Page 12 of The Hookup Situation (Billionaire Situation #5)

JULIE

I ’ve reorganized the coffee bean display three times this morning. The Ethiopian blend doesn’t need to be alphabetically arranged by roast date, but here I am, labels facing forward.

“Jules, you’re spiraling,” Blaire announces, not looking up from the espresso machine she’s cleaning. “And before you deny it, you’ve been humming for the past twenty minutes.”

“I’m not—” I stop myself. I am spiraling.

“Is this about yesterday? That kiss with Nick?” She sets down her cleaning rag, full attention on me now. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it either, and I was just watching.”

“It felt …” I trail off, unable to find the right word.

She doesn’t say anything, allowing me to get my thoughts together.

“Incredible,” I confirm. “Electricity shot through every nerve.”

Blaire moves closer, lowering her voice. “Jules, he looks like a Greek god. Of course you felt something. Any woman with a pulse would feel something, kissing Nick Banks.”

“You’re right. It’s probably just physical attraction.”

“Really, really intense physical attraction,” she confirms. “That man could make a nun reconsider. ”

I burst into laughter. “You’re damn right about that.”

“Just a human response. And a horny one. When’s the last time you had really good sex?”

“Blaire!”

“What? It’s a valid question. Craig was about as exciting as plain oatmeal in bed. Your body is probably just screaming, Finally, a man who knows what he’s doing! ”

The bell chimes, and my stomach drops. Nick walks in, carrying a leather messenger bag, hair slightly messed up from the morning wind. He looks uncertain, almost nervous, which is weird because Nick is usually Mr. Confidence.

“Speak of the devil,” Blaire whispers. “The hot-as-hell devil.”

“Shut up,” I hiss.

“Morning,” he says, his voice carrying that rough edge that means he didn’t sleep well either.

“Hi.”

We stare at each other. The entire coffee shop seems to pause, waiting. I can feel the ghost of yesterday’s kiss on my lips.

Mrs. Henderson actually leans forward in her chair.

“Could we talk?” Nick gestures to the corner booth. “I have a … proposal.”

“A proposal?” Mrs. Henderson gasps loud enough for everyone to hear.

“A business proposal,” Nick clarifies.

I lean against the counter. “Sure. Pumpkin spice latte?”

“Make it two,” he says with a wink.

We’re both uncomfortable right now.

Blaire steps up next to me as I start the espresso. “That man is looking at you like you’re his favorite dessert.”

“It’s just attraction,” I remind myself as much as her.

“Are you imagining climbing him like a tree?”

“Blaire!”

“What? I guess it’s just me. ”

She’s not wrong, which is the problem. I finish making our lattes.

“Want to meet me in my office?”

He grins. “Good idea.”

I lead him through the back, past the ovens and the storage area, to the small office that used to be my grandmother’s. It’s cozy—just a long table that acts as a desk, a computer for inventory, two chairs, and walls covered in photos of the coffee shop through the decades.

Nick follows me in, and suddenly, the space feels even smaller. He sets his messenger bag on the floor as I close the door, muffling the sounds from the dining room.

“This is better,” he says.

I hand him his coffee and pull one of the chairs away from the desk, angling it toward the other. He does the same, and when we sit, our knees touch. Neither of us pulls away.

“So,” I say, wrapping my hands around my cup for warmth, “a business proposal?”

“Right.” He pulls out his laptop, balancing it on his thighs. “Don’t laugh.”

“No promises.”

He turns the screen toward me, and I nearly spit out my coffee.

The first slide reads Strategic Relationship Development: A Comprehensive Approach .

“You made a PowerPoint about us?”

“I know how it looks?—”

“Oh my gosh. You’re a nerd!” I giggle. “You made a business presentation about us kissing.”

He laughs. “Okay, maybe I am, but this is how my brain works!” He clicks to the next slide. It’s a graph. “Look, we went from zero to sixty in approximately three seconds. That’s not sustainable.”

I study the graph, which has Intimacy Level on one axis and Time on the other. There’s a sharp spike labeled Coffee Shop Incident .

“You graphed it out? ”

His knee presses more firmly against mine. “I process better with visuals.” He’s fully blushing now, and I find it so damn adorable. “The point is, we need practice. Small interactions. Building comfort gradually.”

“So, exposure therapy, but for fake dating?”

“Exactly.” He clicks again.

The next slide reads Phase One: Casual Public Interactions .

I’m trying not to smile, but I’m failing. This overly structured, analytical approach is so opposite to how he kissed me yesterday. But it’s also sweet that he’s put this much thought into protecting our friendship.

“So, what does Phase One involve?”

“Coffee together. We’re doing that now. Walking through town. Grocery shopping. Normal couple things, but low stakes.”

“You want to practice grocery shopping with me?”

“Do I put my hand on your back while we walk? Do you hold the cart, or do I? These are things actual couples know without thinking.”

Our knees are still touching, and I can feel the warmth of him through my jeans. “You’ve thought this through.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up more. “That kiss … Jules, I don’t want to screw this up. Our friendship, I mean. This situation. Whatever this is.”

My heart pounds hard in my chest. “Me neither.”

“So … practice?”

“In front of the whole town?”

“That’s kind of the point, right? Being seen together? Making it believable so Craig gives up.”

He’s right.

“Where do we start?”

“Right here with the steps I’ve laid out in my very professional presentation.”

I laugh, and the tension breaks. “You’re such a dork.”

“You appreciate it. ”

“I do,” I admit.

He closes the laptop, then reaches over and takes my hand. His thumb strokes across my palm, and my breath catches.

“Too much?”

“It’s perfect.” The words come out softer than I intend.

We sit here in my tiny office, holding hands, knees touching, and it feels more intimate than yesterday’s kiss. Maybe because we’re choosing this, deliberately and privately crossing lines we drew.

“This is weird,” he says.

“So weird.”

“Want to get weirder?”

“Always.”

He grins. “Come grocery shopping with me after your shift. Riverside cabin has nothing but wine and cheese.”

“Very bachelor of you.”

“Hey, they’re very good cheeses.”

I squeeze his hand. “I get off at three today.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he says.

“Stalker.”

“Strategic planner,” he says with a laugh.

A knock on the door makes us jump apart like we were doing something we shouldn’t.

“Jules?” Blaire’s voice calls through. “The afternoon rush is starting, and Tracy can’t find the vanilla syrup that was supposed to be delivered.”

“Coming!” I stand, and Nick does too.

In the small space, we’re suddenly very close.

“This is going to be fun,” he says.

“I’m actually looking forward to some excitement this fall,” I admit.

He steps back so I can open the door, and Blaire is standing there with a knowing smirk.

“Business proposal go well?” she asks, waggling her brows .

“As expected,” Nick says.

Blaire openly swoons. “Please tell me your brothers are available.”

He laughs. “Dyson, but trust me when I say, he’s not your type.”

I lead him through the back exit like he’s a celebrity. He kinda is.

“See you at three, Little Red.”

“Can’t wait,” I say, then turn to see Blaire staring at me when I lock the door.

“Phase One,” she repeats. “That beautiful man made a whole presentation about fake dating you, didn’t he?”

“Maybe. Were you eavesdropping? What the hell?!”

“And you’re going grocery shopping together?”

“Yeah, his place needs food. It’s an essential part to being a human.”

“Uh-huh.” She follows me back to the front. “What is this going to solve exactly?”

“Being believable so Craig will get the hint.”

“Babe, the sexual tension between you two is believable from outer space.”

“That’s just?—”

“Physical attraction, I know.” She grabs the vanilla syrup from exactly where it always is, and I narrow my eyes at her. She was just being my nosy bestie. “Oh, look, here it is.”

“You’re so evil,” I tell her.

“Nah, just supportive. Also, Phase One sounds like foreplay to me.”

I gasp. “Did you hear everything?”

“I’ll never tell,” she says.

I follow her to the front, where a line has formed. As I make the espresso, I can’t stop thinking about Nick’s knee pressed against mine, the warmth of his hand, the way he said, “Want to get weirder?” like it was an invitation to adventure.

It’s just fake dating , I remind myself.

Really elaborate, PowerPointed, multi-phased fake dating .

The next two hours pass in a blur of customers and knowing looks from Blaire.

When my shift ends, Nick waits for me by the door, hands in his pockets, looking unfairly good in his casual clothes.

The afternoon sun streaming through the windows catches the gold in his eyes, and I have to remind myself that this isn’t real. It’s a friend offering a favor.

“Ready?” he asks, holding out his hand.

I take it, ignoring how perfectly our fingers fit together. “Lead the way.”

The walk to Harvest Market is short, but approximately thirty locals see us holding hands. Each time someone waves or calls out a greeting, Nick’s grip tightens slightly—a little reminder that we’re in this together.

“You’re thinking too hard,” I tell him as we enter the store.

“How can you tell?”

“You get this little crease right here.” I reach up without thinking, smoothing the spot between his eyebrows.

He catches my hand, holding it against his cheek for a moment. “You’re right.”

“It’s not a bad thing. Welcome to the Overthinkers Club. We meet on Wednesdays. There are cookies.”

He laughs, and I realize I’m already looking forward to making that happen again. The physical attraction makes everything feel more intense.