Page 65 of One Midnight Kiss

The restaurant was dead silent now. A waiter rushed over, but I didn’t care. I released Andrew and straightened up, brushing the front of my jacket like I was wiping off dirt. I turned to leave, ignoring the concierge who was demanding to know what had happened.

“Was that Fox Samuelson?” I heard one of the men at Andrew’s table whisper. “Why’s he dressed like a farmer?”

I couldn’t help but smile. I flexed my fist, wishing I could have punched him in the face instead. I walked up to the counter and smiled. “Pickup for Samuelson,” I said politely.

The girl behind the counter, a petite brunette with wide eyes, seemed to have caught some of the tension. She glanced nervously over my shoulder toward where Andrew and his colleagues still sat. She handed me the bag with my order.

“Here you go, Mr. Samuelson,” she said.

I nodded my thanks and turned to leave, feeling the stares on my back. What had I just done? I didn’t have the luxury of acting out. Not when people knew who I was.

I walked out, picturing the headlines—Billionaire Fox Samuelson Causes Scene at Downtown Bistro. I sighed. I would have my PR team clean it up tomorrow, but tonight, it felt damn good.

I got back into my truck, the hanging bookshelf still there in the bed like a reminder of my own stupidity. I could picture her now, hearing about this in some backhanded way, shaking her head at me, calling me an idiot. Maybe I was.

I drove back to my apartment, the smell of the lasagna and garlic bread making me hungry. I tossed the takeout bag onto the kitchen counter and pulled a bottle of wine from the wine fridge. I quickly opened it and let it breathe while I changed into sweats.

I returned to the kitchen and unpacked the bag. Christa had assured me that this whole fake engagement would work in our favor, but that didn’t seem to be true. It was a disaster. I poured myself a glass of wine, but it didn’t taste quite as good as I was expecting. I leaned against the counter, looking out the window at the city lights below, and wondered how the hell I had gotten here.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I knew I should. I knew she probably hated me right then, but I couldn’t get her out of my head. I was screwed. The woman was under my skin, and I didn’t know how to shake her. I didn’t want to shake her.

Now, I had to wonder what happened if I did get an invitation to the party in Paris. Would I go? I wanted to see my mystery woman, but I also wanted Natalia.

I shook off the thoughts. I was trying to choose between two women that I didn’t really have the option to choose from. The woman in Paris was a ghost. And Natalia hated me. I was kidding myself thinking I had a choice at all.

I took the container and my glass of wine to the living room and sat down. I flicked on the television, hoping that some mindless background noise might dull the swirling thoughts. I found some action movie and turned it up nice and loud to try and drown my thoughts. Every sip of the wine seemed to fuel further introspection rather than the desired numbness.

I resigned myself to another evening of tortured thoughts about my complicated life.