One Midnight Kiss: A Billionaire Fake Fiancée Holiday Romance
One Midnight Kiss: Chapter 7

I sprawled out on the couch, the leather cool against my bare feet. The bottle of my favorite IPA was blessedly cold in my hand. It was bitter, sharp, and exactly what I needed tonight. The brewery was just a block down the street. I’d been living off their latest batches like a lifeline lately. Not my typical Saturday night, but then again, I wasn’t feeling like myself.

Normally, I would be at the bar, scoping out the scene, maybe chatting up a woman who caught my eye. Going to the bar was a lot like going shopping. Everyone there was looking for something to take home with them. Not something—someone. The bars I went to were meat markets.

The scent of cheap perfume or too much cologne. Loud music and young men and women dressed in their sexiest attire. It was a fast game, a one-night stand, a quickie for the ego.

But tonight, I didn’t feel like playing that game. I didn’t want to go out. Didn’t even want to see anyone. I didn’t do serious relationships. I enjoyed the ladies. I was a single, straight, thirty-three-year-old man who liked having fun. I liked sex. Duh. But tonight, the thought of the usual chase felt exhausting.

It was the stress of the product launch getting to me. Christa’s push to work with the new marketing firm was weighing me down. But it wasn’t the firm. It was her.

Natalia Dawkins.

I swigged the beer, then put the bottle down a little harder than necessary. I wasn’t going to do this. I told myself a dozen times not to dig into my marketing lady, but hell, here I was, pulling my laptop out. I opened it, fingers hesitating over the keys.

“What the hell is your deal?” I muttered.

I typed her name into the search bar, ignoring my good sense.

The first few results were exactly what I expected. Links to her firm, articles she’d been mentioned in—standard corporate fluff. I clicked on the profile from her company’s website, leaning back as I read through it. She went to Yale for undergrad. Impressive, but I already knew that. She had a master’s in marketing from Washington State, though. That made me pause.

“Why the downgrade?” I mused out loud. It didn’t make sense. A Yale graduate would usually go Ivy League for their master’s too, wouldn’t they? Maybe she couldn’t handle the pressure.

I read through her profile. It was all very clinical, almost cold. A Wikipedia page was warmer. It listed her credentials and work experience, but there wasn’t a word about her hobbies, her interests, or her personal life. She was all business, just like she’d been in that meeting, leaning in with those sharp eyes, trying to size me up. It had annoyed the hell out of me, which was odd. Usually, I enjoyed a challenge.

I was a techie, which meant I could be a professional stalker if I wanted to. It wasn’t hard to get information on anyone. People didn’t realize how much of their lives were exposed on the internet. I opened a new tab and typed in her name again. This time, I scrolled past the professional pages.

That was when I found it. A small, old link buried in the search results. The heading read “Wedding Announcement: Natalia Dawkins and Andrew Lennox.”

My breath caught, the cursor hovering over the link. Did I look? I didn’t actually want to be a stalker. But it was on the internet, so it wasn’t like it wasn’t public knowledge. Especially if the announcement was in the paper, which was where the link connected to.

I clicked and the page loaded slowly, filling me with agitation. I reached for my beer and took another drink. Then there it was—a photo of Natalia, her arm looped through some preppy-looking dude’s arm. The kind of guy I’d bet money on being a finance douchebag. The backdrop looked like the Hamptons, the ocean stretching out behind them, serene and picturesque.

Natalia was smiling. Not the smirk I’d seen during our meeting, but a full, radiant smile. She looked happy. Genuinely happy. It threw me off. This wasn’t the same woman who stared me down like she wanted to rip my head off and hang it on her office wall.

“What happened to you?” I whispered, more to myself than to the photo.

I couldn’t resist now. I had to know more. I typed in his name next. “Andrew Lennox.”

The search results flooded in, confirming what I had suspected. Lennox was a finance bro, alright—managing partner at some hedge fund, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. I had seen his type a hundred times before. They were a dime a dozen. I was a little surprised that was Natalia’s type. I didn’t know why, but I kind of assumed she would be attracted to someone not quite so douchey. I would say I could picture her with some roughneck biker, but she wasn’t quite that bold.

Then again, the uptight ones were always the feisty ones in the sack. She was a boss bitch by day, but I bet she was a kitten in the bedroom. She would be the type that liked to be dominated.

I shook the thoughts from my head. That was the last thing I needed to be thinking about. I focused my attention on my search results. I didn’t give a shit about Andrew’s accolades. I disliked him on principle. I didn’t like his look, and I felt a twinge of jealousy knowing he had been married to Natalia.

I scrolled down, not seeing anything interesting until I spotted something that had me sitting up a little straighter. It was a second wedding announcement, two years ago, with a different bride’s name. “Andrew Lennox marries Abigail Courtwright in lavish wedding at the Plaza Hotel.”

I read it again, slowly this time. New Year’s Eve. A year ago.

The same night I’d been at that party in Paris.

I clenched my jaw, staring at the screen. The twist in my chest was unexpected. I didn’t like it. It was like a knot I couldn’t untangle. So, Natalia was divorced. And not just divorced—she’d been left for someone else, if the timeline was anything to go by.

I felt a flicker of something that might have been sympathy, but I shoved it down. Why should I care? Natalia was a pain in my ass. I shouldn’t feel anything except annoyance. But I did. And that was a problem.

I clicked back to the wedding photo of her and Lennox. That smile of hers. I’d seen it before. I was sure of it. But when?

I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. I kept trying to decide if I remembered her from Wilder’s wedding. If she had been there, I couldn’t remember. She was unforgettable. I would have noticed a woman like Natalia. Was she in the wedding?

I couldn’t remember. That night was a blur. I had just broken up with my long-time girlfriend and was a hot mess. I was buzzed before the wedding started and completely blitzed by the time it was over. There was very little about the wedding I remembered.

I shut the laptop, running a hand through my hair. I was an idiot for digging into her past like this. It wasn’t any of my business. Yet here I was, sitting alone in my apartment, sifting through crumbs of information like it made a difference in how well she did her job.

I stood up, ready to call it a night. It was either get wasted alone or go to bed early and try to get some sleep. Lord knew I needed to try and catch up on some rest. The last couple of weeks had left me feeling beyond fried.

I walked to my room and pulled a pair of sweats out of my drawer. As I tugged them free, the drawstring caught on the corner. I jerked again, pulling out a piece of black fabric.

I froze, my heart thudding in my chest.

The glove.

I’d kept it all these months. One black satin glove, the only thing I had left from that night in Paris. Cinderella had left her glass slipper, and my masked goddess had left her glove.

I closed my eyes and pictured her on a balcony overlooking the Seine. I never got her name. All I had was that damn glove, slipped into my hand as she disappeared.

I lifted it, feeling the soft fabric between my fingers. I promised myself I would go back, be there on New Year’s Eve, just in case she came looking for me too. It was stupid, a hopelessly romantic notion I buried deep down. The idea a total stranger would remember what I said and actually show up at the exact same place a year later was beyond far-fetched.

The woman had been different, though. She made me feel like maybe I wasn’t as jaded as I thought. For some reason, I felt like she was the one person on this planet that was meant just for me.

And I didn’t even know her name. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was slipping away from me, just like the memories of that night.

I put the glove back in the drawer and closed it gently. I couldn’t live in the past, not with everything riding on this campaign. I needed to have my head in the game.

But weirdly enough, it wasn’t the mystery woman in Paris that came to mind when I thought about my distractions. It was Natalia. Something about her wouldn’t leave me alone. I couldn’t tell if it was because she was a mystery I couldn’t solve or if it was something else entirely.

Maybe I would find out. Maybe I wouldn’t. the uncertainty was maddening.

The two women were battling for space in my head. Two women I couldn’t forget. Two mysteries I wasn’t sure I could ever solve. I pulled on my sweats and jerked my shirt over my head, then crawled into bed and picked up my phone to do a little scrolling.

Glancing at the time, I noticed the early hour. It was weird being in bed before midnight. I wasn’t surprised to find myself searching for Natalia on social media. It felt like a mistake to let myself get sucked into searching for information about her, but I couldn’t resist.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t find her. It wasn’t a total surprise. Someone like her would have her social media locked down. I put down my phone and forced myself to close my eyes. Sleep took effort these days.

Paris loomed in mind. I was going to be there standing on that balcony, hoping she showed up on December thirty-first. And in the meantime, I had to get my head straight. Because Natalia was already in my head, and if I wasn’t careful, she’d make a mess of everything.

I wasn’t going to get distracted. I had the Hanna launch, and next month, I was going to chase down the woman I had been thinking about since I left Paris nearly a year ago.