“Wow,” Tristan says, a genuine smile lighting up his face. “You’re going to be the most beautiful woman in the place, and I’m going to be the most envied man.”
“We’re all going to be the most envied,” Diego corrects him, his eyes warm as they meet mine. “You look stunning, Zoe.”
Dane says nothing, but his pale gaze sweeps over me in a silent appraisal that somehow feels more intimate than any spoken compliment.
Rett is the last to speak. He just looks at me, his blue eyes dark with an intensity that is pure, possessive heat. “Ready?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.
I give a slight nod as I take a breath. I guess we’re doing this. Why do I feel so nervous? I’ve been on dates before.
“Your ride is waiting at the front entrance, Mr. Sterling,” Sternam says, rising from his desk. Then his gaze finds mine. The professional mask softens for a fraction of a second, replaced by a small, almost imperceptible smile and a slight, respectful dip of his chin. A surprising warmth spreads through my chest.
“Thank you,” Rett says, then turns back to me, holding out a hand. “Shall we?”
The cool night air hits us as we head to a sleek, black customized Cadillac Escalade waiting at the curb. The driver holds the rear door open.
Rett and Dane settle into the seats in front, while I take a seat between Diego and Tristan, their bodies bracketing me, our knees occasionally brushing as the vehicle navigates the evening traffic.
“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“It’s a surprise,” Tristan says, a hint of his usual mischievous grinplaying at his lips. “But a good one, I promise.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about surprises from you,” I tease.
“Probably wise,” Dane murmurs, earning a mock-offended look from Tristan.
“I’ll have you know my surprises are legendary,” Tristan protests. “Remember Aspen?”
“Exactly my point,” Dane says dryly.
I laugh, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. This feels almost normal. Almost like the easy camaraderie we had before everything got so complicated.
But then the car is slowing, pulling up to the curb in front of a sleek, modern building with a discreet sign that simply reads “Solitude.”
“Here we are,” Rett announces as the driver opens the door for us.
I recognize the name immediately. Solitude. Three Michelin stars. A months-long waiting.
“Wow,” I say, unable to keep the surprise from my voice. “This is... impressive.”
“Only the best,” Diego says, offering his arm as I step out of the car.
The maître d’ greets us by name, no reservation required, and leads us through the dimly lit restaurant to a secluded table near the back. The space is elegant. The tables are spaced far apart, the lighting is soft, the ambient noise a hushed murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of fine china.
It’s beautiful. Perfect. And immediately, I feel out of place.
“Wine?” Rett suggests as we settle into our seats. I’m positioned at the head of the rectangular table, with Rett and Diego on either side of me, and Tristan and Dane across from them.
“Sure,” I agree, though what I really want is a stiff drink to calm the sudden nerves that have appeared out of nowhere.
Diego orders a bottle. The silence feels staged.
“So,” Rett says after a moment. “Art history. Why that?”
I blink, caught off guard. “Oh. My mom used to take me to the museum all the time, and I guess I just fell in love with the pieces there.”
“Fascinating,” Rett says, nodding.
I frown, raising a single eyebrow at him. Is this an interview?
