Ty
It's complicated
It's really not. You like her. You're pretending to be her boyfriend. Step 1: Act like her boyfriend. Step 2: Become her boyfriend. Simple.
Ty
Easy for him to say. Tyler hasn't seen the way her eyes go cold when she remembers my previous actions. How carefully she's been maintaining distance between us, physically and emotionally at work. How deliberately she uses "Sebastian" instead of "Bash," creating space with those extra syllables. All up until yesterday.
Heading to work. Talk later.
I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and start the car. As I pull out of my driveway, my mind drifts back to the moment last night when she'd laughedgenuinely at the absurd nickname joke I made, guard down for just a second, eyes bright and warm.
That's the Charlie I want to see more of. The one who isn't braced for disappointment, who doesn't measure each word before speaking. The woman I glimpsed that first night at The Velvet Room. The woman that was confident, playful and magnetic.
Traffic is light this early, and I make good time to the office. The Titan Global Marketing building is quiet when I arrive, just security and a few early birds in the lobby. I take the elevator to our floor, surprised to see lights already on in Charlie's office.
So much for beating her in.
I set my things down in my office, then pause in her doorway. She's focused intently on her computer, one hand absently twirling a strand of hair, lips moving slightly as she reads something on the screen. She's wearing a deep navy dress today and her hair is styled in soft waves. Beautiful
I should announce my presence, but I allow myself just a moment to observe her unguarded. No pretense, no performance. Just her, a brilliant marketing executive, completely in her element.
It hits me then, with unexpected clarity: I'm in trouble here. This isn't just attraction or chemistry or the thrill of the chase. This is something deeper, there’s a pull towards her that feels both exciting and terrifying.
And in two days, I'll be pretending to be in love with her in front of her family, her ex, and probably half of Aspen.
The question remains, how much of it will be pretend?
I take a breath and knock lightly.
"Morning, Shortcake. Ready to talk flights?"
She looks up, startled.
"Sebastian? What are you doing here so early?" She checks her watch with a frown.
I lean against her doorframe, hands in pockets. "Couldn't sleep. Figured I might as well be productive." I gesture toward her computer. "Seems like great minds think alike. Or are we both just insomniacs?"
That earns me a reluctant smile. "Sometimes I like getting in before the chaos. It's the only quiet time around here."
"And here I am, ruining it."
"I didn't say that."
"You were thinking it."
She rolls her eyes. I take the lack of protest as an invitation to enter her office fully, strolling toward the bookshelf on the far wall opposite her desk.
"Impressive collection," I say, scanning the shelves. There's a mix of marketing books, some fiction, and personal items. Her diploma from UT Austin is framed neatly. Summa cum laude, of course. I smile at that.
The photos catch my eye next. Her in hiking gear atop some mountain, arms raised in victory. Her at what looks like a charity 5K, sweaty and grinning. Her with her sister at what must be a family gathering, mid-laugh with wine glasses in hand.
"You have a great smile," I say, the words slipping out before I can filter them.
"What?"
I gesture at the photos. "When you actually smile. The real one, not the corporate one."
