Chapter Five: Morning After

Lola woke to sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains of Adrian Blackwood’s penthouse, a faint scent of wine still lingering in the air. For a brief second, she tried to convince herself it had all been a dream. Then the ache in her shoulders, the heat that clung stubbornly to her skin, reminded her it hadn’t.

She blinked, groaning softly, and turned toward the source of the warmth beside her. The bed was empty. Almost immediately, a mix of relief and disappointment settled in her chest.

He emerged from the bathroom, hair slightly mussed, sleeves rolled up, tie still undone. He moved with the same effortless control that had drawn her in from the very beginning, yet this morning he seemed… different. More approachable. Slightly softer, but every bit as magnetic.

“Morning,” he said casually, holding a mug of coffee. The casual tone belied the electricity crackling in the room.

“Morning,” she replied, voice hoarse and low, betraying the restless sleep, or lack thereof, that had kept her tossing.

He handed her the mug, their fingers brushing, and the contact was enough to make her pulse spike. She tried not to think about it. Failed.

“You feel okay?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze flicking over her, assessing without comment.

“I… fine,” she lied, even as her stomach fluttered. Her hands tightened around the mug, knuckles whitening.

Adrian’s lips curved ever so slightly. “Good. We should probably discuss the schedule for today.”

Lola groaned. The sound was part frustration, part disbelief. “Schedule? We just… you know…”

He raised a brow, clearly amused. “Yes. That. And now it’s morning. Life moves forward, Miss Foster.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a little smile. “You make everything sound so… controlled.”

“That’s because I like control,” he replied, voice dropping an octave. “And I like you to get used to the idea that I don’t relinquish it easily.”

Her stomach flipped, heat rushing to her cheeks. The memory of last night’s wine, the close brush of his body, the teasing tension that had built until neither of them could ignore it, everything came back in a rush.

“I…” She stopped, unsure how to articulate the mess of desire, awkwardness, and fascination that tangled inside her.

Adrian leaned back, eyes dark and unreadable. “It’s fine if you’re a little disoriented. I am, too.”

Her head snapped up. “You are?”

He smirked faintly, as though he knew precisely the effect he had on her. “I think that’s why we work so well together,” he said quietly. “We both react more than we plan to.”

She swallowed. “React… to what?”

He stood then, moving closer, filling the space with his presence, the scent of him intoxicating. It was YSL Myslf EDP. The tension was immediate, undeniable. “To each other,” he said simply. His hand hovered near hers, a silent invitation. Not too much. Not yet. Just close enough that every nerve ending tingled.

She flinched slightly and laughed nervously. “This is… so awkward.”

“Awkward?” he repeated, voice low and teasing. “I would call it… necessary practice.”

Her pulse quickened again, a little faster than it should have, a little harder than she could justify. The room seemed to shrink, their bodies magnetically drawn to one another, even in the daylight.

She tried to step back but found her own body reluctant to obey. His gaze held hers, unwavering, patient, and the quiet heat between them made her feel both exposed and dangerously alive.

“Coffee?” she asked suddenly, needing a distraction, though her voice trembled.

He smirked, tilting his head. “Sure. But don’t pretend you’re here only for the caffeine.”

Lola felt her stomach flip. She knew he was right.

The silence stretched for a moment, only broken by the faint clink of mugs and the soft hum of the city below.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“And yet,” he said quietly, stepping a fraction closer, “you haven’t stepped away.”

Her chest tightened. She didn’t.

The morning was a delicate balance: sips of coffee, tentative conversation, careful glances, and small, electric touches that lingered just a heartbeat too long. Both were aware, both teasing the edges of the line they shouldn’t cross, both trapped in the tension of proximity.

Eventually, Adrian leaned back slightly, though the heat of his gaze didn’t waver. “You need to be ready for the interview later. Cameras, investors, my mother. Public affection. Controlled, believable, convincing.”

Lola nodded, but all she could focus on was the memory of last night's wine, laughter, whispered words, closeness that had left her heart racing and skin tingling. She realized, with a jolt, that she was already craving it again.

“Miss Foster,” he murmured, voice low, teasing, authoritative. “Do not forget, our time together is temporary. We maintain boundaries.”

Her lips twitched into a small, almost guilty smile. “Boundaries,” she repeated.

“Yes,” he said, eyes glinting. “Temporary. Necessary. But not… forgettable.”

The words hit her differently this morning than they had the night before. The tension, the unspoken electricity between them was all real. And dangerous.

As he walked to the window, adjusting his cufflinks, she realized something that both thrilled and terrified her: the pretend engagement was no longer just a game.

Somewhere in the mix of wine, heat, and proximity, something had shifted. And neither of them could pretend it hadn’t.

Lola wrapped her arms around herself, trying to regain composure. The city below seemed to pulse in rhythm with her heartbeat, a reminder that she was alive, exposed, and completely under his spell.

She sipped her coffee, exhaled slowly, and accepted it.

Three weeks had never felt so short.