me flinched every time I thought about what a successful plan would entail. Deception. Lying.
Pretending to be someone I wasn’t. I’d cultivated close relationships with my followers over the years. Some of them had been with me since I was a college freshman posting grainy photos of my campus looks online. The thought of betraying that trust made my stomach turn. However, I couldn’t let Maura down. And, if I was being honest, I really wanted a million followers. It was the big milestone. The door that would open a thousand more opportunities and prove that I wasn’t the disappointment my parents thought I was. My friends thought I had the perfect family, and I’d never told them the truth because it seemed like such a trivial problem. Judgmental families were a dime a dozen. But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting. My parents didn’t always voice it, but I saw the disappointment in their eyes every time they looked at me. I took a deep breath, smoothed a hand over the front of my dress, and checked my reflection in the hallway mirror one last time. Hair twisted into an elegant knot, earrings that added a touch of glamour, and lipstick that brightened my winter-dulled skin. Perfect. I took the elevator downstairs and spent the ride checking my emails for Delamonte updates or responses from the dozen jobs I’d applied to over the past week. Nothing. No news was good news, right? Maybe not for the jobs, but at least for Delamonte. Until I received an email or a press release announcing their next brand ambassador from them, I wouldn’t dwell on negativity. I didn’t want to accidentally manifest losing out on the campaign. The elevator doors pinged open. I stepped out and ran a thumb over the crystals dangling from my necklace. Rose quartz for luck in love, citrine for general good vibrations. Here’s hoping they work. “Hi, Stella!” The eager voice pulled my attention to the front desk, where the concierge beamed at me, all shiny teeth and puppy dog eyes from behind the marble counter. I released my necklace and smiled back. “Hi, Lance.
Stuck on the graveyard shift again?” “That’s what happens when you’re the youngest member on the team.” He heaved an exaggerated sigh before examining me. “You’re all dressed up tonight. Hot date?” Part of me briefly entertained the idea of asking him to be my fake boyfriend before I dismissed it. That would be too messy for a multitude of reasons, the least of which was the fact he worked in my building. “Hopefully.” I gave a playful spin, my metallic skirt flaring around my knees. I’d paired it with a fitted black sweater and boots for an elegant but simple first date look. “How do I look?”
“You look beautiful.” There was a wistful note in his voice. “You always—” He didn’t get a chance to finish before I slammed into a brick wall. I stumbled and I instinctively reached up to steady myself. Soft wool and masculine heat touched my fingers. Not a wall, my dazed mind noted. My eyes traveled up past the peaked lapels of a black suit, the open collar of a crisp white shirt, and the tanned column of a strong, masculine throat before they rested on a beautifully carved face, shadowed with disapproval. “Ms. Alonso.” Christian’s cool voice sent goosebumps skittering across my skin. There was no trace of the semi-playful dinner partner from New York. “Distracting my staff from their job again?” Again? I’d never distracted anyone from anything, except maybe the time Lance helped me carry a package to the elevators and the resident behind me in line had to wait an extra two minutes. I removed my hand from Christian’s chest. His heat seared so deep I felt it in my bones even when I stepped back and upped the wattage of my smile. Calm, cool, collected. “I was making conversation. I wanted Lance’s opinion on something, but since you’re here, I might as well ask you.” I spun again.
“What do you think? Is this outfit date-worthy?” I didn’t even complete my first spin before
Christian’s hand closed around my arm. When I looked up, the shadow of disapproval had morphed into something darker. More dangerous. Then I blinked and the darkness was gone, replaced by his usual polite impassiveness. Somehow, that unsettled me even more. “You’re going on a date.” Christian had a talent for turning every question into…well, not a question.
“Yes.” An uncharacteristic burst of mischief bloomed inside me. “That’s where you take someone out for dinner, drinks, maybe some hand-holding. It might sound like a foreign concept, but you should try it sometime, Mr. Harper. It’ll do you some good.” Maybe it would loosen him up a little. For all his charm and wealth, he was wound tighter than the spring of his Audemars Piguet watch. It was evident in the precision of his walk, the set of his shoulders, and the unnatural flawlessness of his appearance. Not a hair out of place, not a speck of lint on his clothes. Christian Harper was a man who thrived on controlling everything, including his feelings. He stared down at me, his jaw so tense I could practically hear his teeth grind. “I don’t hold hands.” “Fine, no hand-holding. Cuddling then, on a bench overlooking the river, followed by some whispered sweet nothings and a goodnight kiss. Doesn’t that sound nice?” I swallowed a laugh at the way his lip curled. Judging by his expression, my suggestion sounded as nice as being thrown into a vat of bubbling acid. “You don’t usually date.” My amusement faded, replaced with a pinprick of annoyance. “You don’t know that. I could’ve gone on a hundred dates since I moved in and you wouldn’t have known.” “Have you?” Dammit. I couldn’t lie, not even when every cell in my body urged me to wipe the knowing look from his eyes. “That’s not the point,” I said. “Maybe it hasn’t been a hundred, but it’s been a few.” Two, and they were test dates that reminded me why I hated dating. But he didn’t need to know that. “And where is your date tonight?” It was an innocent question, but intuition told me to keep the exact location to myself. “A bar.” “How specific.” “How none of your business.” I gave him a pointed stare.
Christian’s smile didn’t soften the smooth, bladed edge of his voice. “Have fun on your date, Stella.” The conversation was over, which was just as well. I was already running late. But as I left for my date, I couldn’t focus on the man I was about to see. I was too busy thinking about whiskey eyes and black suits.
*
Half an hour later, I wished I’d stayed in the lobby with Christian because my date was going as well as expected, which was to say, not at all. Klaus was one of the few male fashion bloggers who lived in D.C., and I’d liked him well enough the few times we chatted at events.