Dating a Hot Tycoon

Emery Blake glared at the menu in front of her like it had personally betrayed her. The dim lighting of La Belle Cuisine an upscale French restaurant known for its truffle obsession did nothing to ease her nerves. Neither did the wine list, which read more like a French dissertation. A blind date. Set up by her parents. In a restaurant she could barely afford on a good month. She tucked a loose strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear and sighed. “Just one drink,” she muttered under her breath. “Then I fake a headache, thank him for being a human being, and escape before dessert.” Her phone buzzed. MOM: He’s lovely! Be nice. And don’t bring up your ex this time, please. Emery rolled her eyes. “Noted,” she whispered, dropping her phone into her bag. Her ex was a mistake best left in a vault at the bottom of the ocean preferably chained and buried. Across the restaurant, the maître d’ led a tall man in a tailored navy suit toward her table. Her breath caught. Oh, God. That can’t be him. The man towering, broad-shouldered, magnetic stopped a few feet away, his green eyes scanning the table, then meeting hers with a glimmer of surprise. His black hair was perfectly disheveled, and his jawline could probably cut glass. He looked confused. Good. So was she. “Emery?” he asked. Her heart stuttered. “Yes. That’s me.” He raised an eyebrow and extended his hand with a hint of hesitation. “Dominic Maddox.” Wait. Her pulse thudded. Dominic Maddox? As in… the Dominic Maddox? Her ex’s boss? The one who’d been on Forbes’ cover with the caption: The Untouchable Tycoon? “You’re my blind date?” she asked, half standing, half caught in a state of awkward shock. Dominic gave a short laugh. “Apparently. Though I’m starting to suspect a setup.” Emery blinked. “My mother knows your mother, doesn’t she?” “She does. And mine conveniently forgot to mention your name.” They stared at each other for a beat neither sitting nor leaving. Then, simultaneously, they dropped into their seats with mutual resignation. “So…” Emery trailed off, her fingers curling around the water glass. “This is awkward.” “A bit,” Dominic said, glancing at the menu like it might explain the situation. “We could pretend we don’t know each other.” “Technically, we don’t. I only know of you. You’re...what? the man who sends terrifying all-caps emails and has a standing reservation here every Thursday night.” Dominic smirked. “You did your research.” “I dated your junior partner for two years. Research wasn’t optional.” His smile faded ever so slightly. “Ah. Him.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Let’s not talk about him. This night’s already weird enough.” “Agreed.” They ordered drinks, Emery choosing a rosé with a name she couldn’t pronounce, Dominic settling for a neat bourbon like it was part of his bloodstream. After a pause, he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly. “So, Emery Blake. Freelance designer. Formerly of Montrose & Grey, correct?” Her brow arched. “Are you vetting me or making conversation?” “A little of both.” She took a slow sip of her wine. “Why are you on a blind date? You’re… well, you.” Dominic shrugged, his expression unreadable. “My mother is a force of nature. She thinks I’m lonely.” “Are you?” A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Do you always ask questions that direct?” “Only when I’m stuck at dinner with a billionaire who knows my ex’s dating history.” He chuckled...an actual, warm sound. “Touché.” Their waiter reappeared, and they ordered the tasting menu because, why not? Emery figured if she was going to suffer through this, she might as well taste the truffle risotto. As the first course arrived, something shifted between them. The tension softened. They talked about design, law, chaotic mothers, and why cats were secretly plotting world domination. Emery found herself laughing more than she expected. Dominic, for his part, watched her with a quiet intensity, like he was trying to catalog the way her smile curved, or how her eyes lit up when she talked about street art. Then came the question she didn’t expect. “Do you want to get out of here?” She froze mid-fork. “Excuse me?” Dominic leaned in, elbows on the table. “Not in a sleazy way. Just… this restaurant’s too formal. Too orchestrated. There’s a late-night gallery open down the street. I know the owner.” Emery blinked. “Are you seriously proposing we abandon our very expensive, parent-orchestrated date for art?” “Do you have a better idea?” She hesitated, then dropped her napkin onto the table. “Let’s go.” The gallery was hidden between two buildings that looked like they'd seen better decades. Inside, it smelled like wood polish and oil paint. The walls were lined with pieces that didn’t match surrealism beside street photography, abstract clashing with realism. Emery wandered past a wall of paintings depicting broken clocks and melting cityscapes. Dominic trailed behind her. She turned. “So. What’s your angle, Maddox?” He raised an eyebrow. “Angle?” “You’re rich, famous, and intimidating. You don’t do blind dates. And you definitely don’t do late-night art strolls with semi-strangers.” “Maybe I do,” he said simply. “You don’t.” He took a step closer. “Fine. I’ll tell you the truth.” Her breath hitched. He lowered his voice. “I didn’t want to be here tonight. I planned to ghost the date until I saw your name on the reservation. Then I was… curious.” Emery’s pulse fluttered. “Curious?” “You’re not like the women I usually meet.” “Meaning?” “You’re not impressed by the money. Or the title. Or the car.” “Should I be?” His lips curved slightly. “God, no. That’s the point.” They stood in silence for a beat too long. Emery looked away first. “I hate this,” she muttered. “Hate what?” “This… this setup. This strange pull I feel toward you. It’s probably just adrenaline.” “Probably,” Dominic echoed, but he didn’t sound convinced. He reached for something on a nearby pedestal a tiny bronze sculpture of a woman curled into herself, vulnerable and fierce all at once. “You know what this reminds me of?” he said. She tilted her head. “What?” “You. Just a little.” Emery snorted. “That’s either really deep or really creepy.” “I’ll let you decide.” A soft laugh bubbled up from her throat. Then his phone rang. He cursed under his breath, glanced at the screen, and declined the call. Emery’s gaze flicked to the screen just before it dimmed. Vanessa Hart. Her heart tightened. “She’s calling you,” she said. Dominic didn’t flinch. “She calls. I don’t answer.” “She’ll keep trying.” “I know.” Silence stretched between them again. Then, impulsively, Emery said, “You want to make her jealous?” Dominic’s eyes snapped to hers. “What?” “You want her off your back, right? Your mother too. You’re too busy for real dating, and I’m not ready for the real thing either.” “What are you proposing?” She took a breath. “We pretend. Be each other’s fake relationship for the next few weeks. Just until your mother gets off your back and Vanessa gets bored.” Dominic studied her like a puzzle he wanted to solve. Finally, he said, “You’d really do that?” She shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?” He gave a slow, wicked grin. “I guess we’ll find out.”