Blind Date

Gala

Ali told herself she wasn’t overthinking it. That the way her pulse skipped at Simon’s words was nothing more than an automatic response to being caught in an elaborate ruse. She told herself it didn’t matter, that it was all part of the act, that Simon was simply good at playing the role they’d agreed upon.

And yet.

She could still feel the warmth of his fingers where they had barely grazed hers. She could still hear the even cadence of his voice, the way he had spoken about her with such conviction that, for a moment, she almost believed it herself.

This was dangerous.

“You’re quiet,” Simon murmured beside her, voice low enough that only she could hear.

Ali forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as strained as it felt. “Just taking it all in.”

Simon gave her a knowing look, but thankfully, he didn’t push. Instead, he smoothly steered the conversation back to her parents, asking just the right questions to keep them engaged. It was infuriating how effortlessly he charmed them. Even her father, a man notoriously hard to impress, seemed to warm up to him.

Maybe that was Simon Caldwell’s greatest weapon—his ability to make people forget just how cold and calculating he could be.

When dinner finally ended and they stepped outside, Ali felt like she could finally breathe again. She wasn’t sure how she’d survived the night without slipping up, but at least it was over.

Or so she thought.

“You should invite him to the gala,” her mother said, linking her arm through Ali’s.

Ali nearly tripped over her own feet. “What?”

“The gala next weekend,” her mother said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s the perfect opportunity for him to meet everyone.”

Ali barely held back a groan. She had forgotten all about the charity gala her mother had been planning for months. It was an event filled with pretentious small talk, overpriced champagne, and an endless stream of nosy acquaintances eager to pry into her personal life.

She opened her mouth, ready to protest, but before she could, Simon spoke.

“I’d be honored,” he said smoothly.

Ali turned to him, barely masking her disbelief. He was enjoying this way too much.

Her mother beamed. “Wonderful! I’ll make sure we have a table set aside for the two of you.”

Ali waited until they were in Simon’s car before turning to him, arms crossed. “You really didn’t have to agree to that.”

Simon’s lips twitched. “You were struggling to come up with an excuse. I spared you the effort.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You really don’t mind going to a gala filled with my mother’s friends?”

“I’ve been to worse.”

Ali sighed, slumping back against the seat. “This is spiraling out of control.”

Simon didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifted gears, his focus on the road ahead. “Then maybe we should set some rules.”

She turned her head, studying his profile. “Rules?”

“If we’re going to keep this up,” he said, “we should at least have some boundaries.”

It was a reasonable suggestion. Logical, even. And yet, something about it made Ali’s chest tighten.

“What kind of boundaries?” she asked.

Simon glanced at her briefly before looking back at the road. “For one, we end this the moment it becomes inconvenient.”

Ali arched a brow. “Define inconvenient.”

Simon smirked. “If your mother starts planning a wedding, I’d say that qualifies.”

She snorted. “Fair point.”

“Second,” he continued, “we don’t let this bleed into our personal lives. No showing up unannounced. No blurring the lines.”

Ali nodded, though something about his tone made her uneasy. “Agreed.”

“And third…” He hesitated, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “We don’t let this become real.”

Ali’s stomach dipped, though she forced herself to scoff. “Please. As if that was ever a concern.”

Simon didn’t respond, and for some reason, that silence felt heavier than it should have.

Maybe it was because they both knew how easily lines could blur.

Maybe it was because, deep down, neither of them truly believed it would stay fake.

The night of the gala arrived faster than Ali would have liked. She had spent the past few days trying to convince herself that this was just another part of the charade—another performance, another role to play. And yet, as she stood in front of the mirror, smoothing out the deep emerald fabric of her dress, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting.

She had spent years resenting Simon Caldwell, viewing him as nothing more than an overbearing, power-hungry businessman who had made her ex miserable. But now, she was seeing something else—a side of him that wasn’t entirely cold, a version of him that wasn’t just ruthless efficiency.

And that terrified her.

She shook off the thought as Simon arrived to pick her up. As expected, he looked impeccable, dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. If he noticed the way she hesitated before taking his arm, he didn’t comment on it.

The gala itself was exactly what Ali had expected—an endless stream of forced smiles, empty compliments, and champagne that was more bubbles than actual flavor. But Simon played his part flawlessly. He fielded questions with ease, charmed her mother’s friends, and even managed to make her father chuckle at one point.

It was infuriating how good he was at this.

And yet, despite herself, Ali found that being by his side didn’t feel as exhausting as she had expected.

But then came the dance.

She should have seen it coming. The moment the music shifted into a slow, elegant waltz, her mother’s eyes lit up.

“You two should dance,” she urged, practically pushing Ali toward Simon.

Ali barely had time to protest before Simon was already extending a hand. She hesitated—just for a second—before placing hers in his.

His grip was warm, steady. A stark contrast to the chill creeping up her spine.

“This is just for show,” she reminded him as he led her to the dance floor.

“Of course,” he murmured, pulling her close.

They moved effortlessly, his steps perfectly in sync with hers. Ali tried to focus on the act, on the performance. But the way his hand rested against the small of her back, the way his fingers lightly traced the bare skin of her arm, made it impossible to ignore the way her heart had started to race.

She glanced up at him, intending to make some sarcastic remark, but the words caught in her throat.

Because Simon was looking at her.

Not with amusement. Not with calculated interest.

But with something else.

Something that made her breath hitch.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to break the silence. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”

Simon’s lips twitched. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

He smirked. “I’m good at a lot of things.”

The heat in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She opened her mouth to respond, to throw back some witty remark, but before she could, his fingers brushed against her waist, his grip just a fraction tighter.

And suddenly, Ali wasn’t so sure where the act ended and reality began.

The song ended, and yet neither of them moved.

Ali should have stepped back. Simon should have released her.

But neither of them did.