Page 6 of Fake Dating Daxton Hawk
My cheeks flush with the embarrassment of being heard. Daxton’s eyes flick to me for a mere second, finding my pink face. He chuckles ever so slightly and continues typing.
“You’re in a mood tonight,” Daxton says with zero care, still consumed by his phone. “To be more accurate, you’re in a mood every night I hire you. Have I done something to offend you, sweetheart?”
The mocking nature in which he calls mesweetheartitches beneath my skin. “Oh, that’s real funny,pumpkin. I was about to say the same thing about you being in a mood. You sounded angry on the phone before. Business plans falling through? Some girl doesn’t want to see you?”
Finally, he puts his phone down and looks at me with a smirk on his lips and amusement dancing in his eyes. No words.
I grow even more flushed under his intense stare but refuse to back down and let him win. “What’s that look for?”
“Your attitude toward me is amusing. I don’t know where it came from. Please, enlighten me. On our first date, I received nothing but smiles from you. All I can assume is you got your feelings hurt because I haven’t taken you to bed.”
I laugh at the arrogance of his comment. “Oh, please. Your bed is the last place I want to visit.”
His smirk broadens, like he’s enjoying this back and forth between us. There’s something dangerous about the smug shape of his lips that makes my pulse race. I feel naked beneath his gaze. My head tells me to back down and not say another word.
“And besides, I only sleep with my handsome clients.”
Oh God, what am I doing speaking like this to him? I lick my lips and grab the hem of my dress, attempting to inch it a little farther down my thighs. Daxton’s gaze follows my movements, from my lips to my legs, and I’m suddenly hot all over. There’s an ache at the top of my thighs that has no business being there, especially when caused by Daxton.
Before either of us can say anything more, Amabella returns to our table with a large, old man behind her—the businessman we’ll be having dinner with tonight, I suppose. Montgomery Wallace.
Daxton and I rise from the table, both with fake smiles on our faces.
“Monty, it’s good to see you again.” Daxton shakes the man’s hand. “Please, meet my date, the lovely Delphine.”
My stomach does a little jump when Daxton calls me his date.
Monty smiles at me and takes my hand in his, his touch cold and wrinkly, lingering for too long. “My, my, you are beautiful.” His gaze travels to my cleavage and he adjusts the crotch of his pants. Jesus fucking Christ.
The money. I’m here for the money.
Daxton can be a jerk all he wants and this creep can stare at my breasts if it means I can pay this month’s rent.
ChapterThree
Daxton
Jordan hasn’t replied to my latest message.Whyhasn’t she replied?Whois this guy she’s on a date with? That last question has been on repeat in my mind all throughout dinner with Delphine and Monty Wallace, eating away at my sanity. I rest my forearms on the restaurant balcony and refresh Secret Santa again.
Nothing.
My last message to Jordan stares back at me, ridiculing me.
STEEL WEST
How’s your date going?
I keep telling myself to be patient. The message was only sent five minutes ago. But those five minutes are enough to cause alarm. Jordan is the kind of girl who always replies within an instant. In the three years I’ve been speaking to her, not once has she gone on a date. I’ve been the primary man in her life, and I hate that someone else might steal that role from me. It will be just my luck that the one time Jordan does go out with a guy, she ends up hitting it off with him.
I exhale a breath of smoke. This cigarette is doing nothing to calm my nerves nor is the fresh air on this cool evening. Everything is chaos in my head, animated by the muttered sound of voices from inside the restaurant and the traffic twenty floors beneath me.
“You better be done with your business call. I’ve had enough of Monty leering at my chest.” Delphine’s voice comes from behind me, spoken with her distinct accent of something classy you’d find in London but with a mixture of something else I can’t distinguish.
Her words confuse me for a few seconds, then I remember the lie I fed her and Monty back at the table—the business call I had to step outside to make.
She puts on a breathy, high-pitched voice. “Amabella is wondering where you went.”
I laugh quietly to myself. Amabella is my cousin. I got her the seating hostess job here and she lives in this hotel free of charge—my way of helping her escape an abusive ex-boyfriend. All hotel staff refer to me as Mr. Hawk, which Amabella and I laugh over in private.
