Lunch, Lies, and Lingerie

The restaurant was the kind of place with wine lists longer than most novels and waiters who judged you silently for ordering tap water. Lia walked in like she owned the place, her heels a rhythmic defiance against the white marble. Heads turned. Of course they did.

Adrian was already there.

Seated at a table near the window, looking like a GQ cover shoot in progress. He wore another suit—charcoal gray this time, with a black shirt open at the collar. No tie. No shame. The shadows clung to his jaw in all the right places, and his posture practically screamed power.

He looked up, and his expression flickered. A brief pause. Almost admiration.

Almost.

“Nice dress,” he said when she approached.

“Nice face,” she replied coolly. “Too bad about the attitude.”

He chuckled and stood, pulling out her chair.

“What are we, civilized now?” she asked.

“For the next hour,” he said, “we’re the perfect couple.”

She arched a brow. “In what world are we perfect?”

“The one our grandmothers live in. Smile pretty, say something nice, and maybe don’t stab me with your butter knife until dessert.”

“No promises,” she said, but smiled anyway.

The waiter approached, and they ordered. Polite. Almost normal.

But under the table, their knees brushed.

And neither moved away.

---

“So,” Adrian said after a moment of silence, tilting his head. “Did you rehearse that entrance?”

“What entrance?”

“You came in like you were about to accept an Oscar. Hair just messy enough to be intentional, lipstick lethal, attitude cranked to eleven.”

“You sound impressed.”

“I’m entertained.”

Lia sipped her wine. “Your standards must be low.”

He smirked. “Not at all. But I didn’t expect this much fire.”

“What did you expect?” she asked.

“A bored heiress. Designer shoes and dead eyes. Someone willing to smile for the cameras and quietly fade into the background once the merger—I mean, marriage—was done.”

She laughed sharply. “Newsflash, Blackwell. I’m not a merger. I’m a hostile takeover.”

“Even better,” he said, and his eyes dropped—not to her chest, but lower. Her legs. Her crossed knees. The dress rode high.

Too high?

She let it. Just a little.

“Keep staring, and I’ll assume you want to renegotiate the terms of this engagement,” she said.

“Depends. What are your terms?”

She leaned in, voice soft and teasing. “No touching. No real kisses. No falling in love.”

His smile disappeared. “Fair enough.”

“That was too easy.”

He lifted his glass. “Then you’ll have to wonder what I’m not saying.”

Their drinks came. Appetizers followed. Still, the tension sat between them like a third guest.

Lia didn’t like it.

She loved it.

---

“Tell me something about you,” Adrian said suddenly.

She blinked. “What?”

“Something real. Not the version your resume tells the world.”

Lia tilted her head. “Like what? My secret dream to become a lounge singer?”

“You sing?”

“No. But I dream dramatically.”

He smiled. “Come on. Something real. A weakness. A fear. A regret.”

She hesitated.

Then: “Fine. I hate the dark. Completely. I sleep with a light on. Still.”

He blinked. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “Next time you try to manipulate me, don’t do it in a blackout.”

“Duly noted.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Your turn.”

“I hate hospitals,” he said. “Even the smell of antiseptic makes me nauseous.”

“Bad memories?”

“Family history,” he said curtly.

A pause.

Then she softened. Just a fraction.

“Well,” she said, “looks like we both have baggage.”

He raised his glass in a mock toast. “Cheers to our emotional damage.”

She clinked his glass, lips quirking.

---

They were halfway through dessert when Adrian’s phone buzzed. He ignored it.

Lia noticed.

“Someone important?”

“Not today,” he said.

The silence stretched again, but it was different now. Warmer. Like the tension had morphed into curiosity. Like the walls were still up, but the doors had cracked open.

“I have a question,” she said.

“Ask.”

“Do you always play it cool, or is that just your strategy with me?”

He leaned forward, fingers tracing the rim of his glass. “It’s not an act. I just don’t give people the power to rattle me.”

“So what do you do when someone does?”

He smiled slowly. “I rattle them back.”

Challenge accepted.

She rose from the table, smoothing her dress. “Then I guess I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow. My grandmother insists on more bonding time.”

“Looking forward to it.”

She bent slightly, close enough to feel his breath.

“And Adrian?”

“Yes?”

“Next time, bring your A-game. Because I’m done playing nice.”

Then she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him staring after her with an expression that was no longer amused.

It was intrigued.

Possibly dangerous.

Definitely interested.

---

That evening, Adrian stood at his office window, watching the city lights blink below.

She wasn’t what he expected. Sharp, bold, quick with comebacks and even quicker with walls.

But that spark...

She didn’t even realize it, but she made the air electric when she entered a room.

He poured himself a drink, recalling the flash of her thigh, the quirk of her lips when she teased him.

And the challenge in her voice:

No touching. No real kisses. No falling in love.

Oh, Lia.

He was going to break all three.

---

Meanwhile, Lia sat on her couch, laptop open, fingers motionless over the keyboard.

She hadn’t written a single email.

Instead, she stared at the screen saver, thinking about Adrian’s hands, the way his fingers had wrapped around his glass. Precise. Controlled.

What would it take to make him lose that control?

And why did she care?

She groaned, tossed a pillow over her face, and screamed into it.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

Adrian: You left your bracelet. I'll drop it off tomorrow.

Her breath caught.

She hadn’t even noticed it missing.

Lia: You keep tabs on my accessories now?

Adrian: Only the ones I undressed with my eyes.

She stared.

Then flushed.

Lia: Try harder next time. Maybe you'll get to remove it for real.

No reply.

For five minutes.

Then:

Adrian: Careful, Lia. I'm very good with my hands.

She dropped the phone.

And laughed.

Maybe this fake engagement wouldn’t be so fake after all.

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