The Devil Wears Black(48)

“No date. Nope,” I drawled, still holding Chase’s bluest-shade-of-blue gaze. “We’re thinking of taking a long time. You know, for planning and stuff.”

“Like, a year?” Katie asked.

“More like a decade,” I bit out.

I knew I was letting our charade slip and wished I could restrain myself. I genuinely wanted to make friends with Katie. Take her shopping and spend time with her, independently from how my fake engagement with Chase was going to pan out. I was just taken off guard by how Chase had shown up here, screwing this up for me, and then kissed me without permission, which had totally bent me out of shape.

I massaged my temples and closed my eyes, letting out a growl. “I think I’m coming down with something. How about I make it up to you later this week, Katie?”

“Sure.” She looked between us.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Chase was taking care of the bill. I tried to pay my part, slide my credit card his way, but he just put his hand on mine and smiled at me.

“Never, sweetheart.”

“Such a gentleman.”

“You have no idea.”

“That”—I sat back, fighting the urge to throttle him—“is true.”

That’s what happens when you muster some sympathy for the devil, I thought bitterly. He drags you to hell, and you get burned.



Mothers of brides all over America were going to buy fuzzy-looking dresses with angry, sharp lines that fall. My designs were not up to par with my usual clean, romantic style.

I was so furious after the meal with Chase and Katie that I ripped three papers while trying to sketch. I was sitting in front of a blurry shape of the female body—no stitch of clothing on it yet—when my phone pinged with a message.

Chase: I bet you’re still thinking about that kiss.

Maddie: I chugged bleach as soon as I got back to the office. It helped, a little.

Maddie: What the hell did you think you were doing?

Chase: Playing the loving fiancé.

Maddie: We’re done playing. We had an agreement, and I did my part.

Maddie: You ambushed me. You knew I’d be there. Why did you do it?

Chase: I decided our engagement story needed more reinforcement, since you went and hugged Tights Guy publicly.

Chase: Extra long.

Chase: Like couples in the movies.

Maddie: I said he was a friend!

Chase: It still happened.

Chase: (it did happen, didn’t it?)

Maddie: Yeah. I stress-baked extra cookies last week and decided to bring him some.

Chase: What kind of person makes out with her boyfriend at a pediatric clinic?

Maddie: IT. WAS. JUST. A. HUG!

I felt like Ross yelling at Rachel, “WE WERE ON A BREAK.”

Maddie: Wait, why am I defending myself to you?

Chase: Because I’m your fiancé.

Maddie: FAKE FIANCé.

Chase: Tell that to the real engagement photo shoot my mother had scheduled for us next week. I’ll email you the details in a bit.

“Gawwwd,” Nina drawled behind me at the top of her voice. “You even type messages loudly. Do you realize you whisper everything you write? You’re so basic.”

I dropped my pencil, before storming to the elevators. I slipped into a closing one, kicking my leg inside to pry the doors open, then hit the button leading to the top floor—Black & Co.’s management. I’d never set foot in there before, and the prospect of storming in raising hell was less than appealing. But I couldn’t take it anymore. It was obvious Chase was breaking all the rules in our agreement. I tapped my foot throughout the entire ride, imagining all the ways I was going to kill Chase when I finally got to him. Knife. Gun. Arson. The possibilities were endless, really.

The elevator dinged open. I purged myself out of it, advancing straight to the biggest fishbowl office on instinct.

“Miss!”

“Excuse me!”

“Do you have a pass?”

Stuttering receptionists and flustered secretaries were on my heels, stumbling behind me on their sensible wedges. A sleepy herd of suited men watched from the sidelines of the office, holding stacks of papers and files. I slapped the glass door to Chase’s office open with my palm.

“You!”

Bastard didn’t even look up from the documents he was reading. Just turned a page very slowly, making a show of frowning at whatever he was reading. I took it as an invitation to walk right in. Two receptionists popped up behind my shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Black; she just burst in—”

“—didn’t even see her name tag! Security’s on the way.”

“It’s fine.” He cut them off in a way that implied it wasn’t fine. “Leave.”

The two of them shared a confused look, then bowed their heads in unison and scurried out of his office. Chase finally looked up from his documents. He looked shockingly composed for someone who’d just gotten called out in the middle of his office.

“Miss Goldbloom, how may I be of help?”

I slammed the glass door behind me, refusing to take in the thrilling richness of his work environment. The chrome desk, huge Apple screen, floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Manhattan, and gray-and-white furniture.

“I—” I started, but he stopped me, lifting his palm up, then opened a drawer in his desk and retrieved a remote control he used to close the black shades in his office automatically. I blinked. Now we were alone and completely hidden from the world. His colleagues could see nothing, and I could only guess what they were thinking.