Chapter 17 - It Was Supposed to Be Fake

Ailsa kept her eyes on the passing lights outside the car because looking at Callum felt like volunteering for a second mistake.

Except it had not felt like a mistake.

That was the problem.

The city slid by in wet reflections. Streetlamps broke across the windows, gold and white over black pavement. Beside her, Callum sat with his hands loose on his knees, six inches of leather between them and enough restraint to make every inch noticeable.

Neither of them spoke until the car stopped at a light.

Ailsa turned first.

“We need to say something.”

“All right.”

She hated how calm he sounded.

“That kiss was supposed to solve a problem.”

“It did.”

“That is not what I mean,” Ailsa said.

“I know.”

Of course he did.

Ailsa folded her arms. “It got away from us.”

His gaze stayed on hers.

“Yes.”

No denial. No convenient claim that cameras had made it look more convincing than it was.

Ailsa had prepared herself to argue with exactly that.

She had not prepared for agreement.

“I kissed you back,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Stop saying yes like this is a board meeting,” Ailsa said.

“What would you prefer?”

“I don’t know. Something less reasonable.”

One corner of his mouth moved.

The mouth she had kissed in front of a room full of people and then kept kissing after the room no longer mattered.

Ailsa looked away again.

“It wasn’t neutral,” she said.

The admission felt larger than it should have.

Callum was quiet for a moment.

“No.”

Her pulse gave one hard beat.

“But,” she said, turning back, “nothing in the agreement changes.”

“I assumed that.”

“No new expectations. No private performance. No deciding that because we wanted one kiss, this has become something else,” Ailsa said.

“I’m not deciding anything for you.”

The answer came without offense.

Ailsa studied him.

“You don’t want to argue?”

“I want several things I’m not going to do merely because I want them.”

Heat climbed her neck.

“That sounds suspiciously like an argument.”

“It wasn’t intended as one.”

The light changed. The car moved.

Ailsa expected him to ask what she wanted.

He did not.

That should have made the conversation easier.

Instead, she became painfully aware that he could have asked for another kiss and had chosen not to.

Her body, traitorous and apparently without governance procedures, noticed too.

Callum looked toward the front of the car. “Where do you want to be dropped?”

The question was so ordinary she nearly laughed.

“Home.”

He gave the address to the driver.

No detour. No invitation upstairs somewhere. No suggestion that they continue talking once the car stopped.

Ailsa should have been relieved.

She was.

Mostly.

When they reached her building, Callum got out before her because cameras might still be nearby. He opened the door and offered his hand.

Ailsa stared at it.

His expression changed.

“I can move.”

“No.”

She put her hand in his.

The contact was familiar now, which was dangerous in an entirely different way.

Callum helped her onto the pavement and released her immediately.

No thumb brushing her knuckles. No lingering.

Nothing she could accuse of meaning more.

“Good night, Ailsa.”

“Good night.”

She walked to the entrance without looking back.

At the door, she failed.

Callum was still beside the car.

He was not watching her like a man waiting to be invited inside.

He was making sure she got through the door.

When she did, he turned away.

Ailsa went upstairs annoyed with him for behaving exactly as she had asked.

The next morning, Mairi took one look at her and said, “No.”

Ailsa set her bag on the desk. “Good morning to you too.”

“I saw the video.”

“So did half the country,” Ailsa said.

“I saw the second half of the kiss.”

Ailsa froze.

Mairi leaned against the doorframe.

“That was not public relations.”

“Thank you for the forensic analysis,” Ailsa said.

“Do you want tea?”

“Yes,” Ailsa said.

“Do you want to talk about Callum?”

“No,” Ailsa said.

“Excellent. Tea is easier.”

Mairi disappeared before Ailsa could resent her for being useful.

Ailsa opened her inbox.

The kiss had done what it was meant to do. Questions about whether the engagement was fake had collapsed overnight. One headline called them unexpectedly passionate. Another wondered how long they had been secretly involved.

None of that should have bothered her.

The problem was the clip.

She watched it once because she needed to know what everyone else had seen.

That was the excuse.

The first kiss looked controlled.

The second did not.

Callum's hand shifted against her neck. Her fingers tightened in his jacket. There was a moment, brief but obvious, when neither of them appeared to remember anyone else existed.

Ailsa closed the video.

Then deleted it from her recent history, as if that changed anything.

Mairi returned with tea and placed it beside her.

“Still no?”

“Still no,” Ailsa said.

“Fine.”

A knock sounded at the outer office.

Ailsa knew who it was before Callum appeared through the glass.

That was worse than the kiss.

Recognition had become immediate.

He entered carrying two folders.

Mairi looked from him to Ailsa.

“I suddenly have work elsewhere.”

“You always have work elsewhere,” Ailsa said.

“Today I have it enthusiastically.”

She left.

Callum placed the folders on the meeting table.

“Counsel has the final firewall language.”

“Good,” Ailsa said.

“And communications wants ten minutes about tonight.”

Ailsa remembered the charity reception on their schedule.

Public.

Cameras.

Hands.

No reason to kiss.

Her mind supplied the last thought far too quickly.

She sat across from him.

Callum did not choose the chair beside her, though it would have made the documents easier to share. He took the one opposite.

Subtle.

Deliberate.

She noticed anyway.

They worked through the legal language first.

Client data remained inaccessible to Sinclair Group. Exit retained operational control. The support commitment could not be revoked because the engagement ended.

Nothing had changed.

On paper, at least.

When they reached the appearance notes, Callum slid the page toward her.

“Communications recommends normal physical familiarity.”

Ailsa read the line.

Hand-holding. Arm at back. Standing close for photographs.

No mention of kissing.

She should not have felt disappointed.

She absolutely did not feel disappointed.

“Fine,” she said.

Callum nodded.

That was all.

Ailsa looked up. “You’re making this very easy.”

“I thought that was the objective.”

“You know what I mean,” Ailsa said.

“Yes.”

Again with yes.

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not going to ask whether last night changes anything.”

“You already told me it doesn’t.”

“And you believe me,” Ailsa said.

“I believe you know what you agreed to.”

That answer did something unhelpful to her chest.

“What about what you want?”

Callum leaned back.

For the first time since he arrived, something less controlled crossed his face.

“I want to kiss you again.”

Ailsa stopped breathing.

He continued before she could answer.

“I’m not asking.”

The room went very still.

“Why tell me?”

“Because pretending I don’t would be another lie, and we already have enough of those.”

Ailsa looked down at the ring.

The attraction was real.

The engagement was not.

Both facts could exist at once. She had built an entire company on the premise that one truth did not erase another.

“Good,” she said.

Callum's eyebrow lifted.

“Good that you’re not asking.”

“Understood.”

He gathered the appearance notes.

At the door, he paused.

“Seven tonight.”

“I know.”

He left.

Ailsa sat alone with her tea, the legal agreement, and the completely unreasonable awareness of his mouth.

The worst part was not that she wanted another kiss.

It was that tonight, there would be cameras everywhere.

She was afraid she might want one without needing the cameras at all.