Chapter 8: Dinner with Two Versions of Him

I stared at Adrian's message for so long that Lily eventually leaned across the divider and read it upside down.

"Dinner tonight?" she whispered.

I locked my phone.

"Privacy is still a concept."

"Not when your life is more entertaining than television."

"Nora gave me one week."

Lily's smile vanished.

"One week to tell him?"

"Seven days. Then she tells him herself."

"That woman is terrifying."

"She's efficient."

"Same thing in better shoes."

My phone buzzed again.

"Was that a no?" Adrian wrote.

I glanced toward his office.

Through the glass wall, he appeared focused on a document, but his phone was resting beside his hand.

"I have work," I replied.

"Your boss can survive without you for one evening."

"You don't know my boss."

"I know enough."

"Do you?"

A pause followed.

"He sounds handsome."

I covered my mouth to stop myself from laughing.

"He sounds arrogant."

"That too."

"And difficult."

"Possibly misunderstood."

"Definitely difficult."

Across the office, Adrian looked up.

Our eyes met.

I immediately lowered mine.

"Eight o'clock," he wrote. "I'll send a car."

"No car."

"Why?"

"Because normal people take taxis."

"Normal people also accept free transportation."

"I'm meeting you there."

"Still hiding your address?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Eight o'clock."

I should have refused.

Instead, I typed, "Fine."

Lily watched me put the phone down.

"You're going."

"Apparently."

"As Claire?"

"I have to."

"What happens if Nora sees you leave the office looking like Emma and arrive at dinner looking like a divorced art dealer?"

"That wig did not make me look divorced."

"It absolutely did."

"I need a better disguise."

"No, you need the truth."

I looked at her.

"Since when did you become responsible?"

"Since Nora started issuing deadlines."

At seven fifteen, I was in the office restroom changing clothes.

The brown wig sat on the counter beside my makeup bag.

I had chosen a dark green dress that I rarely wore, along with the same clear glasses from Saturday.

My hands shook as I applied lipstick.

The restroom door opened.

I nearly dropped the tube.

Nora walked in.

She stopped when she saw me.

Her gaze moved from the wig to the dress.

"Please tell me this is not happening again."

"It is only dinner."

"In costume."

"It is not a costume."

"You are wearing synthetic hair to deceive the CEO."

"When you say it that way, it sounds criminal."

"It sounds accurate."

I placed the lipstick back in my bag.

"I'm going to tell him."

"Tonight?"

"Maybe."

"That means no."

"I'm building toward it."

"You have six days left."

"I know."

Nora picked up the wig and examined it.

"At least secure it properly this time."

"That almost sounded supportive."

"It wasn't."

She handed it back.

"Where is he taking you?"

"I don't know. He sent an address."

"Of course he did."

"Do you know the place?"

"Probably."

I showed her the message.

Nora raised one eyebrow.

"The Bellmore."

"Is that bad?"

"It is one of the most private restaurants in Manhattan."

"Private sounds good."

"It is also where he takes investors."

"Less romantic."

"He booked the rooftop dining room."

I stared at her.

"How do you know that?"

"I manage his calendar."

"You knew about dinner?"

"I knew he had blocked two hours and instructed security not to contact him unless the building was on fire."

My stomach fluttered.

"He did that?"

"Yes."

Nora's expression softened slightly.

"He is taking this seriously."

The guilt returned at once.

"I know."

"Then stop making him date a fictional woman."

"Claire isn't fictional."

"Claire is you with worse hair."

I looked in the mirror.

"The hair is not that bad."

"Six days," she repeated before leaving.

The Bellmore occupied the top floor of a hotel overlooking the city.

When I arrived, a host immediately led me toward a private elevator.

No crowded dining room.

No curious strangers.

No Daniel from marketing appearing out of nowhere.

For once, Adrian had chosen the perfect setting for my ridiculous secret.

The rooftop room had glass walls, soft lighting, and only one table.

Adrian stood near the window.

He wore a black suit without a tie.

He turned when he heard me enter.

His gaze moved slowly over me.

"You came."

"You sound surprised."

"You have a history of almost escaping."

"I considered it in the elevator."

"I'm glad you didn't."

He pulled out my chair.

On the table sat a small vase filled with white flowers.

Not roses.

I had once told him roses made every romantic gesture look like an apology.

He remembered.

"You chose lilies," I said.

"You said they were your favorite."

"I said I liked them."

"Close enough."

I sat down.

Adrian took the seat across from me.

"You look nervous again."

"This place is intimidating."

"It is just dinner."

"There is a private elevator and a man downstairs who knew my name before I spoke."

"I made a reservation."

"You made a security operation."

He smiled.

"Would you have preferred somewhere crowded?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then I chose correctly."

A server entered, poured water, and disappeared almost silently.

Adrian watched me for a moment.

"How was work?"

"Exhausting."

"Your terrible boss again?"

"He gave me more responsibility today."

"That sounds positive."

"It means I'll be working directly with him."

Adrian's expression changed.

"Directly?"

"For six weeks."

"Do you like him?"

I stared at him.

"As a boss?"

"As a man."

"That is an inappropriate question."

"You asked me if I was available this morning."

My fork nearly slipped from my hand.

"What?"

He frowned.

"I meant... you said your boss was attractive before."

My pulse hammered.

Had he remembered the office conversation, or was this a coincidence?

"I never said that."

"You implied it."

"You implied it."

"Maybe."

He leaned back.

"Still, do you like him?"

I decided to punish him a little.

"He is handsome."

Adrian's jaw tightened.

"That was not the question."

"He can be thoughtful sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"And he looks good in a suit."

"You notice his suits?"

"Everyone notices his suits."

"I see."

He picked up his water glass and took a slow drink.

I fought a smile.

"Are you jealous?"

"No."

"You look jealous."

"I am evaluating the situation."

"Like a business risk?"

"Exactly."

"And what is your conclusion?"

"Your boss should keep professional boundaries."

"That is rich coming from a man dating one woman while interrogating her about another."

"I'm not interrogating you."

"You asked three questions in under a minute."

"Concerned curiosity."

"Jealousy."

"Maybe a little."

I laughed.

His expression softened.

"I like hearing that in person," he said.

"Hearing what?"

"Your laugh."

The teasing left me.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Dinner arrived.

We talked more easily after that.

Adrian told me about university, the pressure of joining the company so young, and the constant suspicion that people respected his family name more than his ability.

"Is that why you work so much?" I asked.

"Partly."

"What is the other part?"

"It is easier than going home to an empty apartment."

The simple honesty in his voice hurt.

"You never told me that."

"Some things are harder to type."

"And easier to tell a woman wearing suspicious glasses?"

He smiled.

"Apparently."

After dinner, we stepped onto the terrace.

The city glittered below us.

Cold wind moved across the rooftop, and I held the edge of my wig without thinking.

Adrian noticed.

"Your hair okay?"

"Perfect."

"You have been touching it all evening."

"New haircut."

"You are still getting used to it?"

"Exactly."

He moved closer.

"May I?"

"May you what?"

"There is something caught near the back."

Panic exploded through me.

"No."

He stopped.

"No?"

"I mean, it is fine."

"It looks uncomfortable."

"I enjoy discomfort."

"That explains a lot about your taste in men."

Before I could reply, a strong gust of wind swept across the terrace.

The wig shifted.

I grabbed it with both hands.

Adrian stared.

I stared back.

"Claire," he said slowly.

"Yes?"

"Is your hair detachable?"

"No."

Another gust struck.

The wig lifted at the front.

Adrian reached forward instinctively and caught it before it flew away.

Unfortunately, he caught the wig.

Not my head.

For one terrible second, he stood there holding the dark bob in both hands.

My real hair fell loose around my shoulders.

His eyes widened.

Every excuse I had ever prepared vanished.

Adrian looked at the wig.

Then at my uncovered face.

Then back at the wig.

"Emma?" he whispered.

This time, there was no Claire left to hide behind.