Love Lies And My Ceo

Jasmine pov I shouldn’t have agreed to this. At Lucent's core beauty salon, my reflection stared back at me with disbelief and panic as I adjusted my dress. Before leaving for work, Charlotte had styled me like a movie star in a spaghetti strap dress, smoky makeup, and a voluminous wig. I groaned, sinking into the mirror’s glare. This wasn’t even my date. My phone buzzed, vibrating close to the handbag she gave me. I tapped the speakerphone while fuming. “Perfect. You’re so pretty it’s suspicious.” “You'd better be sending a private jet full of designer shoes to thank me,” I said. Charlotte’s laughter burst through the phone. “Come on, Jasmine. It’s one dinner.” “It’s one dinner pretending to be you,” I snapped. “Which, by the way, should probably be illegal.” “You’re being dramatic. Just be a little unlikable. Talk about exorcisms or pyramid schemes or whatever. He’ll run.” I sighed, blinking at my lashes in the mirror. “Why can’t you just say no to your father?” “Because if I say no, he just sends the next rich guy with a diamond watch. You know how he is”. I did. Charlotte Thompson might have been spoiled, but when it came to her matchmaking-obsessed father. She is always folded. This date was her escape, and I was the getaway car. “Just be awful,” she repeated. “Chew with your mouth open. Talk about baby names. Call him ‘Daddy’ too soon.” “Easy for you to say,” I muttered, grabbing my bag. “You’re not the one about to stroll in looking like trouble wrapped in sequins.” “You’re doing God’s work. I love you.” “Love you too,” I sighed, ending the call. Charlotte had begged, and I was too soft to say no. I hailed a cab and leaned back, Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he’d be rude and I could storm off dramatically. Or maybe he’d be nice, and I’d feel guilty, which would turn into another thing I’d overthink for a month. By the time I stepped out in front of Savore Restaurant, I was sweating. Soft lighting. Waiters who judged your wine choice. The kind of place that made you sweat before the bill arrived. I stood there for a moment, rehearsing Charlotte’s name in my head. Charlotte Thompson. Talk fast. Be weird. Smile like a threat. Just as I was about to walk in, my phone rang again. Charlotte. Again. “Please tell me you’ve changed your mind.” “No, no,” she said, breathless. “He just texted. He’s running late.” “Seriously?” I looked at the time. “I’m already here.” “Order something. I’m sure he’s just wrapping up a meeting or whatever. Ten minutes, I guess, should be okay.” I hung up, letting out a groan. Ten minutes felt like forever when you were sitting in someone else’s life. Inside, the hostess smiled politely. “Reservation?” I summoned confidence as quickly as possible and said “Charlotte Thompson”. She led me to a small table near the window. Candlelight. Perfect for first-date regrets. I sat, ordered a glass of wine, and tried not to look like a fraud. I kept glancing at the door, praying for someone easy to hate. Balding. Arrogant. Sunglasses indoors. Instead, he walked in like a slow-motion scene from a movie I hadn’t agreed to star in. Tall. Broad shoulders. Charcoal suit. Calm, unreadable face. And then his eyes locked on mine. No way. He started walking over. “Charlotte Thompson?” he asked, stopping at the table. I stared at him. “That's what it says on the birth certificate” I said with a tight smile. “And you are?” He looked amused as he took the seat across from me. “William. Sorry, I’m late. My meeting ran longer than expected.” There was an awkward pause. The kind of pause where someone should say something, but I couldn’t. He was too composed. Too calm. I hated it. I leaned back and tilted my head. “And what exactly do you do, William?” He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a card. “If it helps,” he said, sliding it across the table, “I’m the CEO of Foodfinity.” I picked it up, my fingers suddenly clammy. The gold letters gleamed against the heavy cardstock, every curve sharp and unyielding. William Truce Smith. My eyes skimmed the title once. Then twice. CEO of Foodfinity. The words didn’t register at first. My brain stalled, refusing to connect the dots. Foodfinity. CEO. Smith. When it finally clicked, the blood drained from my face. No. No, no, no. Of all people. Of all possible men in this city. I was on a date with my boss. The man who could end my career with a signature or worse, with a single word. His lips curved slightly, like he’d caught my discomfort. “You look nervous, Miss Thompson,” he said smoothly. I forced a laugh, but inside, panic screamed, If William found out the truth, this wouldn’t just be the end of my job. It would be the end of me.