It turns out I can be ready in thirty minutes under a little duress. I leave my bedroom to find Milo on the sofa, snuggled up with Mulan. She's not usually keen on strangers, but she seems to have taken a liking to him. From the look on Milo's face as he scratches her ear, the feeling is mutual.

"Do I need to give you two a minute alone?" I ask.

His head snaps up, and he takes in my dress. It's one of the many that never got to see the light of day, a little black number that's sexy but not too dressy.

His eyes flit to mine, filled with something that wasn't there a minute ago. "Nice dress."

"Thanks." I grab my bag, and he drives us to a bar called the Sky Lounge before handing his keys to the valet. We step into an elevator that takes us to the top floor, and Milo gives his name to the server as though he'd been planning to take us to dinner all along.

The server smiles at him and leads us over to a table facing the skyline. I take a seat, and when Milo finally peels off his coat, I see he's wearing a long-sleeved navy shirt, dark jeans, and a fancy watch.

The waitress is on us before I can speak, asking for our drink orders. I order a cocktail, he orders water, and she disappears into the back while I take in the view of the city.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to seduce me," I say, turning to Milo.

The corner of his mouth lifts. "This is me treating myself after a torturous afternoon. You're just along for the ride."

"Thanks; you sure know how to make a girl feel special."

He gives me a wicked look in return, and I have to look away. Sometimes when he looks at me, I get quick flashes of that night in the elevator, and my mind starts to wonder things it definitely shouldn't be wondering.

I'm saved from hearing his answer when the waitress comes back with our drinks. We order our main meals, salmon for me and something I can't pronounce for him. She totters toward the kitchen again in her six-inch heels, and I turn to Milo. He goes to say something, but an older man in a suit slips into the piano up front and starts playing 'White Christmas'. Milo tenses and narrows his eyes, forcing me to lean forward.

"Why do you hate Christmas so much?" I ask.

He looks surprised. "You noticed?"

I smile. "Milo, the whole office has noticed. You're not exactly inconspicuous about it. Every year, you act like Christmas physically pains you."

There's a second of silence, and then, "It does."

My eyes soften. I'd always assumed Milo just naturally repelled anything remotely joyful, I never thought for a second there might be a reason behind it. "What happened?"

He shrugs and takes a drink. "Three years ago, I'd been planning on proposing to my ex on Christmas Eve. I wanted it to be a surprise, so I told Anna I'd be working late that night. I got home early to set everything up, and then waited for her to show." He stops now and looks behind me at the skyline. "She came home with one of my friends, thinking I was still at work."

I stare at him, speechless. I'd had no idea Milo was even seeing anyone back then, let alone thinking about proposing. Briefly, I try to imagine him nervously waiting for her to show up, only to find her cheating on him with his friend. It makes my heart ache.

"I'm sorry, Milo. That's horrible."

He shrugs again. I can tell he's uncomfortable. "It's in the past."

I raise my glass and say, "To sucky partners."

He smiles a little and clanks my glass with his. "To sucky partners." He puts his drink down and leans forward a little. His eyes darken. "So," he says. "A demon sent from hell? I mean, not even Satan himself?"

"Satan would have been too harsh."

"Thinking of my feelings," he says. "How considerate of you."

"I'm a considerate person."

Something electric passes between us. He's looking at me, and I'm looking at him, and it's like we're both remembering what it feels like to be tangled up in each other.

"I'll have to test that theory somehow," he says.

I lower my gaze, because staring at him is becoming too much. Too hard. "Just so you know, I don't usually go around jumping on strangers," I say. "It was Jess's idea. She said if I wanted to move on, then I needed to have sex with someone else. It's just my luck that the stranger ended up being you."

He leans closer until his forearms are pressed against my own. His eyes are electric, flitting to my eyes, then my lips, and back to my eyes again. "If I hadn't taken off my mask," he says to my lips, "if you hadn't realized it was me–" he looks up again, giving me a look that makes me want to tear off his clothes, "–how would that night have ended?"

I look at his hands on top of the table, which are large and solid, but surprisingly soft. At least, that's how they had felt when they were gripping my thighs. "I guess we'll never know," I manage.

He leans back a little, but he doesn't take his eyes off mine. "I guess we won't."

My whole body is on fire, and he hasn't even touched me. How is that possible? How can his touch leave me breathless without him lifting a finger?

I tell myself it's because of this afternoon. He was too convincing playing the role of a helpful boyfriend that now I'm confused. Now I'm thinking about his hands on my body, and what it would be like if we weren't battling it out for the same promotion. What it would be like to have him.

The arrival of our dinner distracts me. We make light conversation, but the heat in my stomach refuses to leave. I keep remembering the way he'd kissed my forehead today, and it unravels me more than our elevator kiss.

Milo gets the check after dinner, and we head toward the elevator. My footsteps are slow and deliberate. A part of me wants to savor this evening as if it's some kind of dream. On Monday, I'll wake up, and Milo will be back to hating me again; the equilibrium will have been restored.

We step into the elevator, and I rush to press the button. He does the same, and our fingers end up smushing together as the elevator jerks into action. My heart is racing. I pull away, but now that we've touched, I'm craving more contact. I accidentally, on purpose, inch closer until our arms touch. We both look ahead, staring at each other's reflection in the mirrored doors opposite. It's too hot here, like the pheromones or whatever are leaking into the air. I want him.

I hate him, and I want him.

Cold air rushes my cheeks the moment we step outside. I wrap my coat around my body, and Milo pulls me into his side, shielding me from the snow.

"Let's go for a walk," he says, and even though it's freezing tonight, I find myself nodding.

His mouth curls as though he's on the verge of smiling. He hooks an arm through mine and guides me in and out of the crowd, keeping me close to his side. To an outsider looking in, the streets are chaotic. Rows of traffic block the roads, and desperate shoppers dart between cars, clutching their shopping bags. It's a last-minute rush to get the Christmas shopping done, and any safety–and sense–has gone out the window.

Still, despite the carnage, it's oddly serene. The usual drab sheets are blanketed in snow, the Christmas lights twinkling in the night. I sink into Milo's arm, oddly at ease. "Are you going to go back home for Christmas?" I ask. "Wherever home is."

"Michigan," he says, "and no, my parents are vacationing in Hawaii this year and my sister had a baby not long ago. She wants to spend Christmas with her family."

I picture a lonely Milo sitting in his apartment drinking eggnog by himself. That same ache in my chest comes back. For some reason, imagining Milo upset tugs at my heartstrings like nothing else.

He looks over and frowns. "Don't look sorry for me. I was invited to Hawaii, but I declined. I'd rather focus on my new promotion."

I swat his arm and say, "You mean my new promotion."

He smirks. "If you say so. What about you? You going home?"

I think about what Christmas with my parents usually entails and then shudder. As much as I love my parents, I'm not in a rush to get back home. "I guess I'm spending Christmas alone, too," I say. "I know if I go home, my mom will keep going on about my breakup with Luke. In between arguing with my dad, of course."

"Your parents aren't happy?" he asks.

I shake my head. "They haven't been for a long time. I think they stay together out of convenience more than anything. I mean, it's obvious they fell out of love a long time ago, but I think the thought of having to start over again is too much for either of them to contemplate."

Milo nods but doesn't say anything. He looks ahead, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as though he's lost in his thoughts. Eventually, he says, "You should spend it with your parents. You shouldn't have to spend it alone."

I shrug. "There's still time to decide, and it's not like I mind spending Christmas alone. At least I can spend the day in my pajamas, cuddling up to Mulan with some eggnog and Netflix." I look at him and smile. "It sounds kind of nice, don't you think?"

He looks down at me. There is something in his eyes I have never seen before. "Yeah, it does."

We spend the next few minutes in comfortable silence. I take in the lights, in the flutter of snow as it falls around my shoulders, and for the first time in weeks, I don't feel so hopeless.

Despite the traffic, the ride back home doesn't feel long enough. I keep reminding myself that this isn't a date, that Milo still dislikes me, even if my dislike for him is waning–even if I've spent the evening wanting to kiss him.

He pulls up to my apartment block and kills the engine. I turn to face him, suddenly overcome with nerves. Everything about tonight has felt like something out of a movie, and now I'm more confused than ever. There is confusion in my bones, but there is also empathy and lust and a strong desire to be liked by him. Held by him.

Kissed by him.

He leans closer, his eyes on my lips like he's thinking the same. I think it's about to happen, that Milo is about to kiss me of his own accord, but then my eyes hone in on my apartment window, where a light shines through the gap in the curtains.

"I didn't leave that light on," I say. He follows my gaze, and I grab his arm in alarm. "Look." I point to the closed curtains, where a fleeting shadow emerges. "Oh my god. Someone's in my apartment."

I scan the floor for some kind of weapon, but Milo's car is as clean and as empty as his work desk. It doesn't matter, he's already opening the door and climbing out.

"Stay here," he demands and strides toward my apartment.

I ignore his instructions and hurry after him, beating him to the main door. He shoots me an irritated look, but I wave my key in his face and press it to the security pad.

We're through the main door and running up the stairs at the speed of light. My heart is racing, and my mind imagines the worst. When we get to my apartment, the door is ajar, and there's shuffling coming from inside.

With a quick breath, Milo throws open my apartment doors. "Wait here."

He disappears inside. I wait for a second before rushing in after him. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the sight of Lucas holding a small box of trinkets and Milo glaring at him.

"Lucas?"

He tears his eyes from Milo to pin them on me. From the look on his face, he is terrified. "Kennedy."

Milo takes a step closer and says, "You have five seconds to explain what you're doing here."

I see Lucas physically swallow. "There was some stuff missing in the box you gave me," he says to me. "Paintings and things like that. I came back when I realized, but you were gone. I figured I'd quickly grab them and avoid any further awkwardness."

I'm still imagining an armed robber coming out of my bedroom and forcing us all to get on our knees. It's why when Lucas talks, I can't seem to process what he's saying.

"Let me get this straight," Milo says, advancing toward him. "You thought the better option was breaking into her apartment?"

"I didn't break in," he says. "I used my key." He holds it up for us to see, and in one quick move, Milo swipes it from his hands.

"If I ever find you in here again, you'll be leaving through the window," Milo warns. His voice is low and unusually dangerous; I have never seen him like this.

Lucas nods briefly and hurries through the door. My heart is still pounding when I turn to Milo, but I notice the anger on his face has disappeared, replaced by concern.

"Has he got any more copies of that key?" he asks.

"No, that's his only one," I say.

Relief fills his eyes. He closes the distance between us, stopping just short of me. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I say. "Still coming to terms with the fact that I'm not going to be murdered and chopped into pieces tonight."

Milo let's out a low, even laugh that fills the room with warmth. "The night's not over yet."

I tilt my head. "You sound like a serial killer. Do you imagine killing me, Milo?"

"Sometimes." His eyes search mine, dark and intense. "Among other things."

My heart skips a beat. "What else do you imagine?"

He leans in a little, positioning his mouth near my ear. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He pulls back slightly until his mouth is near mine. "Goodnight, Kennedy."

I exhale slightly as he gets to the door. He gives me one last look, and I can see the internal war being waged behind his eyes. I bite my lip, and his eyes immediately fall to my mouth before his neck muscles tense. Then, as though he doesn't trust himself, he steps past the threshold and closes the door behind him.

My body screams at me to stop him. Even though it's wrong, and reckless, and makes no logical sense, I am overcome with the urge to kiss him again. He'd agreed to be my pretend boyfriend, after all, and he'd taken me to dinner. Not to mention he'd potentially faced a burglar for me; if that doesn't deserve a tiny peck of appreciation, what does?

I'm suddenly reminded that he still has my key. Quick as a flash, I'm darting into the hallway and over to the elevator, just as the doors are closing. Milo sees me at the last second and wedges his hands between the doors, forcing them open.

For a second, we just look at each other. I imagine I look manic and breathless, but I can't help it. This heat in my stomach has been growing all day, and it won't be released until he kisses me.

Milo steps forward. His eyes grow dark like he's thinking the same. "Forget something?"

"You still have Lucas' key."

He frowns and digs in his pocket before pulling out the key. He hands it over, and I hesitate before slipping it back into my coat pocket. I suddenly don't feel so brave. What if I'm wrong? What if the sexual tension I've been feeling is only one-sided? What if he doesn't want to kiss me back?

The first move is the hardest, and the person who does it has the most to lose. If I'm wrong, if Milo doesn't want to kiss me back, I'll have made a complete fool of myself. But what if he's thinking the same? What if we both want to kiss the other, and we're not for fear of the fallout?

"Was there something else?" he asks.

The look in his eyes is almost seductive, but it's still not enough. My ego is in the line here; I need more of a sign than a look. I try to think fast on my feet. "Yes," I say. "I realize that I forgot to say thank you."

He raises an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For checking out my apartment. I mean, it could have been an actual burglar in there, or maybe a serial killer, but you still went in." I take a slight breath and bravely meet his gaze. "So, thank you."

I lean in a little and stand on my tiptoes to peck him on the cheek. It's light and innocent, the kind of kiss that can easily be passed off as a thank you if this doesn't pan out. Then I step back and turn my back to him, praying he'll take the bait.

His hand is suddenly around my wrist, pulling me back into the elevator. I turn around until I'm staring at his chest, and when I look up, he is watching me.

"I practically saved your life," he says. "That all I get?"

"You're right." I take a step closer and press myself into him. When I've got his attention, I reach up and cup the back of his neck, pulling him down to my height. He takes in a breath as I position my mouth near his.

The sexual tension is off the charts. I watch his eyes grow black, anticipating what comes next. His breathing is erratic, the same as mine, but I can't back out now–I don't want to.

I close my eyes and reach up to kiss him. He's still at first, as still as a statue, but then his mouth starts to move in rhythm with mine, and his tongue parts my lips.

Everything about this is slow and deliberate. I nibble on his lip a little, drawing this out, because it's just a thank you, after all.

When he starts to kiss back, I pull back a little. His own are still closed, and I notice the muscles in his neck are contracted. I thought maybe tasting him–even for a second–would lessen this feeling, but it hasn't.

He swallows hard, and with his eyes still closed, whispers, "Come here." He doesn't wait for a response. His arms come up to either side of my waist, pulling me in. His mouth is on mine again, harder this time, more urgent, like he refuses to be gentle any longer.

My stomach pools with a burning heat, and I grab his back and hold him against me like I'm about to topple over. Every look, every insult, has been leading us to this. I'm reminded of the last time, of the way he'd kissed me back at that party, and I let out a breathless moan.

The logical part of my brain is screaming this is going to get messy. Starting a fling with my office rival is about the stupidest thing I can do, but stupidity pales in comparison to lust.

Milo suddenly turns us so that I'm pushed against the wall. My breath hitches. He takes both my wrists, pinning them above my head where they stay locked in his hands. My legs grow weak at the same time he hardens. He shifts his leg, which sits between my thighs, so that my dress lifts a little.

"I like how you taste," he murmurs.

My stomach pulsates. He hooks his palm around my thigh and wraps it around his waist. I close my eyes, irrevocably lost in this feeling. He's barely even touched me and I'm already losing my mind.

I decide that I need to be touching him. I slip my hands beneath his shirt, running them over his chest. He responds by pushing his hand up my thigh, sliding up the bottom of my dress. His fingers move higher until they're reaching my underwear, and he lightly pinches the fabric. I suck in a breath, waiting for the moment his fingers slip inside, but the elevator jerks into action.

We quickly break apart, looking casual when the doors open to the first floor. An old lady wearing a pink bandana and spandex walks in, and Milo and I smirk. She stands between us, making no effort to reach for the button before saying to Milo, "Be a dear and press for six, will you?"

"Of course." He presses the button, and we shoot up in silence.

When the doors creak open, the old lady hobbles out. I push the button to my floor and turn to Milo to see my lipstick on his chin. In one quick move, I lean up and gently use my thumb to wipe it off.

I go to move my hand away, but Milo grabs it and holds it to his face. He looks at me intently, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes filled with questions. "That was one hell of a thank you."

The doors open again. I glance at him, wishing I could kiss him in this elevator forever, but the lust is wearing off, and common sense is kicking in. Getting involved with Milo is a disaster in the making; that old lady in spandex was my saving grace.

"See you tomorrow, Milo," I say, and then I step out of the elevator and hurry into my apartment, where I try to catch my breath.

A/N

Comment a heart if you want the next chapter! ❤️