As the meal progressed, so did the silent conversation between the stranger and me. By the time the espresso arrived, I knew I had to make a move. This wasn’t a game I intended to leave unfinished. When the plates were cleared and the bill settled, I turned to Martin and Amelia with an easy smile. “You two head out. I’ll catch up in a minute.”
Martin gave me a long, knowing look, but he didn’t press. Amelia, oblivious to the undercurrent, offered a cheerful goodbye. As they stepped outside, I stood, smoothing my dress before walking across the restaurant. My heels clicked softly against the polished floor, the sound a deliberate punctuation to the charged air between us. He looked up as I approached, his smirk deepening into something more wicked. I reached into my clutch, pulled out one of my business cards—sleek, black, with Victoria Cross embossed in gold—and placed it on the table in front of him.
“Call me,” I said, my voice low and steady. “We have business to discuss.”
He tilted his head slightly, his smirk never faltering. I turned on my heel and walked away, letting him watch. Outside, Martin was waiting with his arms crossed, his eyebrow arched in silent judgment. “Subtle as always,” he remarked.
“Life’s too short for subtlety,” I replied, brushing past him.
By the time I returned to my office at Crossroads Literary that afternoon, the memory of those piercing green eyes was a buzz beneath my skin. My day continued as it always did: meetings, inventory checks, a brief chat with my head designer about a new collection. And then, as I was finishing up, my phone vibrated.
“Victoria Cross,” I answered, already knowing who it would be.
“Damien King,” came the voice on the other end. It was deep, smooth, and carried just the faintest trace of a challenge. “When are we discussing this… business?”
“Tonight. Early dinner. Eight o’clock,” I replied without hesitation. “I’ll send you the location.”
“Looking forward to it,” he said. I could hear the smirk in his voice.
As the call ended, I allowed myself a small smile. The game was on.
By six, I was in my gym, working off the tension that had built throughout the day. An hour of relentless effort left me energized and focused. Back at my penthouse, I indulged in a long shower, letting the steam envelop me before stepping into my dressing room. The outfit was carefully chosen: a black silk dress with a daring slit, paired with one of my most exquisite lingerie sets—a masterpiece of lace and straps from You Dazzle Me!.
I arrived at the restaurant a few minutes past eight. Damien was already there, standing as I approached. He looked even more devastating up close, his suit impeccable, his presence magnetic. Dinner was a dance of words, sharp and playful, each of us testing the other. His gaze never wavered from mine, and I matched him, move for move, beat for beat. Halfway through the meal, I discreetly made a call to The Crescent, a boutique hotel I frequented for moments like this.
As we finished our drinks, I leaned in slightly, my voice a murmur. “Follow me.”
The cab ride was silent but charged, the anticipation between us thick as we arrived at The Crescent. At reception, the clerk handed me a key without a word. Damien followed me to the suite, his curiosity palpable. Inside, he turned to me, his hands moving toward my shoulders, but I stopped him with a single finger pressed to his chest.
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