Page 16 of The Fake Affair

“What time?” Bella asks.

“Eight, at Alinea. Private room reserved.”

“We’ll be there.” Bella ends the call.

“I’ll need to change,” she says.

“Wear something?—”

“Corporate, I know.” She shakes her head at me as if I’m ridiculous. “Not my usual clubbing attire.”

The bathroom door clicks shut behind her, and I breathe out slowly. Being alone with her in a hotel suite feels dangerous after Friday’s kiss. I change into a fresh suit, my mind on tomorrow’s meeting. Landing this deal would prove Monarch Ventures is a serious player in tech innovation.

* * *

Dinner goes surprisingly well.Peters is impressed with Bella’s technical knowledge, and by dessert, we’re no longer negotiating—we’re planning CyberMind’s integration. The contracts are signed over crème brûlée, almost anticlimactic for a billion-dollar deal.

“We did it,” Bella whispers in the elevator, her eyes bright with triumph, cheeks flushed from champagne. Her outfit is a perfect blend of hot, modest, and professional.

“You did it,” I correct her. “Your analysis brought them back to the table.”

She looks up at me, surprise flashing across her face. “Did you just give me a compliment?”

“Don’t letit go to your head.”

The suite feelsdifferent when we return—less tense, filled with the glow of success. Bella kicks off her heels by the door, and I can’t help but smile at how quickly she abandons corporate polish.

“I still can’t believe it worked.” Bella sinks into the corner of the couch like she’s finally letting herself exhale. Her dress hikes up slightly as she shifts, revealing the smooth sweep of her thigh and the gentle flex of muscle beneath soft skin. The sight punches the breath from my lungs. “I mean, when I was sending those emails at three in the morning, I thought I was just being desperate.”

Her voice is softer than before, edged with a kind of disbelief that’s equal parts relief and wonder. The usual fire in her tone has quieted, replaced by something almost fragile. Something that makes me want to fold her into my arms and take away every ounce of doubt she’s ever carried.

“Desperate looks good on you.”

It slips out too easily. The kind of thing I would have said to tease her a week ago. But now, it lands differently. Truthfully. And I don’t take it back.

She reaches for a pillow and tosses it at me, laughing. “Shut up.”

I catch it without much effort, then move to sit beside her. Close, but not touching. Her scent lingers in the space between us—something light and clean, with just a trace of vanilla. Her skin glows in the low light, her curls a little unruly from the long day, and I find myself cataloguing every detail like a man afraid he might never see it again.

“I mean it,” I say, quietly. “You’re brilliant when you’re not trying to sabotage my calendar.”

She turns to face me, folding her legs beneath her. The motion draws her closer, and her knee brushes against my thigh. It’s barely a touch, but it lingers. She’s looking at me differently now, like she’s seeing past the polished edges and the reputation into something more honest.

“I am sorry about that,” she says, her eyes on mine. “I just... when I thought you’d dismissed me that morning, it hurt more than I expected.”

“I know.” I lift my hand without thinking, fingers reaching for a loose strand of hair that’s fallen near her cheek. I tuck it gently behind her ear, and when she leans into the touch, just slightly, my heart kicks hard against my ribs. Her skin is warm beneath my fingertips. Too warm. Too tempting. “I should have run after you.”

“I should have waited to hear your side,” she whispers.

There’s a stillness that follows, but not an empty one. It’s heavy with possibility. Her gaze dips to my mouth and back up again, and I swear the world slows to the beat of my pulse.

She’s so close I can see the faint freckles on her collarbone, the way her lips part just slightly when she’s trying to hold back emotion. She always wears her strength like armor, but right now, in this moment, she looks soft. Vulnerable. Achingly beautiful.

And I want her. Not just in the way I’ve wanted her since the night of Audrey’s graduation party. Not just for her body or the sharpness of her wit or the impossible pull that’s always existed between us. I want the part of her that stayed up sending emails at three in the morning because she believed in something bigger than herself. The part that stood toe-to-toe with me all week, unafraid to challenge me even when she was hurting. The part that smiles with her whole face when she forgets to be guarded.

I want all of it.

She’s watching me now, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, like she feels the shift too. I don’t know who leans in first, but it doesn’t matter. One second, we’re staring at each other like we’re both on the edge of something inevitable, and the next, her mouth is on mine.

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