Chapter 5 The Morning After Doubt

Agnes Hart awoke to golden light spilling through the hotel curtains and a warmth pressed against her side that hadn't been there in months-years, maybe. The sheets smelled faintly of James's cologne-woodsy, clean, masculine-and the rhythm of his breathing was slow and steady beside her.

It would've been perfect if it weren't terrifying.

She kept her eyes closed a moment longer, willing her racing heart to slow. Everything about last night had felt inevitable: the kiss, the way his hand had lingered at her waist, how her walls crumbled when he whispered that he didn't want to pretend anymore.

They hadn't spoken much after the kiss. They didn't need to.

They'd made love like the world outside didn't exist. It hadn't been performative. It wasn't revenge. It wasn't a duty.

It was real.

And that was the problem.

Because reality was messy.

And feelings-real feelings-weren't part of the deal.

Agnes slowly sat up, careful not to wake James. He stirred slightly, turning toward the sun but remaining asleep. He looked different like this-unarmored. Human.

She slipped out of bed, grabbing her dress from the back of the chair, and padded barefoot into the bathroom.

She stared at herself in the mirror.

The dress was wrinkled, her hair a soft mess, lipstick long gone. But it wasn't her appearance that caught her attention-it was the look in her own eyes.

What are you doing, Agnes?

This wasn't the plan. The plan was to make Matthew jealous, repair her pride, and move on.

Don't fall for a man who didn't believe in love.

Not hand her heart to someone who could so easily walk away.

And yet... last night had felt different. James had looked at her like she was the plan.

She shook her head, willing the doubts away. There were too many emotions, too many complications, and absolutely zero backup plans for what came next.

When she came back into the room, James was awake, leaning against the headboard, bare chest covered lightly by the sheet, his phone in hand.

"You're an early riser," he said without looking up.

"Habit," she replied. "Coffee?"

He nodded, setting the phone aside. "Please."

They moved through the hotel suite in a quiet sort of rhythm-awkward but strangely familiar. She poured the coffee. He flipped on the news. Neither acknowledged what had happened the night before.

Because acknowledging it made it real.

James finally broke the silence. "They posted a follow-up article this morning."

Agnes raised a brow. "About us?"

He handed her the phone. She scrolled through the headline:

"Not Just an Office Romance: Sources Say James Reed Is 'Serious' About Agnes Hart"

She blinked.

"I didn't plant that," he said quickly. "But I didn't deny it either."

Agnes handed the phone back, her fingers brushing his. "So now we're serious?"

His jaw tightened. "We've been lying so long, I'm not sure what's true anymore."

"That makes two of us."

A beat of silence passed.

Then James asked, "What happens now?"

Agnes looked down at her coffee. "I go home. You go to work. And we forget we ever wrote rules in the first place."

James watched her. "Is that what you want?"

"No," she said honestly. "But it's what makes sense."

He didn't respond. And that silence-so unlike him-hurt more than words.

Back to Reality

By Monday, the headlines had started to shift-away from their relationship and back to market predictions, mergers, and politics. But inside the Reed Innovations building, the tension was still very much alive.

Agnes returned to her desk, dressed in her usual sharp blazer and heels, every inch the professional assistant. But something was off. Her routine had cracks now-hair a little less perfect, smile a little less polished.

James didn't call for her that morning.

By noon, she knocked on his office door anyway.

"Come in," he said without looking up from his laptop.

She stepped inside. "Morning."

He glanced at her. "Morning."

Just that.

No smirk. No comment. No trace of Friday night.

Agnes hesitated. "I, uh... wanted to follow up on the Donovue proposal. Legal needs an answer before the end of the day."

He nodded. "Have my notes sent. I'll approve it before the board call."

She didn't move.

James looked up again. "Is there something else?"

Yes, she wanted to scream. Everything is something else.

But instead she said, "No. That's all."

And walked out.

Confession Over Cocktails

By Wednesday, Agnes had had enough of silence. She needed a distraction. A drink. A friend who didn't come wrapped in silk sheets and mixed signals.

She called Claire, her roommate and long-time best friend.

They met at a rooftop bar downtown, city lights blazing below them, jazz floating through the warm summer air.

"Start talking," Claire said before the second sip of her cocktail.

Agnes laughed bitterly. "It's a disaster."

"The wedding?"

"No. James."

Claire sat straighter. "You slept with him."

Agnes groaned. "I didn't mean to. It just... happened."

Claire arched a brow. "You've been fake-dating a billionaire for almost two weeks, attending black-tie events, exchanging loaded glances, and you didn't expect something to happen?"

"I thought I could control it."

Claire snorted. "You? Control feelings? Please. You fall in love with every stray dog you pass."

Agnes rubbed her temples. "This isn't like that. He's not a stray. He's... complicated."

"You mean emotionally constipated."

Agnes smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"He's also kind. And lonely. And when he looks at me, I don't feel like the girl who got dumped at a wine bar anymore."

Claire softened. "Do you want to be with him?"

"Yes."

"Then tell him."

Agnes sipped her drink. "He doesn't do love. He made that clear from day one."

"Maybe he doesn't know how. Doesn't mean he can't learn."

Agnes thought of how James held her. As he'd said, I don't want to pretend anymore.

Maybe... just maybe...

Friday – A Dangerous Invitation

James's message came late Friday afternoon.

James: Dinner? My place. No lies. No rules.

Agnes stared at the screen for a long moment.

No lies. No rules.

She didn't respond right away.

Because the truth was more frightening than fiction.

But by 8:00 p.m., she was standing in his penthouse again.

He greeted her with no words-just a quiet look that said everything. He led her to the dining room, where candles flickered and food waited, untouched.

They ate slowly, speaking only about work, the weather, nothing important.

Until finally, James set his fork down.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you."

Agnes met his eyes. "I haven't stopped feeling like I'm one step from losing my mind."

James nodded, like he understood completely.

Then he reached across the table and took her hand.

"I meant it," he said. "That night. When I said I didn't want to pretend."

Agnes swallowed. "Then why did you go silent?"

"Because I was scared I didn't know how to be what you need."

She exhaled shakily. "And now?"

He stood, walked around the table, and gently pulled her up to him.

"Now I'm willing to try."

Agnes stared at him.

Heart wide open. No games. No lies.

She nodded slowly.

"Me too."

He kissed her-not urgently, not possessively, but like someone anchoring himself to truth.

And this time, neither of them felt like they were falling.

They felt like they were finally standing still.

Together.