Michaela Who the hell is that blonde? And why is she standing so close to Phoenix? Whatever is going on between them looks intimate—too intimate, if you ask me. Oh shit. I bet he’s fucked her. That explains it. Did he have drinks with her before meeting with me? With his eyes locked onto mine, Phoenix struts towards me with such confidence, you’d think he owns the place. I straighten my shoulders as he approaches, both hands clenching my new bejeweled black clutch. I congratulate myself on my selection of heels. Five and a half inches don’t put me eye to eye with him, but at least I no longer feel like he towers over me. I pin him with a critical stare—a mix of bitterness, bravery, and... jealousy? No. No. No. That’s not even possible. I’m not jealous. I’m pissed off because he promised he wouldn’t humiliate me or make me look stupid. We’re not even married, and he’s already breaking his promise. Men. “Michaela.” He offers a warm smile. “Phoenix.” I allow my eyes to brush along his tall frame. I should be appreciating the view, but I’m too ticked off for that. So, I let my claws out. My eyes travel to the blonde shooting daggers at me before returning my attention to him. “Will your ex join us for dinner?” I plaster a mocking grin on my lips. He narrows his eyes at me. Under the lights, they glint like two dark sapphires. “She’s not an ex.” “And I’m the first female Pope,” I say with a wry smile. “I didn’t expect your love life to slap me across the face tonight.” Tension settles between us. A muscle in his jaw ticks and his nostrils flare. I brace myself for his retort, but to my surprise, he closes the gap between us and leans in until his lips flirt with my earlobe. “I have a past, Michaela. There’s nothing I can do
about it. She’s part of it,” he says. “I’m not a cheater. Stop worrying about her. She’s not worth it, trust me.” He pauses. “Tonight, is about you. You’re my present. This is our first date in public. We’re supposed to be madly in love.” I’m sure I wouldn’t be this affected if he hadn’t murmured those words in his trademark de ep, smokey voice. I clear my throat and take a st ep back, pulling away from his magnetic field of lust. “Thanks for clarifying that.” He gives me a onceover. “I’m glad to see you gave my Neiman Marcus account a good workout.” “I didn’t go overboard,” I say, worried he might think I took advantage of him. “I didn’t mean it as a criticism. You look stunning.” My cheeks flush. I’m certain they compete with the color of my dress. “Thank you,” I say. “I love the dress and the shoes.” Our gazes drop to my feet in unison before we lock eyes again. “So. Do. I.” I get that he’s the lead singer of a former boy band and all, but the man’s raspy voice is too sexy for words. “The shopping spree was generous of you,” I say. “I’m the lucky guy who gets to admire you.” He winks. “And by the way, hot pink is your color.” “It’s one of my favorites.” “You wear it well...” He gives me another appreciative onceover, so slow it’s like a caress. Then, a cocky grin forms on his kissable lips. “I can’t wait to discover your other favorites...” It could be my perverted mind, but I’m certain I heard a double entendre in his words. “The experience at the Pompadour spa was unparalleled.” I veer the conversation to mask my nervousness. “The stylists who did my hair and makeup worked their magic.” “They had a great canvas to begin with.” Oh wow. “Thank you again for everything,” I say. An afternoon at the spa and shopping at a high-end shop won’t make up for my predicament, but it was a welcome treat. For a few hours, I was able to forget everything. “It’s my pleasure. Consider it one of many shopping sprees to come.” I frown. “It’s not necessary.” “You’re not going to win this argument, Michaela. I’m fully aware of what you bought today. You only purchased a few pieces. That’s not a wardrobe.” It was way
more than a few pieces, but he’s right, it’s not a wardrobe. I was overwhelmed, and that says a lot, considering I’m well versed in the art of power shopping. But today was such a sobering experience. Back in New York, I had a walk-in closet stuffed with designer clothes that’s now all turned to ashes. It’s only when you lose everything, you realize how much you had. “You’re impossible.” “Get used to it,” he says. Another reminder things are about to change between us. A man approaches us. “Mr. König, are you ready for your table?” Phoenix glances down at me. “Hungry?” “I’m famished,” I say. “Shall we?” He extends an arm. I glide a hand over his forearm. To my surprise, Phoenix drops his other hand over mine. My gaze snaps to his. He cocks a challenging eyebrow. “Yes,” I say. He rewards me with a smile that could light up Las Vegas. And Paris. And New York. God, the König charm is potent... “If you’ll follow me,” the man, I assume is the maître d’, says. As we trail behind him, it’s impossible to ignore the curious looks––and murmurs––as people turn and stare as we venture further into the restaurant. “You’re drawing attention, kitten.” “Uh... no. These women are drooling all over you.” “You’re blind to your beauty, Michaela.” I love hearing my name on his lips? “Women are looking at you with envy, and men are looking at you, wishing you were hanging from their arm instead of mine. Tough luck.” I’m stunned. I’m unpr epared for that pantie-melting side of King Kong Tycoon. “You’re buttering me up again, König?” He slides a hand to my lower back, a move that sets my pulse racing. Good God. “No, kitty cat, I’m telling it like it is. You have the kind of undeniable beauty that could start a war between men.” My ovaries just exploded. “Here we are, Mr. König,” the maître d’hôtel says. “This is perfect,” Phoenix says before pulling out a chair for me. “Thank you.” I lower myself to the seat and place my clutch on the table. Phoenix unbuttons his suit jacket and sits across from me. I glance furtively around us. Our table for two is tucked into the corner of
the restaurant and offers an enviable view of the room. It’s a great vantage point, but it also means there’s nowhere to hide. The bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket sends a clear message. Showtime. “Should I pour the champagne, sir?” The maître points to the bottle. Phoenix’s eyes drop to it before locking onto me. “I assume this is okay?” “Champagne is more than okay,” I say. “Especially, when it’s Krug’s Grande Cuve n e.” When we’re short staffed at the Villiers Grand’s restaurant, I cover for the wait staff. We carry an assortment of expensive champagne, so I know how much this bottle cost. “Nothing is too good for my girl,” Phoenix says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. It’s with great effort I don’t roll my eyes. I channel my inner starlet. “Baby, you take such good care of me. How did I ever get to be this lucky?” I’m not one to be upstaged. He chuckles. The maître d’ pops the cork. For some strange reason, I’m tempted to shout Opa!, but I refrain. “I’ll send your waiter over,” he says, pouring the champagne in our flutes before submerging the bottle in the bucket of ice. “It’s been a long week for both of us,” Phoenix says. “Let’s start with the platter of antipasto.” Whoa. I’m careful not to let on how surprised I am by his selection, considering he doesn’t know my food preferences yet. “We’ll order our main dishes later,” he says. He moves his attention to me. “Are you okay with that, sweetheart?” Game. On. “Baby, you know I’ll never refuse a charcuterie platter.” “Should we opt for an extra platter of cheese?” “Absolutely.” I nod. I peer up at the maître d’. “Personally, I think cheese should be a food group,” I say with feigned seriousness. “I agree.” The maître d’ chuckles. “I’ll have the platters sent to your table pronto.” “Thank you,” Phoenix says. With that, the short, bald man vanishes in a puff of efficiency. “The service is impeccable at the Luogo Sapori,” I say. “You’re sure this restaurant doesn’t fall under the König umbrella?” “I wish,” he says. “Everything is irr eproachable here. I’ve been coming here for years and I’ve never had one complaint. Wait until you taste the food. You’re going to be blown away. And I say that
from the viewpoint of a man who hires some of the best chefs in the country. I’ve thrown big money at the grandmother who’s still the main chef, but she refuses to come work for me. Something about maintaining the legacy and heritage. Whatever.” Phoenix lifts his champagne glass. I mimic him. “Here’s to us,” he says. “Here’s to us.” I can’t help my smile. We clink our flutes and take a long sip of our champagne, eyeing each other from over the rim of the glasses. The effervescent liquid hits my taste buds. What a decadent treat. “This is exquisite.” The words slip from my tongue. “Worth every penny?” “Definitely.” My gaze swe eps across the room, taking in our surroundings until my eyes fix on the blonde who was practically draped all over Phoenix when I arrived. Her lips contort in an expression of contempt. She gives me that look. It’s like she’s saying, “Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?” I flash her a triumphant smile as I lift my champagne glass. That’s right, he’s mine. As soon as the thought pops into my mind I want to slap my forehead. He’s not yours, silly. This is fake. A business transaction. An arrangement. This fierce sense of possessiveness is foreign to me. It makes no sense whatsoever considering I’ve only known Phoenix less than forty-eight hours. My eyes meet his. I study his handsome face as he holds my gaze. His strong, chiseled jaw is dusted with dark stubble, setting off the unique shade of his magnificent blue eyes, and his lightly tanned skin tells me he spends more time behind a desk than on a beach. My eyes travel as I continue my inspection. His arms bulge under his fitted black tailored suit jacket and since he’s sans tie, I get a nice peek of his chest. Devastatingly handsome. Beautifully muscular. And impeccably dressed. This is suit porn at its best. I’m willing to bet Phoenix König is something else in bed. No wonder that blonde wants to pierce my heart with a poisoned dagger. “You’re done checking me out?”
I suck my bottom lip under my teeth to curtail a smile, dropping my gaze to my flute for a beat before glancing up at him. “You’re hard to miss.” That comes out a little flirtier than I intended. A smile tickles the side of his mouth. “Is that a compliment, Michaela?” We run hot and cold, but right now, we’re running scorching hot. “Maybe.” One word. More than that and I’ll compromise myself. He considers me for a beat. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” “Our little secret?” I play along. “Exactly.” I laugh. “You’re warming up to me, kitty cat?” “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, König.” The air between us is crackling. It’s quite the d eparture from the cold front that’s been blowing between us. A waiter approaching, carrying a massive tray, interrupts our banter. After placing a mouthwatering display of food on the table, he places his hands behind his back and bows. We thank him, and he disappears. The efficiency here is commendable. “Buon appetito!” Phoenix says. “Dig in.” “You don’t have to tell me twice.” “You’re not going to argue with me?” Before I can answer, a man dressed head-to-toe in white with spiky blue hair approaches our table. “Fuck,” Phoenix says. I frown my confusion. I lean into the table. “Who is he?” The man speaks before Phoenix is able to respond. “Looks like Phoenix’s Prodigious Phallus is spoken for.” My jaw drops. Phoenix’s eyes burn with fury as he moves his gaze away from mine. “What kind of stupid nickname is that?” “According to my many sources, it fits,” the man says. I can picture Phoenix’s Prodigious Phallus, and in my filthy mind it’s pretty impressive—like the rest of him. “Are you done annoying me?” “That’s silly, King König. I’m lubing you up. I haven’t even dropped to my knees to give you a blowjob yet,” the man says. I believe that’s my job— Whoa. Where the hell did that come from? Getting up close and personal with Phoenix’s Prodigious Phallus isn’t part of our arrangement. “What do you want, Payne?” The man hovers over our table. “Enough for eplay,” he says. “In the name of journalistic
integrity—” “Integrity?” Phoenix says. “You wouldn’t know how to spell the word even if the answer flashed across your screen.” “Well, my millions of followers would disagree with you,” the man says. “I am a bona fide r eporter.” He flashes Phoenix a condescending smirk. This sparring between the two men doesn’t go unnoticed. All eyes are on us. Great. “You mean, you post garbage on your celebrity site,” Phoenix says. I remember reading Payne Meldrum’s snarky article when I was getting my hair done. It was pretty condescending. “What a coincidence we’d end up at the same place at the same time. Lucky me.” Payne ignores Phoenix’s dig. “I get to witness the love story of the year unfold in front of my very own eyes.” The sarcasm is thicker than a cloud of smoke. He shifts his attention to me, long enough to give me a onceover. “She’s gorgeous,” he says. “Why have you been ke eping her a secret, Phoenix?” “My relationship isn’t up for discussion, Payne. Unlike the salt and p epper grinders, it’s not on the table.” “So, you’re Michaela, aka, the fiancée?” Payne continues his interrogation, unfazed. “Where’s the ring?” His eyes zooming to my left hand. “Let me guess. It’s being sized.” He rolls his eyes. “You two are rushing to get married, but you’re not wearing his ring yet? Right. I smell a publicity stunt.” What an asshole. “Payne—” “I’m sure the conc ept of privacy is foreign to you.” I say, interrupting Phoenix. “However, it’s still a value many of us hold sacred.” I pin the short man leering at me with a stern glare. “Would you suggest we start making out on the table for you to believe we’re in love? Or perhaps I should straddle my fiancé’s lap and grind against him like I’m riding Ginuwine’s Pony. Or would you rather we text you a clip of the kinky sex video we shot last night and call it a day?” Payne’s irritating smirk falls. I’m on a roll. “As for my ring, my fiancé wanted me to have the ring of my dreams–– one I’ll be proud to wear on this finger forever.” I flash my hand and point to my ring finger. “So, he bought six different eye-popping styles that would make a bona fide princess green with
envy.” I read this story online not long ago and I can’t believe it’s come in handy. “Phoenix surprised me with them this morning over breakfast.” I place a hand against my heart. “It was so romantic.” I pause and sigh theatrically. “Having to wait a few days until the ring is sized to perfection is a small price to pay for long lasting happiness.” I plaster a disingenuous grin on my face. “It shouldn’t matter if you believe Phoenix and I are in love, because it’s none of your business, but for whatever reason, you decided to make it your business. Do you have any other questions for us, Payne, or can we enjoy our dinner in peace?” The annoying celebrity content creator’s eyelashes—coated in gaudy electric-blue mascara that matches his hair—flutter like the wings of a chicken about to set flight as his eyes ping pong from mine to Phoenix’s. He’s stunned. Frankly, so am I. Since yesterday, it seems I no longer have any filters and I have no problem putting people in their place. I don’t know what kind of beef Payne has with Phoenix, but I didn’t come this far to let this asshole jeopardize everything. I don’t make it a habit to lie, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “I admire your lady balls,” Payne says. “I’m quite attached to them.” Sarcasm drips from my words. “Consider me your consigliere now,” Payne says with a respectful bow. “My what?” “It’s a nod to the Godfather movie,” Phoenix says. “Exactly,” Payne says. “Which means, I can’t publish tomorrow’s article on King König and his queen without photos.” I flatten my lips. “Don’t bother taking photos if it’s to ridicule us again.” “As your consigliere, I’m now your ally,” he says. This guy is so flighty. It’s scary to think how many people he influences every day. However, the show must go on. I meet Phoenix’s gaze. “Is it okay with you, my love?” He cocks an eyebrow, visibly impressed. “As long as it’s okay with you, sweetheart.” I nod. Payne snaps away. “Well, I’ll be out of your hair,” the content creator says after snapping what seems like a hundred photos. “Too much gossip, too little time.” With that, he’s
gone. Unbelievable. My eyes meet Phoenix’s. It’s not like I can ask him questions since everyone in the restaurant is staring at us, including the blonde who insists on giving me the evil eye. “Well, that was interesting,” I say, before gulping down the rest of my champagne. A single quirk of one corner of Phoenix’s mouth suggests he approves of my performance. “You’re full of surprises.” I lean into the table. “We’re a team.” I’m mesmerized as he reaches for my hand and lifts it up to his lips before dropping a soft kiss against it. The delicious sensation is so unexpected, I hitch a breath. “We’re a team,” he says.