EVE POV
"So," Chris said, leaning back in his chair, a slow smile playing on his lips. His gaze lingered on me, sending a shiver down my spine. For some reason, his words felt strangely intimate, the way he was looking at me… like a flirtation.
*It's just your nerves*, I told myself, trying to ignore the unsettling flutter in my chest. He was undeniably attractive, but this whole situation was already complicated enough.
"Are you up for it?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
"I also happen to need a fake girlfriend for the next six months. Consider it a mutually beneficial arrangement. No payment necessary."
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite my reservations.
"Alright," I said slowly, sliding the contract across the table. "But this needs to be official."
He scanned the document, a pen tapping against his lips.
"This, this, and this," he said, circling several clauses, "won't work."
He looked up, his gaze meeting mine.
"Clause number three. No PDA in public?"
"That's right," I said, my voice firm. I wasn't about to compromise my comfort for the sake of this charade.
He chuckled, a low, mocking sound that grated on my nerves.
"You haven't been in a relationship, have you?"
I glared at him, refusing to rise to the bait. He continued, undeterred.
"The moment I sign this, I'm your boyfriend. Fake to you, maybe. But to everyone else, completely real. Which means we need to act the part. Holding hands, hugs, dates… the whole nine yards. It's the only way to make it believable. Unless," he added, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "you're afraid of a little intimacy."
"I'm not afraid of anything," I snapped, my cheeks flushing with annoyance.
He was pushing my buttons, and he knew it. Logically, I knew he was right. But something about his playful arrogance rubbed me the wrong way.
"Then lose the no-PDA clause," he said, his smile returning, "and let's give your mother the show she's expecting."
I hesitated, still wary of his flirtatious manner. What exactly would *acting the part* entail with someone like him? "Fine," I conceded, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "But don't overdo it."
"Alright, clause four: 'no surprise visits to the office or home.' Doesn't make sense," he said, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"I need to prepare, to keep up appearances," I countered, feeling a flicker of annoyance. Was he serious?
"But surprises are part of the fun! Imagine, unexpected gifts, lunch dates… kisses…" His voice dropped to a husky whisper, sending a shiver down my spine.
"Are you serious?" I blurted out, heat rising in my cheeks. He threw back his head and laughed, the sound surprisingly melodic.
"Just messing with you," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement, before returning to the contract. Kisses? The word echoed in my mind, unsettling and strangely exhilarating.
"Clause seven: 'no sleepovers.' Surely an oversight?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Not an oversight," I stated firmly, my voice tighter than intended. This was getting ridiculous. Why did every one of his points seem so reasonable, making me feel like I was constantly on the defensive?
He sighed dramatically. "Think about it. Private events, my place, your place… it wouldn't be believable if you just vanished with the other guests. Separate rooms, of course, but still…"
"Fine," I conceded, rubbing my temples. This was more exhausting than I'd anticipated. "Scratch that one too."
He scanned the revised contract, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. Finally, he signed, and I followed suit, a sense of relief washing over me, quickly followed by a wave of apprehension. What had I gotten myself into?
"To a successful partnership," he said, extending his hand.
"To my mother's sanity," I replied, shaking it. His grip was firm, warm, sending another unexpected jolt through me.
"Dinner is an acceptable token of gratitude," he added, his smirk returning.
"You want me to buy you dinner?" I asked, incredulous. He simply nodded.
"Are you always this… much?" I blurted out, unable to contain my exasperation.
"This much what?" he asked innocently, his eyes wide.
"Annoying… chatty… sociable," I stammered, instantly regretting the last word. It sounded almost… complimentary.
His smile widened. "I assure you, I can be much more than sociable… love." The endearment, coupled with the intensity of his gaze, sent a shockwave through me. He looked… different. Dangerous.
"Don't call me that," I snapped, my voice sharper than intended.
"Yes, love," he repeated, his eyes glinting with amusement.
I took a deep breath, struggling to regain my composure. Pressing the button beneath the table, I summoned the waiter, desperate for a distraction from the unsettling effect he was having on me.
He snatched my phone from the table as the waiters cleared our dishes, his fingers flying across the screen.
"Excuse me?" I said, annoyance prickling at me. "Give it back."
He returned it with a flourish. "All done."
I checked the caller ID. Mi amor. "You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, already reaching to change it.
"Touch that, and I'll kiss you. Right here, right now," he said, his voice low and laced with a playful threat. He was smiling, but there was a glint in his eyes that made me pause.
I took a deep breath, reminding myself to stay calm. This… this man was infuriating. "If you'll excuse me," I said, grabbing my bag and standing abruptly.
He rose too, that infuriating smile still plastered on his face. He moved to block my path, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Allow me to escort you home, mi amor."
Speechless, I brushed past him, my anger simmering just below the surface. As we stepped out of the private dining area and into the main restaurant, his hand snaked out, capturing mine in a warm, firm grip.
"Just act natural," he murmured close to my ear, his breath sending a surprising shiver down my spine.
We walked towards the exit, his hand still clasped tightly in mine. "You're quite popular, I see," he observed, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand.
I followed his gaze to the cluster of paparazzi lurking in the shadows, their cameras trained on us. I sighed. Mum. Of course.
He intercepted the valet as he approached with my car keys, opening the door for me with a charming smile. Moments later, we were speeding away from the restaurant, the city lights blurring past.
"Where do you live?" he asked casually, his voice deceptively light.
"Need-to-know," I retorted, bracing myself for another argument.
"As your boyfriend," he emphasized the word, a hint of amusement in his voice, "I need to know. I need to make sure you get home safe."
The unexpected sincerity in his voice disarmed me. Against my better judgment, I gave him the address.
"Da Vinci Estate, Crescent Mansion." I leaned my head back against the cool glass of the window, wondering what exactly I'd gotten myself into.
This fake relationship was already proving to be more complicated than I'd ever imagined.