It’s good. Bold. A little smoky.
Nolan leans back, all long limbs and easy relaxation. “Sure.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet, here we are. You. Me. Wine. A guaranteed good time.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You really do come with your own PR campaign, don’t you?”
“Only when I know the product’s worth selling.”
His tone is light, but no one’s ever looked at me like the way he’s looking at me right now. Like I’m not just here, but I’m inevitable.
I sip. Let the taste linger. Let him watch my mouth. I meet his gaze and say, “Careful, Rhodes. Keep looking at me like that and you’re going to end up making promises with your eyes you can’t take back.”
Eyes narrow and voice deep, he replies with a zinger, “I always make good on my promises.”
I clear my throat and change the subject. “So, what’s your deal? You’ve got layers. Like a smug onion.”
He exhales a dry laugh, eyes glinting in the candlelight. “Smug onion.? That one’s new.”
“I’m full of creative descriptions.”
“You are,” he says, then spins his own glass slowly. “So, full tragic origin story or the spark notes version?”
“Tragic,” I say immediately. “Always.”
“Alright.” He leans in, forearms braced against the table. “Grew up in Chicago. My father and uncle were business partners, but we moved here when my uncle passed. I was around nine years old. Dad was a corporate raider. Think Gordon Gekko without the good hair. He taught me how to negotiate over breakfast and to pick profit over people. Every time. I wanted more than that. So, I decided I could do it differently. With ethics.”
“With ethics?” I question.
“It’s a work in progress,” he says, voice even. “But yeah. That’s the goal. I’ve spent years trying to unlearn what he drilled into me. And lately…” He pauses, runs a thumb along the rim of his glass. “Lately, I’ve been reevaluating things. Especially after what you said about Vanguard.”
I stiffen.
His eyes meet mine again. No smirk. No charm. Just clear-eyed intent. “Rest assured, I’m looking into it.”
“You should,” I say, more steel in my voice than softness. “It’s unethical otherwise.”
A spark flickers behind his eyes. A subtle shift. Not defensive, really. Just…listening. It throws me, this version of Nolan Rhodes—less swagger, more substance.
He might actually give a damn.
“You’re serious?” Although is not quite a question. More like a verbal prod, testing the weight of his words.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “I am.”
I glance down at my drink then back up at him. “Well, shit. Now I feel bad for calling you a corporate sociopath in my group chat.”
A smile ghosts his lips.
Nudging my glass toward his with a clink, I add, “You might be doing the right thing now, but you’re still part of the machine.”
His eyes warm. “Maybe it’s time someone rewired it.”
My head tilts, my lips twitch. I need to steer us back to the previous conversation before I crawl across this table and prove I’m a liar about secretly wanting to make out with him.
“So, let me guess,” I say, “your dad told you idealism was cute until it cost money.”
