Chapter 22: IT'S NOT LIKE THAT.

   

 I sat on the bed, heart pounding, replaying Alan’s words.

"Be my date for the ball."

That question had left me completely breathless, completely unsure of how to respond. And now, Alan—half-dressed, barefoot, searching for his shirt—was acting as if he hadn’t just dropped that bombshell.

I clenched the sheets beneath me, my mind in chaos. But Alan? Completely unbothered. He stood near the edge of the bed, his toned, bare torso catching the faint morning light. Muscles shifting as he reached for his discarded dress shirt, he moved with a casual grace—like a man who had nothing to regret.

I swallowed hard.

Say something, Samantha. But what? I couldn't just blurt out that my heart was still hammering from the way he’d looked at me last night, and how he almost kissed me.

Alan finally found his shirt, shaking it out lazily. He glanced over his shoulder, studying me with those sharp, sexy eyes.

"Still thinking?" His voice was deep, slow. Almost teasing.

I sucked in a breath. "About what?"

His lips twitched, just barely. "The ball, my question." He pulled on his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned, like he had no intention of finishing the job anytime soon.

My fingers curled into the sheets. I hated how effortlessly he got under my skin.

And then—

The door burst open.

"Samantha! I need you! We have—"

Isabel's voice cut off instantly.

Her gaze froze on Alan.

Alan. Standing there. Half-dressed. Clearly just gotten up from the bed.

For a solid three seconds, no one moved.

Then—

"WHAT—" Isabel nearly choked. "Alan?! What the actual—"

Alan completely calm. He didn’t flinch, didn’t scramble for an explanation. He simply flicked his eyes up at Isabel—like she was an interruption.

"You should know how to knock," he said smoothly, buttoning his shirt at an infuriatingly slow pace.

I wanted to disappear.

"It’s not—it's not what it looks like!" I blurted, scrambling off the bed, my face burning.

Isabel’s eyes widened even more. "So what exactly does it look like?!"

Alan, now fully dressed, smirked.

He walked past Isabel without so much as a glance back, leaving me trapped in his sister's furious, wide-eyed stare.

The moment Alan disappeared down the hall, Isabel snapped her head back to me.

"Samantha. White."

I flinched. First name. Last name. She’s about to kill me.

"Explain. Now."

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. What was I even supposed to say? Oh, Alan just showed up in my room, threw me off completely, and now I can’t think straight? No way.

"It’s not what you think," I mumbled weakly.

Isabel folded her arms. "Really? Because what I think is that I just walked in on my friend sitting on the bed While my half-dressed billionaire brother casually buttoned up his shirt like he owns the place."

I clenched my fists. "He does own the place."

She groaned. "Samantha!"

I exhaled sharply, pacing to the other side of the room.

Isabel raised a brow as she leaned against my desk, arms crossed. "So… you’re telling me Alan was in your room all night?"

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "It’s not what you think."

"Oh? Then tell me what it is."

I hesitated, the memory of last night still lingering. The way Alan had looked—so unlike his usual composed, cocky self. The weight of his presence in my space, the unspoken tension humming between us even in the quiet moments.

"He was drunk," I admitted. "He came into my room by mistake—or maybe not by mistake, I don’t know. But he wasn’t okay. I could see that."

Isabel raised a brow, waiting.

I exhaled. "I didn’t know what else to do, so I let him stay. He needed someone, and I—" I cut myself off, suddenly feeling ridiculous.

"And where exactly did you sleep?" she asked, her voice laced with amusement.

I shot her a look. "The couch."

She hummed in response, clearly unconvinced. "That’s cute. And let me guess—there was tension?"

I looked away, knowing denial would be pointless. "There’s always tension with him."

Isabel gasped dramatically. "So you admit it!"

I rolled my eyes, but my stomach flipped at the thought. "I’m not admitting anything."

"Sure, sure." She grinned. "And what happened this morning? What did he say?"

I hesitated again. This morning had been… unexpected. I could still feel the warmth of Alan’s gaze, the quiet way he had spoken to me—so different from his usual teasing.

"He apologized," I said finally. "Said he shouldn’t have put me in that position." My fingers tapped absently against the desk as I replayed the moment in my mind. "And then he asked me something."

Isabel leaned forward. "What?"

I swallowed. "He asked me to be his date for the ball."

Silence. Then, Isabel’s eyes widened before a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. "Well, well… and what did you say?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "I didn’t."

She blinked. "You didn’t?"

"I told him I’d think about it."

Isabel groaned, throwing her hands up. "Samantha! You are way too composed about this. If a Hawthorne brother asked me to be his date, I’d already be picking out my dress."

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. "It’s not that simple."

She gave me a knowing look. "Nothing ever is with those two."

She tilted her head, watching me closely. Then, her voice softened. "Do you like him?"

I froze. My heart did this strange little lurch in my chest, like it had been waiting for someone to ask me that very question.

"I…" The words stuck in my throat.

Isabel didn’t press, but her gaze was knowing. "Because if you do, I’m happy for you. I’m happy for him. And I’m rooting for you two."

I swallowed, something warm and uneasy twisting in my stomach. "Why would you say that?"

She smiled. "Because Alan has never had a serious relationship. Only flings. Just girls who came and went—nothing that lasted, nothing real. But if he’s asking you to go to the ball with him? Then he must really like you, Samantha."

Her words sent a shiver through me.

"And I hope you like him too," she continued, her voice sincere. "Because Alan deserves something good. And you are good."

I blinked at her, taken aback.

"So, yeah," she said with a shrug, her grin returning. "I’m rooting for you two. And I’m always here for you, Samantha. And for my brother."

Something in my chest squeezed at her words. The way she said it so simply, like it was obvious. Like it was natural for Alan to—

No. I wasn’t going to finish that thought.

"You’re overthinking this," I muttered, more to myself than to her.

"Maybe." Isabel winked. "Or maybe you just don’t want to admit it yet."

I didn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the truth myself.

Isabel’s smile didn’t waver, but something flickered in her eyes—something cautious.

"If your brother finds out, he won’t be happy about it."

She frowned, caught off guard. "Who? Blake?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

She let out a short, dry laugh, shaking her head. "Why would Blake care?"

“Well because he is my boss and Alan is his brother”

Isabel tilted her head slightly, studying me like she was waiting for me to catch up. "You really don’t see it, do you?"

A strange unease settled in my stomach. "See what?"

She sighed, leaning back at the desk.

"Blake might not say much, but he notices things. And trust me, when it comes to Alan, he notices everything. If he finds out Alan wants to take you to the ball—" She hesitated. "Let’s just say, it won’t sit well with him."

I swallowed, shifting in my seat. "That doesn’t make sense. I work for him—that’s all. He has no reason to care who I go to the ball with."

Isabel gave me a look like she wasn’t buying my logic. "Maybe he doesn’t. Or maybe he does. Either way, I’m just warning you—Blake’s not the type to sit back if he thinks Alan is getting too close to something—or someone—he doesn’t want him to have."

A shiver ran through me. I didn’t want to think about what that meant.

"So, what? You think he’s going to stop me from going?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

Isabel shrugged. "I don’t know. But if you say yes to Alan, just be ready for Blake to have something to say about it."

I exhaled slowly, my mind racing. Blake had been acting different lately—subtly, but enough for me to notice. But was it because of me? Or because of Alan?

And if it was because of me… why did that thought send heat crawling up my spine?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

I hesitated, the words forming on my tongue before I could stop them. "I don't know if I like Alan… because I don’t know what it’s like to like someone."

Isabel blinked, momentarily surprised. Then she smiled, resting her chin in her palm. "Well, that’s easy."

I gave her a doubtful look. "Is it?"

She nodded. "Of course. Tell me this—how do you feel when you’re near him? Happy? A lot of tension? Do you want to be around him all the time?"

I bit my lip, unsure how to answer. Did I feel happy around Alan? He frustrated me, confused me, but there was something about him that made my pulse race. And the tension—God, the tension was always there, thick in the air between us, like an unspoken thing neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

I thought about the way he looked at me, the way he always found ways to be close, to touch me, even in the smallest ways. The way his voice dipped when he said my name, or how he always seemed to know exactly what to say to throw me off balance.

I exhaled slowly and murmured, "Yes."

Isabel’s face brightened. "See? That’s your answer!"

I swallowed, the weight of my own confession settling in.

Then there was Blake. And suddenly, I felt like I was standing at the edge of something dangerous, something I wasn’t sure I was ready to fall into.

"And if I don’t want to like him?" I asked quietly.

She laughed, shaking her head. "Then that’s too bad, because it sounds like you already do. So Now that you have your answer, why don't you accept his invitation to the ball”

I looked at her, my pulse quickening. "What?"

Isabel grinned. "Now that you have your answer, why don’t you accept his invitation to the ball” she repeated her question.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. The idea sent a rush of warmth through me, but at the same time, hesitation held me back.

"I am not sure…" I murmured.

Isabel rolled her eyes playfully. "Oh, come on, Samantha. He asked you because he wants to take you. Not anyone else. That’s a big deal for Alan."

I swallowed hard. "I just… I don’t know if I’m ready for that."

She studied me for a moment before leaning forward. "Let me ask you this—do you want to go with him?"

My heart pounded. I thought about Alan, about the way he looked at me, the way he made me feel things I didn’t understand.

And then, before I could overthink it, I nodded. "Yes."

Isabel beamed. "Then say yes, Samantha. Say yes to Alan."

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