she knew just how to do that—act like she was in love with him.
She didn’t have any experience in the theater, though. Unlike so many other women, she hadn’t come to New York to be an actress. She had come to be a fashion designer. But apparently, she had acted her ass off the past two years as an executive assistant in a law firm.
She could do this. She had to do this.
The elevator dinged. Here was her curtain call.
She drew in a deep breath and forced a bright smile. But she didn’t hear the quick taps of Simon’s shoes against the hardwood floor. Instead, she heard the creak and whine of metal wheels rolling over the wood.
“What the hell...?” she murmured. And she stood to peer into the reception area just as a chef, complete with tall hat, white uniform and apron, rolled in the metal cart she’d heard.
He paused in her doorway. “You—Miss Monroe?” he asked, his accent thick and impossible to place—at least for Bette.
Despite six years of living in the melting pot of New York City, the only accents she could readily place were ones like her own: Midwestern. This man could have been French, Belgian, Swiss, Austrian or faking it. There were a lot of people in this city who pretended to be from someplace they were not. Who pretended to be what they were not.
So she should be able to pretend with Simon.
This man she answered honestly, “Yes, I’m Bette Monroe.”
The chef’s beady-eyed gaze traveled from her hair, drawn into that tight bun, down to the closed toes of her pumps and back. His brow furrowed as if he doubted her. Would she have to show her license?
She hoped not because whatever he had on that cart, simmering in chafing dishes with burners beneath them, smelled like heaven—if heaven smelled like savory spices and beef and potatoes.
Her stomach growled, and her mouth began to water.
The guy made a noise, too, in his throat. It was either a groan of disgust or exasperation. “Mr. Kramer said you would be expecting me.”
She glanced at her computer, which was open to her email, then down at her phone, which had no new texts. “Mr. Kramer didn’t mention you to me yet.”
What was this? Along with the chafing dishes were two plates, cloth napkins and a couple of candles ready to light. A romantic dinner for two? Who was Simon meeting here?
The elevator dinged again and she realized she was about to find out. But the taps were Simon’s quick footsteps, not the clicks of a woman’s heels. At least he had arrived before his date.
“Bruno!” Simon exclaimed as he strode through the reception area and saw the chef standing just outside the open door to Bette’s office. “Excellent timing.”
“She did not know I was coming,” Bruno remarked as if disparaging Bette for not being psychic. He was definitely not criticizing Simon for not telling her. From the way he stared at Simon, it was clear he found nothing wrong with the blond lawyer and everything right.
Simon grinned. “Of course not. It’s a surprise.”
“For me?” Bette asked as her heart began to thump faster and harder.
“There is no one else,” Simon said with a wink.
She bit her bottom lip to hold in the laugh at the blatant lie. She’d never known him to date only one woman at a time—if what he did could actually be called dating.
More like heart breaking...
Her heart rate quickened with the reminder. But now, with his gaze turned on her, she understood how he’d broken so many hearts. He wasn’t just outrageously good-looking, as if that wasn’t enough.
“Bruno, please set up in my office.” Simon directed him, gesturing with his briefcase toward his closed door.
Bruno nodded and wheeled his cart away. And Bette’s stomach growled in protest.
Simon raised a golden-blond brow. “Sounds like Bruno arrived just in time.”
Heat rushed toward her face. “I skipped lunch,” she explained.
“I know,” Simon said. “Miguel told me. That’s why I asked Bruno to prepare dinner for us.”
She shook her head. “That’s not necessary. I can eat when I get home.” And work. She had so much to do for her new job. She really needed to cut short these two weeks—as short as she possibly could.
“That won’t be for a while yet,” he told her.
“But—but it’s already so late...” From last Friday night, she knew that it was not a good idea to be alone in the office with him.
“We will work over dinner,” he said, “and finish up so you can get home to your...” He raised an eyebrow again as he waited for her reply.
“Apartment.”
It wasn’t any of his business why she was quitting; it wasn’t any of his business if she lived with someone or had a boyfriend. The less Simon Kramer knew about her the better off she would be.
He was undeterred and asked, “Is anyone waiting for you in that apartment?”
She let a smile slip out as she shook her head. “No. I don’t have a cat. And the building doesn’t allow dogs.”
“Good,” he said. “I’m allergic.”
She wanted to tell him that there was no way in hell he was ever coming to her apartment. But before the words slipped out like her smile had, she remembered her plan. So she smiled wider and murmured, “Then it’s good I don’t have one.”
His blue eyes momentarily widened with surprise at her remark before narrowing with obvious suspicion. He studied her face. “So you’re going to invite me to your place?”
Her pulse kicked into overdrive, racing away. She was nervous about her plan. She wasn’t imagining him in her apartment, although he would look damn good in her new place. That wasn’t going to happen. Ever.
“That wouldn’t be appropriate while I’m still working for you,” she said. Then, summoning all the acting ability she possessed, she batted her lashes at him. “Guess you’ll have to wait two weeks for that invitation.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I’ve never been a patient man, Bette.”
Bette had more ability to be patient than act. She’d had to wait to move away from her small hometown in Michigan to attend fashion school and move to New York. She’d also had to wait six years for the career she’d wanted, for which she’d worked so hard, to finally take off. But now that it had, her patience had worn thin. There was no way she was waiting two weeks to end her relationship with Simon Kramer, such that it was.
“I can leave now,” she offered. “A temp service could send over someone until you hire my replacement.”
He laughed again and reached for her arm,
