"High praise," Lucas murmured. "Though I wonder if my son fully appreciates all your... talents."
The waiter arrived with dessert, sparing me from having to respond. I focused intently on the delicate chocolate creation before me, avoiding Lucas's gaze, trying to ignore the way my skin seemed to tighten and heat whenever he spoke.
Miles excused himself to take a call, leaving Lucas and me alone for the first time since we'd entered the restaurant.The silence stretched between us, charged with everything we couldn't say.
"You're playing a dangerous game," I finally said, keeping my voice low.
"I wasn't aware we were playing."
"What would you call this, then?"
He considered me, head tilted slightly. "Recognition. Inevitability. The acknowledgment of something neither of us anticipated but both of us feel."
"It doesn't matter what we feel. You know that."
"Do I?" He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Tell me something, Savannah. In the time you were with my son, did he ever make you feel what I did in one night?"
The question hit like a physical blow, too intimate, too accurate. "That's not fair."
"Fair has nothing to do with this. You spent too much time with a boy who never saw you. Never understood what you needed." His eyes held mine, unrelenting. "I saw it in one night. Feel it even now. The struggle between what you think you should want and what your body knows you need."
"You don't know me," I said, though the words sounded hollow even to my own ears.
"Don't I? I know you were drowning in that relationship. Know you're still recovering from the ways he diminished you, made you doubt your own worth." He spoke with such certainty, such insight, that I felt exposed, flayed open. "Know you built your career on seeing the truth in things, yet struggle to acknowledge the truth in yourself."
Miles's voice drifted toward us—he was still on his call near the entrance, giving us a few more precious moments of privacy.
"The truth?" I leaned forward, anger flaring. "The truth is you're using me to compete with your son. Another arena where you can prove your superiority."
Something dark flickered across his features. "Is that what you think this is? Some reverse Oedipal power play?"
"Isn't it? The great Lucas Turner, taking what belongs to his son?"
"You belong to no one," he said, throwing my own words back at me. "Least of all Miles. And if you think I would risk my company, my reputation, my relationship with my son—complicated as it is—for a simple conquest, then you understand nothing about me."
The intensity in his voice made me pause. This wasn't the calculated businessman speaking, but something rawer, more genuine. It unsettled me more than his control ever could.
"Then help me understand," I challenged. "What is this? What do you want from me?"
Miles was approaching now, phone tucked away, conversation window closing.
Lucas held my gaze, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before his mask slipped back into place. "Meet me in the gallery after lunch," he said, voice so low I almost missed it. "Alone."
Miles returned to the table with a hint of urgency in his step. "Bad news," he said. "That was Ava. The Madison Street investors moved up the meeting. They're flying out tonight, and they want to meet this afternoon. Dad, they're asking for you specifically."
Lucas didn’t take his eyes off me. "Reschedule."
"Can’t. It’s a tight window and they won’t budge. It’s just a formality; you’ll be in and out."
Lucas finally looked at his son, nodding once. "Fine. Savannah, thank you for your time. I trust our discussion has been... illuminating."
"Partially," I replied, unable to resist the opening. "Though I find myself with more questions than answers."
A slight smile played at the corner of his mouth. "The best questions are worth pursuing, even when the answers complicate things."
"Or perhaps, especially then," I countered.
Something passed between us—a moment of perfect understanding amid the chaos of desire and restraint.
