Chapter 5 Five
Kennedy sat back in his chair, his jaw tight, eyes pinned to the glass wall that separated his office from the open floor below.
Antonia Adams.
Her name lingered in his head, uninvited and far too distracting. He should have been reviewing the quarterly projections spread across his desk, but instead, his gaze kept drifting back to her.
She wasn’t like the others. He knew this instinctively. Most of his staff carried themselves with the careful stiffness of people who didn’t want to be noticed—afraid to slip up in front of the CEO. But Antonia laughed, even when she shouldn’t. She smiled as though she hadn't got a problem in the world.
His gaze rested on her again. She was laughing at something Sarah from Marketing had said, her dark hair bouncing as she shook her head. Even in her modest blouse and skirt, there was a brightness about her, which made her compelling.
Which was a problem.
A massive one.
Kennedy hated distractions.
Yet as his mother’s voice replayed in his mind—“I expect to meet your fiancée soon, Kennedy. You’ve avoided this long enough.”—his throat tightened. His mother wasn't taking this lightly.
And now? The timing couldn’t be worse.
A fiancée? As if he had time for real romance. As if he had the luxury of vulnerability. As if he even had a girlfriend.
But he had lied, and now he had to cover up or break his mother's heart in the process.
So what if… what if it didn’t have to be real?
Kennedy’s cold, calculating mind immediately began stitching together possibilities. He’d need someone bold, someone who wouldn’t faint under his mother’s piercing gaze, someone with enough audacity to pull off the biggest lie of his life.
And as if the universe had a cruel sense of humor, his eyes fell back on her—Antonia.
The woman who had cracked his taillight with a stone. The woman who had dared to look him in the eye during her interview, stains on her dress and all, as if daring him to disqualify her. The woman who, to his great irritation, hadn’t grovelled after his reprimand this morning.
Yes. Antonia Adams was reckless. But perhaps… reckless was exactly what he needed.
A slow smirk curved his mouth before he could stop it. She owed him. And maybe it was time she repaid her debt.
At five minutes to closing, Antonia was at her desk shutting down her computer when her phone buzzed.
From: Kennedy Blackwood
Subject: My Office. Now.
Her stomach dropped.
She glanced around the room as if hoping someone else might have received the message by mistake. But no, every other employee was already packing up, sliding bags over their shoulders, laughing softly about evening plans.
It was just her.
Her palms grew sweaty as she grabbed her notebook—why, she didn’t know, maybe as a shield, and then she made the dreaded walk to the glass fortress at the far end.
The door clicked softly as she entered. Kennedy was standing near the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his elbows, one hand in his pocket. The dusky light of evening cut across his face, sharpening the edges of his jaw, making him look like something carved out of steel.
“Close the door,” he said without turning.
Antonia did, swallowing hard. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
At that, he turned, and her pulse skipped. His eyes—gray and unreadable—met hers, and for a second, she felt pinned to the floor.
“I did,” he said, his voice smoother than she expected. “Sit.”
She lowered herself into the chair opposite his desk, notebook clutched tightly in her lap, as she wondered if this was how people got fired—quietly, privately.
“If this is about this morning—”
“It’s about this morning.”
Her brows arched.
For a long beat, he studied her. She felt the weight of it, like he could see far more than she wanted him to. Then, to her utter shock, his expression softened slightly.
“I owe you an apology.”
Antonia blinked. “You… what?”
He exhaled, leaning back against his desk. “I raised my voice…unnecessarily.” he paused, lips pressing together like he was fighting with the word, “It was out of line. I don’t usually…lose composure like that. It was unprofessional. So, I do apologize.”
She blinked again, sure she’d misheard him. Kennedy Walton? Apologizing?
“That’s… okay,” she managed, because what else could she say? “It was my fault anyway. I wasn't looking—”
“No,” he cut in, shaking his head. “It wasn’t entirely your fault.”
Her face went hot. “It’s… fine,” she said, fidgeting with the strap of her purse. “I mean, it was just a small thing. I didn’t take it personally.”
“Still.” His voice dropped, lower, softer. “You didn’t deserve it.”
Something in his gaze made her breath hitch. She quickly looked away, eyes darting to the frame of him and his late wife on his desk.
“Well,” she said briskly, gaining courage to look at him again, and desperate to cut the strange weight in the air, “if that’s all, I’ll let you get back to—”
“Have dinner with me.”
The words hit her like a slap. Her head whipped back to him, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, what?”
Kennedy didn’t move, didn’t fidget, didn’t look away. His expression was calm, deliberate, as though he had just asked her the most normal thing in the world.
“Dinner,” he repeated. “Tonight.”
Antonia’s heart tripped over itself. Her mind scrambled for logic. This had to be a trick, or maybe she’d misheard. But the intent in his eyes told her she hadn’t.
She gawked at him. “Dinner… as in… you and me?”
“Yes.” His lips curved, not quite a smile but close. “Unless you have other appointments.”
“I—no—well, I mean—yes, but…” She was tripping over her words, heat rushing to her cheeks. “Why?”
Kennedy leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “Do I need a reason to invite my employee to dinner?”
“Yes,” she blurted, then clamped her mouth shut, horrified at her own boldness.
For the first time, he actually chuckled. A deep, warm sound that startled her even more than his request.
“You’re honest. I like that.”
Antonia’s pulse was in her throat now, “Mr. Walton…” she started cautiously.
“Kennedy,” he corrected smoothly. “At least outside office hours.”
She stared at him like he had lost his mind. “Mr. Walton... Mr Kennedy...you… you can’t be serious. I mean… dinner? With me?”
“Do I strike you as a man who isn’t serious?” he asked, his voice low, steady, commanding.
She scrambled for words, for logic, for air. This had to be some kind of joke. A trap. Something.
“It's just dinner, Antonia,” he added calmly.
Just dinner. Simple words, but they carried an unspoken weight that made her stomach flip.
But when his gaze held hers, steady and unrelenting, she heard herself whisper, “Okay.”
His expression softened for the briefest second, satisfaction flickering across his face before he masked it again. He reached for his jacket, slipping it on with graceful precision.
“Good,” he said. “There’s a restaurant two blocks away. I’ll drive.”
Antonia’s thoughts raced as she followed him out of the office.
Dinner with Kennedy Walton. What could possibly go wrong?