The Risk of You

Chapter 4: The Art Of Pretending

By Friday, I was ready for a quiet night in the kind that involved sweatpants, bad reality TV, and no emotional landmines. But at 5:42 p.m., my phone buzzed with a text from Lola:

Emergency: Put on something that says “effortless but stunning.” Meet me at the Blue Orchid in an hour.

I stared at the message. Effortless but stunning was Lola code for you’re going to see someone you don’t want to see, so look better than they remember you.

I texted back: Why?

Her reply came instantly: Networking. Trust me.

Which meant there was no escape.

The Blue Orchid was one of those rooftop cocktail lounges where the lighting was always flattering and the prices always outrageous. It was winter in New York, so the glass canopy kept the cold out, but the city lights still spilled in from every angle.

I spotted Lola at the far end of the bar, her red dress a beacon in the sea of dark suits and sequined dresses. She waved, grinning, but there was something in her eyes a warning.

“What’s going on?” I asked as I slid onto the stool next to her.

She gave me a too innocent smile. “Before you get mad, just remember that I love you and I’m doing this for your career.”

My stomach dropped. “Lola…”

“Daniel’s here,” she said quickly, wincing. “And so is half the hotel project’s investor team. It’s a chance to make an impression.”

Before I could respond, I heard him.

“Amara.”

The sound of my name in his voice hit me low in the gut. I turned slowly, schooling my expression into polite neutrality.

Daniel was in a dark suit, no tie, the top button of his shirt undone. He looked like he belonged here like he belonged everywhere.

“Mr. Reed,” I said evenly.

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “We’re off the clock. You can call me Daniel.”

I arched a brow. “Tempting, but I’ll pass.”

He stayed by my side as Lola excused herself to “go mingle” which I knew was code for give you two space and see what happens.

“You don’t like surprises,” he said, sipping his drink.

“I don’t like manipulation,” I countered.

He smirked. “Still quick with the comebacks.”

The conversation should have died there, but the problem with second chances is that they’re built on first times and ours had been too powerful to forget.

Five Years Ago Spring

We’d been together three months when he took me to my first charity gala. I’d felt like a fraud in my rented gown, surrounded by people who spoke the language of million dollar donations.

Daniel had leaned down, his hand warm at the small of my back. “You belong here,” he’d murmured, as if he could read my insecurities.

And that night, with his hand in mine, I almost believed him.

Present Day

An investor in a navy velvet blazer joined us, introducing himself as Thomas Hargrove. “I’ve heard great things about your work, Ms. Cole. Daniel says you’re the best in the city.”

I blinked, caught off guard. Daniel didn’t look at me, but the corner of his mouth lifted like he knew exactly what he’d done.

“High praise,” Thomas continued. “We’re lucky to have you on the project.”

I managed a gracious smile, though inside I was reeling. Daniel hadn’t said a single personal word to me since we reunited and now he was vouching for me publicly?

As the night went on, I found myself standing closer to him than I meant to, laughing more than I should have. It was dangerous not because I couldn’t handle him, but because I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

Around eleven, the crowd thinned. I slipped away to the balcony for air, the winter chill a shock against my skin. Below, the city hummed alive, endless, indifferent.

The door opened behind me.

“I was wondering where you went,” Daniel said, stepping out.

I didn’t turn. “Just needed a moment.”

He came to stand beside me, his hands in his pockets. “You’ve changed,” he said after a pause.

“People do that.”

“Not always. Some just build higher walls.”

I finally looked at him. “Maybe that’s the only way to keep from getting hurt again.”

His eyes searched mine, steady and unflinching. “I hurt you.”

The words hung in the cold air between us. No denial. No excuses.

“Yes,” I said quietly.

He nodded once, like he’d expected that answer. “I want to explain.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “That’s a lie.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he stepped closer not touching me, but close enough that the air shifted, warmer, sharper.

“You still look at me the way you used to,” he said softly.

I hated that he was right. Hated it, because it meant my walls weren’t as high as I wanted them to be.

I took a step back, breaking whatever pull was between us. “Goodnight, Daniel.”

And before he could say another word, I walked away.

But as I left the Blue Orchid that night, my pulse still racing, I knew this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.