Chapter Six
920 Words
It was raining in Manhattan.
The kind of slow, steady drizzle that made the streets glisten and umbrellas bloom like black flowers. Claire Monroe ducked into the little coffee shop on 74th and Lexington, shaking the mist from her coat and inhaling the scent of cinnamon, bergamot, and something sweetly herbal she couldn’t name.
“Claire?” a familiar voice called.
She didn’t need to look up. She knew it instantly. That deep, velvet-smooth tone belonged to exactly one man: Alex Carter.
And there he was, seated by the window in a booth that somehow made him look even taller, his charcoal coat draped over the chair beside him, hair damp with rain, and a half-finished cup of chai in front of him. He rose when he saw her, flashing the kind of grin that once charmed billion-dollar clients and, regrettably, her parents.
“Thanks for meeting me,” he said, gesturing to the seat across from him.
“I almost didn’t,” Claire replied, unbuttoning her coat but keeping it on, like armor. “Still not sure this is a good idea.”
“Coffee shop neutral ground,” he said, motioning to the peaceful, plant-draped room. “Safe, cozy. No ulterior motives.”
Claire sat down warily. “You always had a flair for presentation.”
“And you always saw through it,” he said with a hint of a smile.
A waitress came by and Claire ordered a lavender chamomile. When the woman walked away, Alex leaned back, studying her in a way that made her feel both like a puzzle and a sparring partner.
“You look well,” he said.
Claire arched a brow. “You said that at dinner, too.”
“I mean it. Even if I thought you were going to throw your wine in my face the other night.”
“I considered it.”
He chuckled. “And yet you agreed to meet me.”
Claire crossed her arms. “Because you were right. I’m tired of the matchmaking. Of the expectations. Of being the only single woman at every event where my mother introduces me like I’m a fixer-upper on clearance.”
Alex nodded slowly. “Same here. And let’s face it, Claire—neither of us is the settling-down type. At least not in the way they expect.”
She hesitated. “So what exactly are you proposing?”
“The same thing I said the other night. We fake it. Publicly. Just enough to get our families off our backs.”
Claire studied him. In the morning light pouring through the window, he looked less like the hard-edged lawyer she remembered and more like the man behind the title. The one who once stayed late helping her polish a legal memo for no reason other than the way she’d stubbornly refused to ask for help.
“What’s in it for you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“A break,” he said simply. “From being hounded. From every charity auction turning into a matchmaking circus. And I imagine we’ll both enjoy watching our families lose their minds.”
Claire smiled despite herself. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”
“I enjoy strategy. This is just a different kind of game.”
“And what happens when they expect more?” she asked. “A ring? A wedding date?”
“We’re adults,” he said. “We set boundaries. We can end it before it gets that far.”
Claire sipped her coffee, which had just arrived. It was hot and floral and grounding. She needed grounding if she was even going to consider this insanity.
“I want rules,” she said.
“Of course.”
“Number one: we don’t lie to each other. The rest of the world, fine. But not us.”
Alex nodded. “Agreed.”
“Number two: no overnight stays. We don’t blur lines.”
“Noted.”
“Number three: this ends the moment it feels real.”
Alex tilted his head, and something flickered behind his eyes. “Define real.”
She stared at him. “Feelings. Attachment. Complications.”
There was a long pause.
Then he said, “Okay.”
Claire blew on her tea. “We’d have to be seen together. Publicly.”
“Dinners. Galas. A few brunches.”
“Social media?”
He winced. “A necessary evil.”
“And we split any costs. I’m not going to be your arm candy.”
“I wouldn’t insult you like that,” he said, meeting her gaze.
For a moment, they just sat there in the little shop, surrounded by clinking cups and whispered conversations, the air warm and fragrant around them.
She hated that this made sense.
She hated that she felt relieved, to have a plan.
“Alright,” Claire said finally. “I’ll do it.”
Alex blinked, then smiled slowly. “Seriously?”
“One month,” she said firmly. “Maybe two. Then we fake a breakup and walk away clean.”
Alex extended his hand. “Deal.”
Claire stared at it.
Then she took it.
His fingers were warm, his touch confident. But this time, she didn’t pull away quickly. This time, she let the shake linger. Just long enough to wonder what the hell she was getting herself into.
Because this wasn’t just any man.
This was Alex Carter
And fake or not… this was going to get any easier.
- Writer
