I gasp. “What?”
My heart is racing a million miles a minute. I’m almost certain it’s about to be stripped from my chest at this point. I nervously look down at my plate, expecting to see my heart sitting in front of me, taking its last few beats before flatlining and becoming nothing more than a dead organ.
“Date you?”
“Well…” Holt tosses his head side to side, his eyes shifting to the side. “Help me keep up theappearanceof dating me.”
My world collapses around me.
I’ve been so busy paying attention to Holt and this bubble we’ve made for ourselves, I haven’t taken the time to notice the rest of the world around me.
More eyes have turned toward us. The restaurant is packed, and I get the feeling it isn’t unusual for a place as famous as this. But what isn’t usual is the amount of phones pointed in our direction, followed by quick clicking sounds.
Heat radiates across my body, and I feel like I’m standing on stage again with all the hushed murmurs and peering eyes directed at Holt and me.
“You want me to fake date you?” I whisper, bitterness quickly filling me mouth.
Why am I crushed by this idea?
I’ve spent the past ten years holding onto one rule: I will never date. I will never allow myself to fall in love or to even feel a tinge of it. Adam was a test. But now, here I am, sitting in front of Holt, crushed because he’s asking me to fake date him.
“The lawsuit has tarnished my reputation in the worst way. It’s a PR disaster, and I’m working on getting that ironed out,” he explains, matter-of-factly. “But ever since the other night at the auction, being with you…”
I glance around us again. “Everyone is looking at us.”
“Yeah.”
I pull my foot away from his, slinking back into my chair. Disappointment consumes me, and I don’t have the energy to hide it. “You want to use me for a PR boost?”
“Wallflower…” He presses his lips together. The mood has shifted. We’ve gone from hot to cold in a matter of seconds.
“Why do you call me that?” I can’t think straight. Fire simmers under my skin, and I can’t tell if it’s from the sudden shift between us or if I’m angry with myself for feeling like this. I shouldn’t care what Holt thinks of me. I shouldn’t care that he’s only using me to restore his reputation.
I don’t fall for anyone. I won’t allow myself.
“Why do you keep calling me Wallflower?” I repeat through gritted teeth.
Ten seconds of silence pass between us before he’s rolling his eyes dramatically and groaning as he scoots down in his seat a little farther to dig his phone from the pocket of his pants. He flicks his thumb across the screen, then freezes. His eyes widen, and he lifts his hand to massage his mouth. I have no idea what message he’s reading, but I can tell it isn’t something he was expecting.
“What is it? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I need to go.”
He won’t even look in my direction. Even as he waves to our server for the check, who barely has a chance to drop the bill before Holt’s whipping out a slate-black credit card.
Then he’s swiftly escorting us out of the restaurant and back to the roof.
This time when we step into the elevator, we aren’t alone. There are already four others in the lift. Holt escorts me in first as he orders the attendant to press the button for the roof level. The three others eye us before turning their attention back to the phones in their hands.
Once we’re inside, I stop and turn as Holt moves to stay behind me. His back is pressed against the mirrored wall, and I stay at least a foot in front of him. There is distance between us, but I can still feel his heated stare burning my back.
My mind is swimming with wine and the conversation we left at the table.
I can’t piece together what I’m feeling. No matter how hard I try, my mind is too scattered. It feels like the first time I looked at my blank document, unable to put the words that were in my mind to fruition.
I inhale a shaky breath when the elevator suddenly stops on the second floor, then I dart my attention to the panel of buttons and see more than half of them are lit.
This is going to be a long elevator ride.
