Claire's POV
We finished with dinner and now we were left with dessert. The night was slowly coming to an end and the silence was swiftly becoming louder.
After I shut him down earlier, he kind of looked hurt. I didn't expect that reaction but I was hurt too. Besides, he didn't owe me my explanation, I just needed to do as I was told.
I had to remind myself, this was merely a business arrangement. A contractual obligation.
Our desserts arrived. I got a slice of chocolate cake. Louis, however, opted not to get any pastry. Instead, he got himself a milkshake.
A strawberry milkshake.
I was fully taken aback at that. He didn't seem like the type to get milkshakes, maybe something stronger, like vodka or whisky. That suited his image more. But with the facts in front of me,It seemed my boss had a bit of a sweet tooth.
A small laugh escapes me as I think about it. I try to cover it up by eating my cake, but he catches it. I peer up to see him raise a brow in question.
"And what is so funny, Claire?" he asks, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips.
"Oh. Nothing," I smoothly replied, "Nothing at all."
"Do you have a thing against men who take smoothies?," he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.
I couldn't hold it back anymore, I laughed loudly, my belly hurting at the intensity.
"I wouldn't dare," I say with a mock grin, my hands raised in surrender. "Who am I to question your choice of beverage?"
Louis continues to sip his smoothie without a care in the world. The sight softened something in me. Regardless of how I saw him or used to see him or how the world saw him. He was still human.
A human with strange choices and even stranger likes.
"Actually, let's start there." I quipped. "What are your likes and interests? I should know that much if we were to keep up with our faux relationship."
He places his half finished smoothie back on the table.
Along the line we had switched our sweet treats for a much stronger choice. Alcohol. We were now three glasses down in whiskey.
With every glass came a new found courage, boldness and a surprising depth to our conversation.
I now know his favorite color, the sports he enjoys, the food he prefers… even a random tea he swears by.
He's a big fan of documentaries. I never would have guessed that.
After all is said and done, it becomes obvious—we don't share similar interests. Our likes don't align.
Where I preferred comedy and horror movies, he liked documentaries and thrillers. And a lot more vaguely different likes and interests.
But it didn't matter, he wasn't my potential boyfriend. He was my fake husband, fiancé or whatever.
It bothered me a bit to see we had such dissimilar personalities and interests but that wasn't a factor to be considered. All I needed to know was basic information about him.
We continued drinking, sharing our thoughts and opinions on various subjects. He mentions that he's an only child, with just one distant cousin from his grandfather's side—Aston.
I remember that name. He mentioned it while trying to persuade me into agreeing to the contract marriage. Aaron is his grandfather's younger brother's grandson… which technically makes him a cousin.
I think. I wasn't too sure.
I quickly realized I was drunk, too tipsy to properly map out the family tree.
I kept rambling on and on, my words slurring as I speak. But I couldn't stop. I find myself having fun. This was the most I'd gotten from Louis since I've known him and I wanted to enjoy the moment.
I mentioned how there was a new horror movie coming up soon that I was going to watch.
He just shook his head.
"How do you even watch that?" he asks. "Genuinely. You're able to sit through a horror movie just like that? Alone?"
"It's fun," I shrug. "And besides, I don't usually watch alone. I started watching because of my friend, Jax, and since then… I've just enjoyed it."
In the blur of my drunken state, I notice Louis shift slightly. His posture stiffens, his expression hardening just a fraction—his jaw tightening, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
I continue regardless, "I should go see the new one coming out one of these days," I mumble.
"Who is Jax?" he suddenly asks.
"Just a friend," I wave him off as I burp out loud. My hands flaring to wave him off.
Louis' POV
It's almost midnight now, and Claire is very tipsy—I mean extremely drunk. She's rambling on and on, talking absolute nonsense. It was really cute to see this side of her.
She was a giggly drunk, a naughty drunk, a flirty drunk—all in one. She couldn't hold her alcohol for much longer. It was nice to see her let loose.
The professional, stoic woman who was all work and no play. I was also like that, which was why I didn't take deep notice of her personality outside the office.
She was red in the face, rambling on and on, and I could only stare in admiration.
But something she said still plagued my mind. A name—Jax. Who was he?
I brush the thought to one side for now. He didn't matter, she was with me now.
I've long since stopped the waiter from bringing in more alcohol. She didn't need to drink any longer; we had to leave soon.
I call for Caleb to come to the front of the restaurant. "We are leaving now."
"Alright, sir. I'll be right there."
I look at Claire, who is busy texting someone on her phone. I hope I wasn't a drunken text she would regret later.
"Claire, it's time to go."
"No… I," burp, "I don't want to leave. I'm having so much fun."
That was very obvious. But we needed to leave. Tomorrow was Monday, and if I didn't get her home soon, dealing with a hangover on Monday morning was going to be a nightmare.
"Yes, but we need to leave now. I'm sorry." If she tried harder to convince me, I might have fallen for it. She looked so cute, with her flushed cheeks and cheeky smile.
I help her up and assist her wobbly self out of the restaurant.
By the time we get to the entrance, Caleb is already there. We get in and head home.
In the car, Claire doesn't stop her rambling. Even as I watch and engage her, she just keeps going. A part of me warms at the fact that she was comfortable enough to let loose in front of me—even if it was only because she was tipsy.
Drunken Claire was… naughty.
The thought catches me off guard, because it's not a word I've ever associated with her. Not once.
Claire is careful, composed—almost too aware of herself at all times. But like this? Loose, unfiltered, swaying slightly where she stands?
This version of her feels like a secret I was never meant to see.
I never thought to wonder if she had it in her.
My gaze stays on her as she talks—no, rambles—her words tumbling over each other without restraint. There's no pause, no second-guessing, none of that quiet hesitation she usually carries like a shield.
And then she says something that strikes me cold.
"Do you realize that you look good naked?"
My jaw tightens.
For a second, I think I misheard her. But she keeps going, completely unaware of the effect she's having.
Her eyes drift—unsubtle, unashamed—toward my pants, like she's replaying the memory right there in her head.
"I mean it," she insists, her voice soft but stubborn, like she's trying to convince me of something I didn't even argue. "I remember… I saw you. Your abs were so prominent." She moves her fingers to trace my stubble.
A strange heat creeps up my neck.
"Claire.." I groan, "You need to stop." I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my face, but it does nothing to steady the sudden tension coiling in my chest.
She moves her hands down without restraint, her fingers tracing lined down my chest.
"Your muscles are so… tight," she slurred. Giggling to herself like it was an inside joke.
My eyes narrow slightly as a thought pushes its way forward, uninvited and sharp.
Was she like this with other men?
The idea lands heavily, souring something in my chest. A wave of jealousy follows almost instantly—irrational, but impossible to ignore. I don't like the image that comes with it. Don't like the thought of her laughing like this, looking at someone else the way she's looking at me now.
It shouldn't matter.
But it does.
"Claire," I say, my voice lower than I intended, edged with something firmer.
She doesn't stop.
If anything, she leans in slightly, completely unfazed. "You think I'm joking, but I'm not. I really did think you looked good. It was so… huge."
My hand tightens at my side. She has no idea what she's doing or what she was saying.
And I know that by tomorrow when she remembers everything she said or did she would be mortified beyond words.
Either way, this… this version of Claire is dangerous.
I grabbed her wandering hands, holding firmly to it before it wandered over to dangerous regions. I can't promise that my body won't react.
This woman was going to be my undoing.