Chapter 4 – First Appearance
1621 Words
He hadn’t contacted her since that night.
No calls, no check-ins, no follow-up.
Just silence.
Three days later, a woman in heels and a charcoal pantsuit showed up at her door. Hair slicked back. Clipboard. Efficient.
“I’m Mr. Hale’s assistant,” she said. “I’m here for the signed agreement.”
No smile, no warmth. Just precision.
Ava handed it over without a word. The paper felt heavier than it should have.
The woman left without another glance.
And that was it.
Until tonight.
At 4:03 p.m., a text arrived.
Nathan Hale
Be ready by 8. Black tie. We’re making our first appearance.
No location. No pleasantries. No clarification.
Just an order.
Ava stared at the screen for a full minute before tossing the phone onto her bed.
Of course he’d do it like that. Cold. Clinical. Like she was an asset being deployed.
She hated how her stomach flipped.
Heat spread low in her abdomen, sharp and annoying.
She told herself it was annoyance.
She told herself a lot of things.
By 7:10, she was already in the bathroom, staring at her reflection.
She wasn’t dressing for seduction. Or to make a statement.
She was dressing for the role.
Nathan Hale’s new girlfriend. Fake, of course.
But convincing enough to stand next to a man like him without blinking.
She’d Googled him the night before.
Page after page of galas and fundraisers.
And in every photo, the same type.
Tall. Blonde. Thin. Models with perfectly trained smiles and glassy eyes.
Women who floated through rooms like they belonged in them.
Ava wasn’t that.
She looked at her reflection.
Dark wavy hair pulled into a sleek bun.
Eyes sharp, deep, brown like burn marks.
Her hips curved. Her waist didn’t vanish. Her presence didn’t whisper.
She stood out. Not by design. Just by refusing to shrink.
And tonight, she wouldn’t pretend to be.
The dress wasn’t what anyone expected.
Not backless. Not tight. Not dripping in diamonds.
It was black. Simple. Cut just above the knee.
Modest neckline. Lace at the collar and sleeves.
Elegant. Understated. Quietly defiant.
Jewelry? Minimal. Heels? Pointed, black, painful.
Lipstick in a shade that didn’t beg for attention.
Just warned not to underestimate her.
She lined her eyes with sharp strokes, the way her abuela had taught her,
cuando quieres que te tomen en serio, míralos como si supieras un secreto.
Her pulse was steady. Her fingers weren’t. She clenched them once, then let go.
Her phone buzzed again at 7:59.
The driver had arrived.
--
The car waited downstairs.
The driver didn’t speak, just opened the door.
She slid in and crossed her legs, the silk lining of the dress cool against her thighs.
Her skin prickled as she adjusted her clutch.
The city blurred outside.
She didn’t ask where they were going. He hadn’t said. He didn’t have to.
This was his world.
She was just entering it.
But she refused to be swallowed.
--
The car stopped outside a hotel that looked like old money and newer sins.
Gold accents. Velvet ropes. Paparazzi parked across the street like vultures with lenses.
The driver got out and opened the door.
Her heel hit the pavement like a threat.
She adjusted her clutch, straightened her spine, and stepped forward.
He was already there.
Nathan.
Inside the entrance, talking to a man in a navy suit. His hand in his pocket. Posture relaxed. Eyes sharp.
He turned the moment she entered.
Their eyes locked.
A jolt ran through her chest. Fast. Quiet. Unwelcome.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod.
But his eyes moved.
From her face, to the lace on her collar, to the hem of her dress.
His jaw clenched, just slightly.
The muscle in his cheek shifted before he masked it.
He wore a dark charcoal suit, tailored within an inch of tension.
No tie. First button open.
Crisp shirt. Watch sleek and expensive.
She walked toward him slowly, heels tapping like punctuation on marble.
“Hi,” she said, sliding beside him like they did this all the time.
He didn’t return the greeting.
Just looked down, slowly, like he was scanning every inch of her and filing it away.
Then he offered his arm.
She stared at it for a second too long.
Her fingers brushed his sleeve. Wool. Expensive. Cold from the air, warm from him.
Her skin reacted before her brain could.
She swallowed once. Then took his arm.
The warmth of his forearm under her hand was unnerving.
They walked into the ballroom like they owned it.
She hated how good it felt.
He leaned in, voice low enough to graze her skin.
“Interesting choice,” he murmured. “For them, you’re aiming for femme fatale. For me? It’s the safe option.”
Her mouth twitched. “Didn’t realize you had a type.”
“I don’t. I have standards.”
----
The ballroom was drenched in excess.
Crystal chandeliers. Polished marble. Waiters in black vests gliding through clusters of laughter and old money.
Everyone looked like they belonged.
Except her.
And yet, every head turned.
She felt it. The drag of attention. The whispers. The fake smiles.
She didn’t flinch. Let them stare.
Nathan didn’t introduce her.
He didn’t need to.
People recognized power.
And she was holding onto its arm.
They made their way through the crowd like a storm with no sound.
He nodded at a few men, shook hands, exchanged clipped phrases.
She sipped champagne and matched his energy. Calm. Sharp. Unshaken.
But every time his fingers brushed her lower back, her spine straightened like a reflex.
Then...
“Mr. Hale,” said a voice behind them.
They turned.
A man in his fifties. Deep tan. White teeth. Eyes that lingered too long.
“Always a pleasure,” he said. “And who’s this?”
Ava’s lips curved, slow and deliberate. “I’m the contract.”
Nathan’s brow twitched, just once.
The man laughed. “Do all your deals look this tempting?”
Before she could speak, he stepped closer.
Close enough that she felt his breath. His hand reached for her arm, slid along the skin, then rested on her waist.
It wasn’t a greeting.
It was a test.
Nathan didn’t move.
But his body tensed. Sharp. Coiled.
His voice was low enough to sting.
“Don’t touch what isn’t yours.”
The man’s eyes gleamed. “Didn’t realize she was claimed.”
“She’s not,” Nathan replied, dead calm. “But she’s mine tonight.”
Ava held her breath. The man hesitated.
The tension was thick, wrapped in velvet.
Eventually, he backed off, murmured something about drinks, and vanished into the crowd.
She turned to Nathan, pulse skipping.
“Yours tonight?”
His jaw flexed. “It was that or break his fingers.”
Then he placed his hand gently on her lower back.
Skin to skin.
Her breath caught.
Her body betrayed her.
The paper she signed said none of this was real.
But this? The heat, the tension, the way her nerves buzzed under his hand?
That was very real.
“Smile,” he murmured near her ear. “They’re watching.”
Her lips parted.
And then curled.
“You want a show?” she asked.
He said nothing.
So she gave him one.
She leaned in and kissed him.
Full. Slow. Intentional.
He didn’t flinch.
His hand tightened on her waist. His lips responded.
Not sweet. Not rushed.
Just enough to claim. Just enough to send a message.
When she pulled back, her mouth tingled. Her breath felt shallow.
His eyes didn’t move from hers.
“You good?” he asked, voice low.
“Peachy,” she replied, stepping back because she had to, not because she wanted to.
His lips were gone, but the weight of the kiss stayed. On her mouth. Her ribs. Her spine.
“Convincing enough?” she asked.
His eyes dropped to her lips.
“More than.”
She needed space.
“I’m going to the restroom,” she said, turning.
He didn’t stop her.
Her heels echoed across marble.
Once out of view, she leaned against a wall.
Her hand found her chest, as if that could steady the tempo inside it.
This wasn’t fake.
Not tonight.
Not with that kiss.
Her fingers touched her lips. Still warm.
Still his.
---
When she returned, Nathan was by the bar.
He turned when he felt her approach.
Of course he did.
She walked without apology, her chin high.
They didn’t speak at first.
He handed her a drink.
She accepted it. Their fingers touched. Heat.
He looked ahead, voice even.
“You let him get too close.”
She arched a brow, eyes narrowing.
“Next time, maybe don’t wait until his hand’s on my ass.”
His jaw flexed.
“You didn’t stop him either.”
She sipped slowly.
“Was curious how long it’d take you to stop playing statue.”
He looked at her then. Not amused. Not angry. Just... focused.
She smirked, lips curled like she was winning.
“You kissed me,” ele disse depois de um silêncio.
“You told me to smile.”
“That wasn’t a smile.”
She tilted her head. “You going to report me to HR?”
His mouth twitched — almost.
“Next time,” he said, voice lower, “try warning me.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
---
They didn’t leave together.
He told her the car was waiting outside.
He had business.
She didn’t ask.
Didn’t need to.
As she slid into the backseat, she looked at her hand. Still tingling.
Not from nerves.
From restraint.
And this wasn’t fake anymore.
Not even a little.
- Writer
