Thursday night arrived faster than Aria was ready for.
She'd spent an embarrassing amount of time standing in front of her closet, rejecting outfit after outfit like her life depended on it. Not because she cared what Ethan thought, obviously — but because if she was going to fake-date her office nemesis, she might as well look better than whatever airhead he'd normally drag to these things.
She settled on a sleek black dress. Simple. Elegant. Maybe a little too backless, but it made her feel like she might survive the evening.
Her phone buzzed.
Ethan: Outside. Try not to start a fight in the first five minutes.
She grabbed her clutch, took one last steadying breath, and headed down.
And immediately regretted everything.
Because Ethan Cole, leaning against his car in a charcoal suit, looking like a sin she didn't have time for, gave her a slow once-over and let out a low whistle.
"Damn, Lane. Didn't know you cleaned up like that."
"Shut up and drive."
He laughed, opening the passenger door for her with an obnoxious bow. "Your chariot awaits, my lady."
"Get in before I change my mind."
Disaster mood: set.
The dinner was one of those insufferable fancy affairs — string quartet, glittering chandeliers, too-small portions of things that probably cost more than her rent. Aria plastered on her corporate smile and let Ethan steer them through the endless introductions.
And to everyone's shock — including her own — they were good at it.
Charming. Sharp. Trading banter like pros. One exec actually leaned over and said, "You two are hilarious together. What a great couple."
Aria choked on her wine. Ethan clapped her on the back, laughing way too hard.
"Careful, babe," he teased under his breath. "Wouldn't want you dying on me mid-date."
"I hate you so much."
"Sure you do."
Then came the dance floor.
Because of course there was one.
And of course, Mr. Lawson insisted they "mingle."
Ethan smirked, holding out his hand. "C'mon, Lane. Let's give them a show."
"I'd rather get hit by a bus."
"Tempting, but this'll be more fun."
He dragged her onto the floor before she could argue. The music was smooth, jazzy, and Ethan, damn him, could dance.
"Relax," he murmured, his hand on the small of her back. "Nobody's watching."
Which was a lie. Half the room was watching.
Worse — Aria was hyperaware of how close they were, how easy it felt, how his stupid cologne was actually kind of amazing.
"I swear if you step on my foot—"
"Please. I'm a professional."
"A professional what, exactly?"
"Heartbreaker," Ethan grinned.
"You wish."
And then — chaos.
A waiter tripped nearby, sending an entire tray of champagne flutes crashing to the floor. Aria jumped, lost her footing — and Ethan caught her.
One hand around her waist, the other braced behind her head. Classic romcom fall.
Dead silence.
They stared at each other, faces inches apart.
Neither moved.
Someone wolf-whistled.
And Ethan, his voice low and teasing but his eyes a little too soft, whispered, "I got you."
Aria's heart did a full somersault.
And for the first time all night, she had no comeback.
They stayed like that a moment too long, until Gwen's voice cut through the haze.
"Would you two just make out already?"
Aria shoved Ethan away, cheeks burning. "We're leaving."
"Good call," Ethan grinned, offering his arm. "Most fun I've had at one of these."
"Die."
He winked. "Ladies first."...