Chapter 2

two

. . .

Alex

I stand at the edge of the murmuring crowd, a flute of champagne teetering forgotten between my fingers. Sharp jabs about my perpetually single status assault me from all sides. Well-meaning, but they sting all the same.

I'm weary of this conversation—the same one that's been gnawing at me for years. It's as though my success is nothing without a partner to flaunt.

"Alex, you've got everything—a woman's touch is all that's missing in your life," my sister prods with a nudge that's less playful and more pointed.

"Maybe he's just too picky," chimes in my brother, before he laughs like he's cracked the funniest joke of the evening.

Their barbs cling to my skin. I resist the urge to rub away their expectations along with the irritation that comes with them.

Why is my love life—or lack thereof—anyone's business but my own?

It's not that I don't want a woman. I just haven't found that one yet.

Granted, I don't know how I'll know that I've found the one , only that somehow I will.

I'll just know .

I think.

Fuck, I don't know.

I scowl.

My sister makes another serious remark wrapped up in a teasing tone, but before I can conjure up a retort, my attention snags on something—or rather, someone —far more captivating.

There's a goddess standing amidst the opulence of the gala, a striking contrast to the sea of tailored suits and designer gowns. I watch in awe as she holds her hand up to an earpiece, her lips moving urgently.

Those lips…holy fuck. They're wet and glistening with red gloss.

Like ripe cherries…

My cock twitches in my pants as my eyes rove over her heart-shaped face.

Green eyes, dark hair that flows down her curvy back. My fingers twitch at the dip in her back, her waist.

She's all curves and confidence, her dress hugging every inch of her like it was painted on just for her.

Her every move radiates efficiency, the way she glides across the floor with purpose, orchestrating the night's events with an invisible hand.

She must be the event planner I hired. Fucking hell, had I know this sweet thing would be orgaizing everything, I might have taken a more active role in the planning of this evening.

My eyes trace the length of her legs, the swell of her breasts beneath the fabric, a primal appreciation coursing through my veins.

A surge of something darker curls within me, possessive and immediate.

I want her.

The intensity of this sudden desire takes me by surprise, the ferocity unlike anything I've felt before. And it's not just her body that has me entranced—it's everything about her.

She has this confidence but also this innocence about her.

I tear my eyes off her long enough to pull up my emails. I quickly locate the one with the details about tonight and find what I'm looking for.

Charlotte Greene. Goes by Charlie.

Charlie.

Even her name feels like a puzzle piece clicking into place—a perfect match for the enigmatic woman who now holds my rapt attention.

My heart pounds a rhythm that syncs with the steps she takes, each one echoing the growing need taking root deep within me.

"Excuse me," I say, abandoning my glass on a passing tray with a clatter. The chatter of my siblings fades behind me as I navigate the crowd, intent on one thing.

Get to her .

Every instinct tells me what I'm about to do is reckless, but caution has no place here—not when every fiber of my being demands that I know her.

I close the distance between us, my stride confident. She's a vision against the backdrop of opulence—her curves wrapped in professionalism, yet screaming to be unwrapped, and I'm like a kid at Christmas.

"Busy night, huh?" My voice is silk over steel as I lean casually against the marble pillar beside her.

Charlie doesn't miss a beat, her eyes flicking to mine for just a fraction of a second before returning to her clipboard.

"You're handling everything beautifully. It's rare to see someone so...dedicated."

It's as if she finally realizes who I am because her eyes flick back up to mine and she apologizes, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Bennet. I was engrossed in triple-checking the menu."

"Alex," I correct her smoothly, letting my name hang between us like an invitation. "And triple-checking?" I chuckle softly. "Sounds like you're as much of a perfectionist as I am."

Her lips twitch, almost smiling, but she maintains her professionalism. "It's important to me that everything goes perfectly at these events."

I nod, appreciating her diligence and the slight flush on her

cheeks as she speaks. Her commitment is admirable, and it only fuels my curiosity about her.

"Can I do something for you?" she asks, all business.

"Something like that." I flash a grin, but it fades as she remains unmoved, unimpressed. "Have dinner with me."

The words slip out, more command than request.

She blinks and looks startled, but then she quickly recovers, her veneer of professionalism falling back over her face. "Mr. Bennett—Alex—thank you, but I don't mix business with pleasure. It's unprofessional."

My heart falls, and something coils tight in my chest. Panic—an unfamiliar and loathsome sensation—grips me.

I can't let her walk away. The thought alone is intolerable.

"I'll pay you," I blurt out.

Her eyebrows shoot up, and I wince. "Dammit, that came out wrong," I quickly ammend.

"I think I should go—" she turns to walk away, and I damn near have a heart attack.

"Wait," I say, and there's an edge of desperation in my voice I barely recognize."Hear me out."

She pauses, eyebrows raised, waiting.

And I don't know what the fuck comes over me, but I say the craziest, stupidest thing I can think of in a last-ditch bid to keep her from walking away.

I just need to buy more time with her, and I don't give a fuck how I go about doing that.

"Be my fake girlfriend." If possible, her eyes, framed by those thick, beautiful lashes, get even wider. "It's not what you think," I go on. I'm babbling now, and it's pathetic, but fuck, it's the effect this woman apparently has on me. "It's...strategic. For appearances. My family—they won't stop giving me shit about not having a girlfriend."

"Fake girlfriend?" Her voice is incredulous, skeptical. "Why would I?—"

"Because I'll pay you a lot," I interrupt, urgency bleeding into my words. "Enough to make any financial worries disappear."

Charlie's expression is unreadable for a moment that stretches too long. Then, slowly, she lowers her clipboard. "How much are we talking?"

"Name your price," I say without hesitation.

"Playing someone's girlfriend isn't exactly in my job description," she says, but there's a new note in her voice.

Thank fuck, she's considering it.

"Consider it a side gig. One that pays exceptionally well." Hope surges through my veins. "What do you say?"

She studies me, her gaze intense and probing. I hold my breath, waiting, needing her to say yes.

Not for the sake of quieting my family, but because the desire to have her by my side—even under false pretenses—has become a craving I can't ignore.

"Fine," she finally says, and relief crashes into me like a wave. "But we set clear terms. This is strictly business."

"Strictly business," I echo, a victorious smile curling my lips.

"Starting now," she adds firmly, extending her hand.

I take it, and a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm from the contact. My cock shoots a spurt of precum from my tip. I feel it stain the inside of my pants.

Christ Almighty, what this curvy beauty does to me.

No way in hell this is strictly business.

Because Charlie is the one .

I know it.