Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 99: A Night Meant for You

The conference room buzzed with quiet conversation, the low murmur of executives and senior staff preparing their notes.

I stood near the projection screen, hands steady on the remote, even though my heart was drumming like I’d just sprinted here.

I wasn’t supposed to be doing this. Not really.

Three months ago, I was arranging Adrien’s meetings and memorizing his coffee order. Now, I was presenting the quarterly breakdown on a high-profile client rollout — because apparently, managing it behind the scenes meant I’d become "indispensable."

His word, not mine.

I kept my voice steady, tone even, and I was doing great. Until I wasn’t.

Because he was there.

I glanced up, scanning the room and froze the second my eyes met Adrien’s.

He sat at the head of the table one leg crossed over the other, pen in hand, back relaxed against the leather chair. His gaze? Fixed on me. Intense and unwavering. As if no one else in the room existed.

I cleared my throat and clicked to the first slide. "As projected, user engagement has increased by 17 percent over the last quarter, due to the staggered rollout..."

Every time I glanced his way, he was already watching. Chin resting on his hand like this was a private show.

Occasionally, he’d tap his pen against the folder in front of him, slow and deliberate. Not loud. Not annoying. Just enough to pull my attention.

He shifted once, slightly. That subtle lean forward, like he was curious what I’d do next. My heart gave a traitorous flutter.

And just like that, I stumbled. "—The projected revenue for Q... Q2..." I blinked. Recovered. "Is expected to exceed forecasts by 3.4 percent."

Smooth. No one flinched. No one but him.

He tilted his head.

Smirked.

I wanted to throw my clipboard at his perfectly annoying face.

Was that on purpose?

I carried on, but I could feel him watching. Not critically. Not even amused. Just focused and possessive. Like he was undressing every word from my lips.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, I could feel sweat on my back despite the room being cold enough to hang meat. I nodded through the polite applause, gave a tight smile and practically fled once it was over.

I didn’t get far from there when──

"Miss Miller," Adrien’s voice called from behind me.

I turned, trying to keep my expression neutral. "Yes, Mr. Walton?"

"In my office. Five minutes."

Which was code for: Now.

Great.

****

His office door clicked shut behind me. I stayed rooted by the windows, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how flustered I still was.

"You’re not usually so easily distracted," he said, voice casual as he circled behind his desk, unbuttoning his cuffs with maddening ease.

I turned and crossed my arms in annoyance. "You were doing it on purpose."

He raised a brow, almost innocently. "Doing what?"

I narrowed my eyes. "That pen. The shifting. The staring like I was dessert."

He rounded the desk toward me. Slowly. Controlled.

"Watching the woman I—admire—do her job brilliantly?" he offered, brushing a strand of hair away from my face.

I groaned, unable to stop the heat crawling up my neck. "You are the worst."

He smirked. "But your presentation was flawless."

"Except the part where I forgot how to speak."

"I liked that part," he murmured, his voice lower now, silkier. "It reminded me you’re still human."

And you’re still an arrogant pain in the ass."

"Maybe. But I want you to clear your schedule tonight. From six p.m. onwards."

I blinked. "Why?"

He turned, already walking back behind his desk like it was nothing. "Business."

"Right." I folded my arms tighter. "The kind of business that requires clearing my evening impromptu?

"maybe."

****

I glanced at the clock for the sixth time in two minutes.

5:55 p.m

Right on cue, Adrien appeared beside my desk like a shadow taking form—flawless in his suit, his watch glinting under the warm office lights.

"Ready?" he asked, voice low enough that only I could hear.

I stood up and smooth down my blouse, trying not to overthink about the way my pulse is racing. "Yeah."

He didn’t say anything else. Just led the way, one hand lightly touching my back in that possessive way he probably didn’t even realize he did.

The elevator ride was silent, but electric. Every time I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, he was already watching me.

We slipped into the car waiting out front, and I didn’t dare ask questions—yet.

I stared out the window instead, expecting a short drive downtown to some overpriced restaurant or one of his boardroom-style client spots.

But we didn’t head downtown.

We kept driving. And driving.

Skyscrapers faded. Streets grew quieter. Until we finally pulled into a circular driveway fronting an exclusive department store, the kind where even the mannequins looked like they made more money than me.

I stared at the sign, then turned to him. "We’re... meeting a client here?"

Adrien stepped out without answering, then came around to open my door like he hadn’t just dropped a weird bombshell.

"Adrien," I said, arching a brow as I took his hand, "why are we at a department store?"

He didn’t let go of my hand. "We’re meeting someone important."

"Here?"

He nodded, walking us toward the entrance, glass doors parting with a whisper. "A very big client. One that demands we look absolutely perfect."

I slowed slightly. "So... what, you want me to change my clothes?"

He glanced down at me, lips twitching in amusement. "Yes."

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly." His tone was business-like, but his eyes were gleaming with something else. Something... playful.

"I thought I looked fine," I muttered, eyeing my outfit. It was a little wrinkled from the day, sure, but it is still professional.

"You do," he said quietly. "But tonight’s not about fine. It’s about unforgettable."

Before I could unpack any of that, a sales associate appeared out of thin air, all smiles and soft greetings, like Adrien had pre-booked the entire floor.

I stared at the associate, blinking slowly. "You’re... going to buy me new clothes." I turned to Adrien, a mix of confusion and irritation warring on my face. "Because?"

He raised an eyebrow, ushering me forward with a gentle but insistent pressure on my lower back. "Because. Meet your personal shopper for the evening."

I narrowed my eyes but let myself be led. The associate, a slim man with a kind smile, greeted us warmly. "Mr. Walton, Miss Miller, welcome. I’m Julian, your personal stylist for this evening. We have a private area prepared for you, along with refreshments."

I glanced at Adrien, but he just gave me a bland look, shrugging one shoulder. "The client is very particular about appearances. I want you to make a good impression."

"Suddenly very interested in my wardrobe," I muttered under my breath.

Julian coughed discreetly. "Right this way, please."

He leaned down, whispering in my ear just before they led me away, "I’ll be waiting. Take your time."

*****

The dress fit like a dream—soft satin hugging my curves, a subtle shimmer catching the dying light outside the car windows as we drove.

I still didn’t know where we were going, only that Adrien kept stealing glances at me from the driver’s seat, his hand resting casually on the gear shift, jaw tight like he was fighting a smirk or a secret.

The city gave way to ocean views. My brows pinched in confusion as we turned off the main road onto a private marina.

A yacht.

Not just any yacht—a beautifully lit, tastefully decorated, insanely expensive-looking one. Fairy lights twinkled along the railings, soft music floated from the deck, and the scent of the sea breeze mixed with faint floral notes I couldn’t place.

"This is... where the client is?" I asked, stepping out slowly as he came around to open my door.

"Yes," he said, offering me his hand with a small smile that was far too suspicious.

"Who is this client?" I asked again, taking his hand. His grip was firm, warm.

He led me up the gangplank, the polished wood gleaming under the lights. "Someone very important," he repeated. "Now stop asking questions and enjoy dinner."

I did.

Candlelight. Silver cloches. Wine that probably cost more than my entire paycheck. The view of the water as the boat gently swayed in place.

Still no sign of this mysterious VIP.

I took a bite of dessert—something rich and chocolatey with gold flakes on top—and finally narrowed my eyes at him. "So... when exactly is this important person going to show up?"

Adrien leaned back in his chair, a slow, amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "She already did."

I blinked. "What?"

He nodded toward me, voice low. "You’re the person."

I stared at him, the spoon halfway to my mouth, the chocolate dessert momentarily forgotten. "Me?" I repeated, the word small and disbelieving. "The important client is... me?"

He leaned forward slightly, propping his elbow on the table, his chin resting on his fisted hand. "Exactly." The slow smile widened, reaching his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners in a way that was entirely too charming.

Blood rushed to my face. "Oh."

"I told you. Tonight is about unforgettable."

Before I could even recover or process that, I felt something soft brush against my ankle. I looked down.

A puppy.

A ridiculously cute, snow-white ball of fluff with eyes like melted chocolate and a pink bow around its neck, trotting straight to me and nudging my heel like it belonged there.

My spoon clattered against the plate. "A... puppy?"

The little creature wagged its tail, a tiny thump-thump against my heel, then sat back and looked up at me with an expectant tilt of its head. It was impossibly small, impossibly perfect.

I reached down and scooped up the tiny puppy, melting instantly at its warm little body and its sweet breath on my cheek. "Oh my gosh, look at you!"

The puppy licked my face with an enthusiastic tongue, and I laughed, cuddling it closer. "Hi there. What’s this little one doing here? Where’s your owner?"

Adrien smiled and slid another piece of cake onto my plate. "She doesn’t have one yet. She’s yours."

My heart stopped. "Mine?"

He nodded once. "Check her collar."

I lifted the delicate tag attached to her pink bow.

It wasn’t a name.

It was a question.

"CAN I BE YOUR BOYFRIEND?"

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