Page 27 of The Fake Dating Plan

“It’s not a no.”

“See you at 8.”

Dinner was at another elegant restaurant. This one was at a hotel and had horseshoe booths that were enclosed in a way that created intimacy. It was easy to forget you were in a restaurant. Axel looked just as fine as I expected him to be in a coal gray suit. His hair looked a little ruffled, and it took a lot of my willpower to not reach my hand to run through it.

“You’re late.” He said when we sat down.

By a few minutes and it’s not like I would not come. I was too curious, but I wanted him to feel my anger. “I’m here aren’t I?”

“Whatever.” He turned to the server who had been standing beside us, no doubt wondering at our animosity, and gave him the wine order. It sounded like an expensive bottle and after he had gone, I asked, “How are you sure they have it?”

“I come here often.”

“Is this another one of your friend’s restaurants?”

He frowned. “Yes, actually. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing. What do you want?”

“Let’s have dinner first.”

“If you people think that plying me with food would make me more malleable, you’ve got to think twice about that.”

“What did my mother want with you, by the way?” he said it so casually as though it was a passing thought, but I could tell from the tight grip on his menu that he was more than curious.

“She wanted you and me to get back together and I said no. I would rather talk about why you brought me here? If this isn’t the makeup you said it was, then I’m bailing.”

He frowned. “You said no?”

I shrugged.

He put down the menu. “Didn’t I ask you to say yes to whatever she says?”

“If you had told me your mother wants to match us, I would not have agreed to it.”

“A little lie never harmed anyone.”

“Why would you want me to lie about us dating? It's not as if you're lacking in that department?”

“You wouldn’t think so if you saw my mother’s chats. She’s always setting me up with ‘good women.’ She hates the bargain basement models I like. Her words, not mine.”

“Ouch.” His mother could be more than invasive. I had experienced her over investment when we were dating. I felt sorry for him, but only a little.

“Is that why you asked me here?”

“No actually. I wanted to say sorry. About the other thing.”

Ah. Singapore. But a mere sorry? “That’s it?” I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. “You’re going to do a lot more than that if you think that’s an apology. If you must know, I’m only here because you’re my benefactor.”

“Investor.”

“Is there any difference?”

He smiled. “Touché. How about an invitation to the Sage Gala.”

I frowned. “I thought the invitations were already out. Plus, no one invited wanted our pieces.” No one big enough to attend the event, that is. The Sage, just like the Met, was one of the most exclusive events on the fashion calendar. Strike that.Theexclusive charity event on the fashion calendar. Unlike the Met, it was only attended by billionaires and fashion titans. It also wasn’t ruled by dictatorial fashion editor overlords. However, like the Met Gala, no one just got in. And it was held in Spain.

“Did I say as a designer?”

---