Ex-change

Chapter Five: Thursdays Used To Be Simple

I used to love Tuesdays. Not the morning part, obviously. But the evening? That was my favorite—dinner with my mom, a good meal, and an hour-long update on my life. The only downside? Her relentless attempts to set me up on blind dates. (A tradition I could really do without.)

That was before Eric Thompson happened.

Now that the Eric Thompson era is officially over, I have two equally horrible options:

1. Brace myself for a fresh round of blind dates.

2. Tell my mother I’m pregnant.

Both are terrible. So, naturally, I choose to do neither—at least until Eric knows he has a fetus out there with his name on it. Call it closure, or call it my inability to move on from a fling. Either way, I’m stalling.

And yet, here I am, on a Tuesday evening—the one part of the week I actually enjoy—except someone is ruining it.

Sitting beside me in a not-so-fancy restaurant, waiting for my mother, is none other than Mr. I Like to Meddle himself—Damien Carter.

How Did This Happen? Let’s Rewind

I was at my desk, debating whether to crash like an overworked laptop or get coffee to replenish the energy I never actually lost. But I’m pregnant now, which means reckless caffeine consumption is off the table. Also, I need this job to survive, so passing out at work isn’t a great idea either.

Meanwhile, Damien Carter was having the time of his life.

He walked into the office like he was auditioning for the role of Mysterious Billionaire With a Dark Past. If I squinted hard enough, I could almost hear the dramatic background music.

No greeting. No small talk. Just this:

"What time are you getting off work?"

I was bored, so I decided to answer with the same level of drama.

"Why? Are you planning to escort a damsel in distress home?"

"No," he replied, completely unfazed. "But you look like you need another kind of stimulation that isn’t coffee."

I blinked. Twice.

He gestured dramatically before continuing, "So, why don’t we stalk your ex together and pretend it’s part of work?"

I stared at him, unimpressed. "Yeah, that’s gonna be a no from me."

"So you don’t know what Eric has been up to since the breakup?" His voice was laced with curiosity. "Most people would be dying to know."

"Well, I’m not most people, and if I were, I wouldn’t waste my curiosity on him."

He opened his mouth to say something else, but my phone vibrated—saving me from whatever nonsense he had planned next.

It was my mom.

The moment I picked up, she dove straight to business, but not without her usual pet name.

"Anna, don’t forget about our dinner tonight."

"Sure, Mom. I’ll be there."

The call ended like it never happened, but one thing remained constant—Damien Carter, buzzing around me like an overconfident housefly.

He smirked. "So, you have dinner plans with your mom. That’s why you’re bailing on me. No, wait—bailing on work."

"Technically, it’s after work hours. And trust me, I’d happily bail on you anytime."

His smirk widened. "I can wait while you have dinner with her. Then we’ll go after."

And just like that, he disappeared.

Not only did he figure out my plans, but he also somehow ended up driving me to the restaurant and is now sitting beside me, waiting for my mom like we’re a couple or something.

I should have known that this would happen.

After what felt like an eternity of sitting beside Damien, my mom finally arrived. She barely had time to sit down before her gaze landed on Damien—like a predator spotting its prey.

"Oh, Anna, isn’t it too early for another one? You’re just getting over Eric!"

I nearly choked on my own saliva.

"Mom, meet Damien Carter. A colleague. Who insists on working after work hours."

I thought that explanation would be enough to save myself. But I forgot one thing:

My mother doesn’t listen.

She ignored me entirely and turned to Damien, smiling like she had won the lottery.

"Oh, don’t lie! I don’t mind, you both look so good together," she gushed, completely ignoring me and turning to Damien. "I’m Emily, nice to meet you, darling."

And like a dutiful son-in-law in training, he answered, "Nice to meet you," stretching out a hand for a shake.

After their weirdly long handshake, I cleared my throat, desperate to change the subject. "Mom, shouldn’t we order?"

She waved me off, still laser-focused on Damien like he was some rare collectible. "Oh, of course, of course! What do you like, Damien?"

The traitor didn’t even hesitate.

"I’ll have whatever Adrianna’s having," he said smoothly.

My mother’s grin widened. "How adorable! You already know each other’s tastes."

I groaned internally and snatched the menu. "Fine. One pasta for me, one for Damien." I glanced at him. "Unless you’d rather eat your own words?"

He smirked. "Pasta sounds perfect."

As the waiter walked away, I prayed that would be the end of my suffering

But as we continued eating, my mom wasn’t done yet.

"But are you really just a work colleague? You’re too handsome to be a work colleague," she said, leaning forward like she was conducting an interrogation.

And that’s when it hit me—Damien Carter wasn’t just annoying. He was annoyingly perfect.

Like a leading man in a romance novel sent to make everyone else look painfully average.

Sharp jaw, high cheekbones, smirk permanently set to ‘infuriating’. Tousled dark hair, intense eyes, and even the exact right amount of stubble. It was like he knew he looked this good, and that was the worst part.

But if I had convinced myself otherwise before, Damien shattered that illusion with his next words.

"Yes, ma’am, I am still a work colleague," he said smoothly.

And like a chick snatching food from a hen’s mouth, my mom pounced on his phrasing.

"I love that still. That means you’ve been trying," she practically purred. Then, leaning in conspiratorially, she whispered (badly), "Why don’t I set you up as one of her blind dates? I’ll threaten her for you."

I didn’t choke on my water.

I violently aspirated my entire soul.

The coughing fit was so bad that my face turned purple, and for one tragic moment, I was certain this would be my cause of death.

Meanwhile, Damien Carter? He just sat there, watching my suffering like it was prime entertainment.

A pathetic ending to a dinner I never should have agreed to.