The Night Before I Knew Him

Chapter Four

I changed my outfit four times.

The first dress was too short. The second one made me look like I was going to a funeral. The third was something I had worn to my cousin's wedding two years ago and it didn't fit right anymore.

The fourth was black, simple, tight in the right places but not too tight. It was the nicest thing I owned, and I had bought it on sale for a job interview I ended up not getting.

I stared at myself in the mirror.

This is a work event. A client dinner. That's it.

My reflection didn't look convinced.

Natalie had left for her own plans an hour ago. She had asked me three more times what was going on, and I had dodged every question. I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell anyone. If this got out, my career was over before it even started.

Slept with the CEO before my first day. Great start, Emma. Really impressive.

I put on my heels, took them off, put them back on and checked the time.

7:24.

Six minutes.

I grabbed my bag and went downstairs to wait.

The car showed up at exactly 7:30. Black sedan, it has tinted windows, the driver got out and opened the back door for me without saying a word.

I slid inside.

Alexander was already there.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

He was in a dark suit, different from the one he had worn earlier. His hair was pushed back, and he was looking at his phone. He didn't look up when I got in.

The driver closed the door. The car started moving.

Silence.

I stared out the window. The city slid past, all lights and traffic and people who weren't trapped in a car with a man they'd made a huge mistake with.

"You look nice."

I turned my head. He was still looking at his phone.

"Thanks."

More silence.

I wanted to say something. Ask him why he was doing this, what he wanted, what the hell was happening between us. But every time I opened my mouth, nothing came out.

He put his phone away and finally looked at me.

"The client tonight is Richard Whitmore. He's old money, old school, and he doesn't like surprises. Don't speak unless you're spoken to. Don't offer opinions unless asked. And don't mention that you just started."

"So lie."

"So be strategic." He held my gaze. "Can you do that?"

"I've been doing it since I walked into your building."

Something flickered in his expression. Almost like amusement, but not quite.

"Good."

The restaurant was the kind of place I had only ever seen in movies. Private entrance. Hostess who knew Alexander by name. A table in the back corner, away from everyone else.

Richard Whitmore was already seated when we arrived. He was older, maybe late sixties, with silver hair and a tan that looked expensive. His wife was next to him, dripping in jewelry, smiling like she had practiced it in a mirror.

"Alexander." Whitmore stood and shook his hand. "Good to see you."

"Richard. Linda." Alexander nodded at the wife, then gestured toward me. "This is Emma Carter. She's on your account."

Whitmore looked me up and down. Not in a creepy way, more like he was assessing my worth. I straightened my spine and met his eyes.

"Northwestern," I said. "Top of my class. I'm looking forward to working on your data restructure."

He raised an eyebrow. Glanced at Alexander. Then back at me.

"She's direct," he said. "I like that."

"So do I," Alexander replied.

We sat down. Wine was ordered. Appetizers arrived. The conversation was mostly between Alexander and Whitmore, something about quarterly projections and market expansion. I listened, took mental notes, and tried not to stare at Alexander's hands.

Those hands had been on my body two nights ago.

Stop it. Focus.

Linda Whitmore asked me about my background. I gave her the polished version—small town, scholarships, worked my way up. She nodded along like she was actually interested, but I could tell she was just being polite.

By the time the main course arrived, I had almost relaxed. This wasn't so bad. It was just dinner. Fancy food, boring conversation, and then I could go home and pretend none of this was happening.

Then Whitmore leaned back in his chair and looked at Alexander.

"So," he said, "how long have you two been together?"

I choked on my wine.

Alexander didn't flinch. "Excuse me?"

"You and Miss Carter." Whitmore smiled. "I'm old, not blind. The way you look at her. The way she's trying very hard not to look at you. I've been married for forty years. I know what that looks like."

My face was burning. I couldn't breathe.

"Richard—" Alexander started.

"I'm not judging." Whitmore held up a hand. "Your personal life is your business. I just want to know if it's going to affect our account."

"It won't." Alexander's voice was flat. "Because there's nothing personal here. Miss Carter is a talented analyst. That's why she's on your account. That's all."

Whitmore studied him for a long moment. Then he looked at me.

"Is that true?"

Everyone was waiting for my answer. Linda. Whitmore. Alexander.

I swallowed hard.

"Yes," I said. "That's all."

Whitmore smiled. "Good. Then let's talk about the Q3 numbers."

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur. I smiled when I was supposed to. Laughed at Whitmore's bad jokes. Answered questions about the account like I actually knew what I was talking about.

But the whole time, I could feel Alexander watching me.

When we finally left the restaurant, the air outside felt cold against my flushed skin. The car was waiting. The driver opened the door.

I started to get in.

Alexander's hand caught my arm.

"Wait."

I turned. He was standing close. His grip on my arm wasn't tight, but it wasn't loose either.

"You handled that well," he said.

"I lied."

"You were strategic."

"It's the same thing."

He didn't let go of my arm. His thumb brushed against my skin, just once, and my whole body reacted.

"Is it?" he asked.

I pulled my arm away. "I should go home."

"The car will take you."

"And you?"

"I have somewhere else to be."

I didn't ask where. It wasn't my business. None of this was my business.

I got in the car and closed the door, I didn't look at him.

The driver pulled away from the curb. I watched Alexander's reflection in the window, standing on the sidewalk, watching the car leave.

My phone buzzed, an unknown number.

I opened it.

You lied well tonight. But we both know it wasn't just a lie.

My hands were shaking.

I didn't reply.

I didn't know what to say.