“He is…”
“Intense,” I finish with a smile.
“Yes, I guess you can say that,” Sebastian muses.
Sebastian works for me, and he’s been trying to sell this property for quite some time without any luck.
“I have to go, but I can call later once I get the final details,” I tell him.
He gives me a nod and steps in for a hug. I hear the door slam shut, and we pull apart as we turn to look. Arlo’s still standing there, sunglasses covering what I can only assume is a glare in our direction.
“Just be careful, okay?” Sebastian whispers, and I nod slightly before I turn and make my way to Arlo, who holds the door open for me as we walk out.
“Not too careful,” Arlo says in a low voice, and I hear him crack his knuckles before he slides his sunglasses on his head.
Jesus! I come to an abrupt halt, take a deep breath as my pulse quickens, and choose not to look his way. I gather myself quickly and keep walking, hoping he doesn’t read too much into my reaction. When we reach the car, Arlo gives my driver a nod and mentions a restaurant before he walks over and holds the door open while my driver heads to the driver’s side. I step up to get in, and immediately, he’s closer, crowding me, while his gaze is just as intense and unwavering as ever. When I don’t move, only raise my brows at him, he finally steps to the side, his expression alight with something that flickers between confusion and interest.
After I slide in, he follows and leans down, strapping me in—his hand brushing over my body as he pulls the seatbelt across me and clicks it into place. The closeness brings our faces nearer than before, his breath mingling with mine for a beat too long.
The car starts to move, and I sit there, my pulse pounding so hard it’s a miracle he can’t hear it. I force myself to stay still, trying my best to appear unaffected, as if he doesn’t rattle me to my core.
“I can have the paperwork sent to you this afternoon,” I tell him as I pull out my phone and email my assistant to get started, mostly to keep my hands busy.
“I’d prefer to have it hand-delivered,” he says.
I pause my typing to look at him. Strange that he didn’t bother with his own seatbelt, but he was sure to do up mine. His sunglasses are still on his head, and he’s sitting up straight, and his head is tilted so he can see me.
“I won’t have time this weekend to do it myself,” I tell him. “But I can arrange for someone to hand-deliver it to you.”
“Not negotiable. I will have you hand-deliver it. No one else. Or the deal is off.” He pauses, waiting for me to speak, and when I don’t reply quickly enough, he adds, “I’ll add one million to the deal for you to deliver it.”
I bite my bottom lip. “Why?” He throws money around like it’s confetti.
“Let’s just say… I enjoy doing business with you.”
The car slows and stops in front of a restaurant that doesn’t appear to be open, but Arlo gets out anyway. Then he walks around to my side of the car and opens my door before my driver can get to it. I watch as Matty stands there, confused, before deciding to lean against the car and just wait.
I step out, and Arlo offers me his arm, but I don’t take it. I follow him to the entrance, and that’s when I realize this is probably one of his restaurants. A light flicks on inside, and suddenly, the door is pulled open by someone on the other side, who says, “Mr. Graves, we have everything set up at your table.”
Already set up? I don’t recall him making a phone call.
We enter the dimly lit space, shadows clinging to the walls like secrets. My gaze sweeps over the restaurant as I offer a polite smile to the server. Rich, dark tones dominate the room, with mahogany tables gleaming under the soft flicker of candlelight and leather booths tucked into corners. Ornate chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, their crystals catching the glow and casting a sultry shimmer over everything. They’re larger than the ones in some of the luxury homes I sell—opulent, dramatic, and designed to impress. The whole place hums with a quiet, sensual energy.
We weave our way through the dining room, and that’s when I notice that only one table is set, and food is already placed on top of it.
Arlo pulls out a chair for me, and as I sit, he pushes it in. I thank him as he makes his way to his seat.
“My chef made the things I love. Eat and enjoy.” He waves a hand at the table, and I keep my hands in my lap. I want to eat, but my nerves are getting the better of me right now.
“Why am I here, Arlo?”
“Do you not have lunch or dinners with your clients, Cora?” The way he says my name is intentional.
“I do, but not in private, and always to discuss business. Is that why we’re here, to discuss more business?” I ask.
He picks up his glass of water and then reclines in his seat. “I want to propose something to you.” He looks me in the eyes, as if he is waiting for a reaction from me. I don’t give him one.
“Okay.”
