She looked up at me. "And yours?"
"I don't have friends at these events. Only associates."
She raised an eyebrow. "That sounds lonely."
"It's efficient." I sat beside her, close but not touching.
"Names and friends complicate things. Expectations. Histories."
"Is that why you haven't asked for mine again?"
I studied her face—the stubborn set of her jaw, the intelligence in her green eyes, the slight vulnerability she was trying to hide.
"Would you have given it to me?" I asked.
"No."
"Then why waste the question?" I offered her my fresh glass.
"I’ve barely touched it."
She accepted it, taking a small sip before passing it back.
"You're used to getting what you want, aren't you?"
"Usually."
"And if you don't?"
"I reassess whether it's worth pursuing." I watched her reaction carefully. "Or whether I need to change my approach."
She laughed, the sound genuine and surprising. "That's the most honest answer I've heard from a man in... maybe ever."
"I don't see the point in games."
"Says the man who asked me to meet him in a secluded garden."
"Not a game," I corrected. "A choice. Freely offered."
She tilted her head, studying me with that direct gaze that had caught me at the bar.
"What do you want from me? Really?"
The question deserved honesty.
"Your company. Your conversation." I paused. "And yes, I find you attractive. But that's not why I'm here."
"No?"
"No. I'm here because you looked at me and saw a man, not a name or a bank account or a status symbol." The admission came unbidden, more vulnerable than I'd intended.
"That's... unusual in my experience."
She considered this. "Maybe I just don't know who you are."
"Maybe that's the appeal."
Music drifted from the direction of the reception pavilion, along with the hum of conversation and laughter.
