One Midnight Kiss: A Billionaire Fake Fiancée Holiday Romance
One Midnight Kiss: Chapter 8

Saturday mornings were my sanctuary. Every week, without fail, I would leave my favorite cycle studio drenched in sweat but feeling that delicious, post-workout high. It was part of my routine, my way to reclaim some semblance of control before diving back into the corporate madness that awaited me on Monday.

I was on autopilot, heading for my regular matcha latte, already envisioning the rest of my weekend: a shower, a good book, and blissful silence until Sunday night. I was looking forward to cracking the spine on the new book I ordered last week. I loved my Kindle, but some authors were just better if I could hold the book in my hand. I wanted the new book smell and the look of actual ink on paper.

As I walked toward the coffee shop, the scent of freshly grounded beans lured me in. The usual chatter from those enjoying a quiet Saturday morning filled the room. The barista already recognized me, a comforting familiarity woven into my routine. I didn’t have to utter a word before he set to work on my usual order. While waiting, I idly scanned the crowded room, eyes landing on a familiar figure huddled over a corner table.

It was him. The man who had increasingly been invading my thoughts.

Fox was reading a book, which threw me off for a second. But there was no mistaking that smug profile. I nearly dropped my phone. Or threw it at him.

What the hell is he doing in Kirkland?

I took a deep breath. Okay, he was probably just passing through. A coincidence. Nothing to panic about.

The barista smiled as I made my way to the counter. “How was your workout?” he asked.

I didn’t want Fox to hear my voice. The place wasn’t that big. There was no way he wouldn’t recognize my voice, right? Or maybe I was giving myself too much credit.

“Good,” I said with a smile.

I refused to look Fox’s way, but I could feel his eyes on me, sweeping over my body in my tight leggings and sports bra. A prickling heat crept up my neck. I felt so exposed. I tried to ignore him, focusing on scanning my phone over the reader to pay for my drink.

Unfortunately, his stare was burning a hole in my back. When I glanced over my shoulder, he was grinning, one brow arched in a way that made me want to wipe that look right off his face. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he’d been ogling me. Unbelievable.

I shoot him a dirty look before rolling my eyes, making my disgust evident. I turned back around, completely dismissing him.

The barista handed me my order with an expression that was a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“Do you know him?” he asked, nodding his head toward Fox.

I laughed it off. “Kind of. Thank you. I’ll see you next week.”

As I tried to make a clean escape with my drink, Fox nudged the chair opposite him, sliding it out from under the table like an invitation. A very presumptuous invitation. I hesitated, torn between storming out and remembering Dave’s incessant advice about “making connections with accounts, getting on their good side.”

I sighed and turned back to face him. “Were you planning on taking a picture of my ass, or is staring at it enough for you?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t tempt me,” he said, his eyes slowly sweeping up from my legs to meet mine. His grin widened when he saw the scowl I couldn’t hide.

“Do you think you’re being charming?” I snapped, sliding into the chair he’d kicked out for me. Might as well get this over with.

Here I am—schmoozing clients.

He rolled his eyes. “If I were trying to charm you, Natalia, you’d know it. Because you wouldn’t be glaring at me anymore—you’d be smiling. Probably in my bed, wearing nothing but that smile.”

I kicked him under the table, hard. He didn’t even flinch.

“Are you stalking me, or did you get lost on your way to whatever hipster bar you usually crawl out of on a Saturday?” I sipped my drink as if we were having a polite conversation.

Fox’s laugh was infuriatingly genuine, like I’d just told the best joke he’d heard all day. That only infuriated me more.

“You give me too much credit,” he said casually. “I wasn’t aware Kirkland was your turf. I was here for the bookstore next door.” He tapped the book on the table with his finger. “But look at that—we both ended up here. Fate, maybe?”

“Fate?” I scoffed. “Don’t start with that mystical crap. What is it, anyway? Harry Potter?”

He tilted the book so I could see the cover. Grass by Sherri S. Tepper. I blinked, momentarily thrown off.

“That’s a surprising choice,” I said slowly. “I didn’t peg you as a sci-fi reader.”

He smirked. “And what did you peg me as reading, exactly?”

“Playboy.”

“The articles aren’t what they used to be,” he said.

I hate that I like his quick wit. It’s too easy to fall under his spell.

I needed to regain control of this conversation. I nodded toward his book. “Why Tepper?”

Fox leaned back again, clearly enjoying the fact that he’d piqued my interest. “I’ve read it before. My mom was a huge fan of her work. I grew up reading sci-fi and adventure novels. It’s why I got into tech—always wanted to build something that felt like it belonged in one of those stories.”

Huh. I didn’t expect that. Not from him. “I didn’t take you for the type who reads for pleasure,” I admitted, slightly begrudgingly.

He chuckled. “Yes, I do. Often, actually.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

I loved sci-fi books. I read as much sci-fi as I read romance. I loved the fantasy element. It always excited me to think about space travel and men with bionic abilities.

He tilted his head, studying me. “And I know what kind of books you like just by looking at you.”

I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Oh, really? Enlighten me.”

He grinned like a cat that had caught a mouse. “You’re into romance. Steamy ones. The kind where the heroine gets swept off her feet by a mysterious, brooding stranger who has a tragic backstory. And lots of sex. Graphic, dirty sex that doesn’t leave out any of the exciting details.”

My jaw dropped. “You’re wrong.”

We both knew I was lying.

He leaned forward, his smile knowing. “Am I? I bet I could name at least three of your favorite authors. Let’s see. Tessa Bailey? Ali Parker? Oh, and definitely some Colleen Hoover in there.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, determined not to give anything away, even though he was spot on. “You think you know me because you can guess my reading list? You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said, leaning back again, clearly pleased with himself. “But I’m not wrong.”

This back-and-forth with him was scratching an itch in my brain that had been bothering me for a long time. A year, to be exact. This was familiar. Too familiar.

I could almost taste the memory on the tip of my tongue. But it couldn’t be. Fox was the last person on earth I would have connected with in Paris. That night had been magical, soft, filled with laughter and whispered secrets under the stars. This was the opposite of that.

No. Freaking. Way.

“Something on your mind, Natalia?” Fox asked, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. He was watching me closely. There was amusement in his eyes, but also something softer, something I didn’t want to name.

I forced a smile, standing up abruptly. “I’ve had enough of making connections for one day,” I said, aiming for a breezy tone but missing the mark by a mile. “Enjoy your book.”

As I turned to leave, I couldn’t help but notice his gaze drop to my ass again. He wasn’t even subtle about it.

“Sure you don’t want to stick around?” he called after me. “I’ve got all day, and I’m sure we could find something fun to do. I’ll buy you lunch. Maybe you’d like to go for a run. Work up a sweat.”

I didn’t know why, but the way he said it sent heat racing through me. I nearly broke into a sweat at the thought of doing anything physical with him.

It took me a second to recover.

“Like you could keep up,” I shot back over my shoulder.

He laughed. For a second, it wasn’t annoying. It sounded nice. I hated that I liked it. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Why did this guy get under my skin? He was just another client. A project to complete and put behind me.

I stepped outside. The cold air hit my face and I welcomed it after the heat inside the coffee shop. It had been stifling at the end there.

Fox was not the man I needed to get entangled with. I told myself this thing, this weird feeling I got whenever I was around him, wasn’t real. I was projecting my feelings for the man in Paris onto Fox. There were some similarities. My brain was trying to convince me they were one and the same, looking for connections where there were none.

There was no way he could be the man I had been holding on to in my head for the past year. My Parisian prince had a French accent. He’d been kind and soft spoken, not arrogant and infuriating like Fox.

But as I walked away, I couldn’t help but wonder. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him watching me through the window, like a puppy hoping to get taken home.

He was staring at my ass. That should have pissed me off, but instead, I felt a surge of adrenaline. Deep down a small part of me wanted him to be that man from Paris, against all the odds and logic.

I continued moving away, determined not to look back again. The cold wind whipped through my hair, tugging strands free from the ponytail I had my hair up in for class. The wind felt good against my flushed skin.

I walked back to my house, my mind drifting back to Paris. My memory of that night was starting to blur around the edges. Maybe I had built him up in my mind, made him more perfect than he actually was. And why was I thinking about him now, anyway? Why was I letting Fox of all people get under my skin like this?

I decided I needed a distraction. Something, anything, to get my mind off the man. I did not want to be thinking about my client like that. I had to work with him. I couldn’t be thinking about him naked.

“Oh God,” I groaned realizing what I had just thought.

The more I fought against the thoughts of Fox, the faster they came in.

I was debating whether to take a cold shower or hit the gym even harder. I needed to exorcise him from my mind. I was not going to mix business with pleasure.

I got home and went straight to my shower.

The cold water beat against my skin, but it wasn’t harsh enough to obliterate the memory of Fox’s gaze on my body. Lather up. Wash away. Rinse off. Repeat.

Once out of the shower, I wrapped myself in a fluffy white robe and tried to lose myself in the mundane task of blow-drying my hair.

I went to the kitchen, popped a frozen meal into the microwave, and grabbed my phone. I did my best not to work on weekends. I didn’t want to burn out by spending all my time working. My creative juices needed a rest.

I grabbed my book and a can of Diet Coke. The microwave beeped just as I settled at the table. I sighed and got up to retrieve my meal.

I ate the pot pie while trying to read the book. Unfortunately, Fox kept creeping back into my thoughts.

After all the wild places my thoughts went, I doubted I would be able to look him in the eye next time we met.