“Excellent,” the photographer lowers his camera. “Just got the perfect shot, Mr. Knight.”
“Good,” I reply, already reaching for the intercom. “Because we’re done here, gentleman. Bethany will show you out.”
If you ever wondered what ruthless ambition looked like wearing a three-piece suit, Leontis is the place to be. Where net worth speaks louder than names, and your value is measured in black cards and bonuses.
A few heads turn as I shoulder through the entrance. I nod at a few familiar faces, my gaze scanning the room, hunting for the one person who might finally put me out of my misery.
“Can I help you, sir?” The maître d steps in front of me.
“I’m here to meet Millie Fause.”
“Of course, sir. This way.”
He leads me toward the far corner, and there she is—already waiting. She lifts her hand in a slow, delicate wave. My brow pulls tight, the first red flag unfurling.
She’s dressed to kill—a red dress hugging every curve, her hair and makeup like she just stepped out of the salon. As I close the distance, her cheeks flush, her lashes dipping and lifting like she can’t decide whether to hold my gaze or avoid it altogether.
And just like that, I know Violet is the last thing on her mind.
“Millie.” I drop into the seat opposite, keeping my tone all business.
“Chase.” Her tone softens, the syllables rolling out like silk. “Thank you for coming. I hope you don’t mind — I ordered us a bottle of wine.”
I glance at the unopened bottle, fingers tapping once against the table. “Actually, I’m in a bit of a rush. So, if you don’t mind cutting to the chase, tell me what you know about Violet.”
The shift is instant. Her smile tightens, and I watch her pull back, shoulders squaring off like I’ve just reminded her this isn’t the night she imagined. I swallow down the frustration tightening my jaw, knowing I’ll have to play this stupid game to get what I need.
I lean back, smoothing the edge of my voice. “Sorry, Millie, it’s been a long day.” I offer her a slow smile, dialing up the charm. “You’re right — wine’s exactly what I need.”
It’s like flipping a switch. Her face melts into a deep smile just as the server arrives to pour the wine.
I lift the glass, watching her over the rim as I take a sip. The way her hair falls just so when she flicks it off her shoulder, the quick, almost involuntary glance at my mouth, the way her foot edges closer beneath the table. I’ve seen this a thousand times before, but I wasn’t expecting it here.
Millie is Violet’s friend. That was the piece of the puzzle I’d walked in with, expecting loyalty or, at the very least, some self-righteous lecture. Instead, I get this. I’m pretty sure if I suggested fucking in the bathroom right now, she wouldn’t hesitate.
She sets her glass down, nails tracing the rim, fake concern brimming in her eyes. “You must have been really hurt by the way Violet betrayed you.”
There’s a long pause as I rack my brain for an appropriate response. Clearly, she wants me to criticize Violet. The silencedrags on, and it’s a relief when she moves on to her next line of attack.
“She was so angry when you fired her. I think she wanted to make you pay. She’s always been close with Elliot.”
I keep my features impartial, but inside, it feels like my heart just shriveled up and died. Violet doesn’t strike me as a vengeful person, but what if all along that’s what this was? Nothing but petty revenge since our initial meeting.
“Are you still in touch with Violet?” The question is out before I can cage it, the edge in my voice more desperate than I intended.
Her expression flickers—anger, barely masked—like I’ve just veered off her script.
I lean in slightly, holding her gaze, hastily changing tack. “Let’s not talk about Violet.” I reach for the wine bottle, refilling her glass with an easy charm. “I want to hear all about Millie.”
“Oh,” she blushes, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Well, what would you like to know?”
“You can start with what restaurants you like.” My gaze holds hers, my voice deepening. “In case we need to do this again.”
That’s all it takes. The hunger in her eyes is unmistakable. She wants this too much to see that she’s being played.
So I let her talk. I keep her glass full and my expression interested, nodding at the right moments, praying for some kind of slip-up.
It doesn’t take long.
