"Though the chicken was excellent. Perfectly even."
I point my fork at him. "Sebastian."
"Fine, fine." He cuts another piece of his steak. "Would it make you feel better if I offered you a bite of mine? As a peace offering?"
I eye his plate suspiciously. The steak does look good. Medium rare and glistening with butter. "Maybe."
"Open up," he says, holding out his fork with a perfect bite.
I hesitate, then lean forward and accept it. The steak melts in my mouth, rich and buttery.
"Truce?" he asks.
"Truce," I concede. "But consider this your only warning."
"Noted." His smile softens. "Though I should warn you—I'm terrible at following rules."
I roll my eyes but can't help smiling back. "Why am I not surprised?"
His gaze lingers on my face a moment too long. "So, about those pet names..."
"Nothing too saccharine. I'm not a 'baby' or 'sweetie' person."
"So, I can call you 'Shortcake'?" He asks, his lips quirk up at one corner.
"Really? That’s your pet name you’re going with?
"Maybe I just think you're sweet," he offers, his eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that makes me look away.
I take a sip of wine to hide my reaction. "Or you can call me Charlie. Most people who know me well do."
His fork pauses halfway to his mouth. He sets it down slowly, something shifting in his expression.
"I have permission to call you Charlie again?"
The weight of his question hits me suddenly. Since starting at Titan, Sebastian's been rigidly formal, dutifully calling me "Charlotte" because I told himto. I practically ordered him to use my first name, drawing that professional line between us with acute precision.
But if we're supposed to be a couple—even a fake one—that formality makes no sense.
"Yes," I say finally. "If we're doing this, you should at least call me Charlie. It would look weird if my boyfriend was calling me Charlotte."
He nods, something like relief crossing his features. "Charlie," he says, testing it out, and there's an unexpected warmth in how he says it that makes my stomach flutter.
"What about you?" I ask. "What should I call you? Sebastian feels a bit formal for someone I'm supposedly sleeping with multiple times a week."
His eyes brighten with mischief. "You could call me 'The Mountain King.'"
I nearly choke on the pasta I just took a bite of. "I'm sorry, what?"
"The Mountain King," he repeats with complete seriousness, though his eyes dance with suppressed laughter. "It was my professional snowboarder nickname. The announcers would say, 'Here comes Sebastian, The Mountain King, Montgomery carving up the slopes like they belong to him!'"
I stare at him, waiting for the punchline that doesn't come. "You cannot be serious right now."
"What? Too much?" He takes another bite of steak, maintaining his innocent expression. "Some of my fans used to shorten it to just 'Your Majesty' if that's easier."
"I will not be calling you that," I say firmly, setting down my fork. "Not now, not ever, not if you were the last man on earth and I needed your help to restart civilization."
He breaks then, a deep laugh rumbling up from his chest. The sound is so genuine, so unguarded.
