“Has Dante ever fucked her?”
The question is thrown so plainly I nearly miss the land mine beneath it.
And yet—my chest tightens. Blood spikes.
The idea of it… something vicious coils in my gut.
I don’t understand why it bothers me. Not really. But it does.
“They’ve despised each other for years,” I answer. Clipped. Controlled. “Since we were kids.”
She doesn’t look convinced. But she doesn’t press, either.
Just glances at the clock on the wall, then downs the last sip of her espresso and places the cup carefully between us on the table.
Then she levels her gaze on me—sharp, calm, and cutting. “Hour’s up.”
My mouth curves, but there’s no humor in it. “And just like that, you think you’ve got it?”
“Yup.” She stands. “See, I’d bet this entire contract—whatever happened between you and Dante, whatever you’re lying about… Corrine was there. Right in the middle of it.”
We stare at each other. Long enough for the silence to grow teeth.
“If I’m wrong, let Dante know he can cancel the contract.”
She starts to walk off, heels clicking on the polished tile, but just before the door, she glances back.
“But I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”
And then she’s gone.
Leaving me alone with a cold cup, a dozen dead memories twitching beneath the surface?—
and the echo of her knowing smile.
And beneath it all… that silence again. The one that started everything.
“Ihave to admit... I’m impressed.” Eve hums as she sets her wineglass down, the crystal ringing softly against the marble.
I arch a brow as I walk back into the dining area with a second bottle. “That I opened a bottle of Barolo without spilling it on the rug?”
“That you didn’t order in,” she says, grinning as she sinks a little deeper into the chair, like we’re old friends. “You don’t exactly give off homemade-risotto energy.”
I chuckle and move behind her, reaching over her shoulder to top off her glass. “What kind of energy do I give off?”
“Wearing the fuck out of an Armani suit. Power lunches. Sex-on-a-desk kind of energy,” she says without hesitation, and the heat behind her tone makes me pause.
I lean in closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “For the record, I’m excellent at all three.”
Today was her first official day under contract—her first conversation with Grant, her first step into the powder keg I handed her with a smile and no warning. And she handled it.
Well enough that Grant actually texted me.
Just me.
Not in a board-wide group thread. Not through an assistant. Not as some thinly veiled jab buried in a press release.
It was three words.
