was playing.