He leads us to a table with a view that looks like a painting. The sun is at its apex, turning the water to liquid gold.
“No menus,” Marco says with a wink. “You trust me, si?”
“Always,” Kai says.
Once Marco disappears, I’m alone with Kai in the quiet room. “This is a lot for a non-date, Kai.”
“I wanted you to see this.” He settles into his chair, gaze steady on mine. “The bike, this place. It’s who I am when I’m not in a suit pretending to be the man my father wants me to be.”
“And who is that man?”
He considers the question. “Someone who needs speed to shut his brain off. Someone with a few people in the world he actually trusts.” He pauses. “Logan is one. We've been friends since boarding school. We were both miserable kids trying to prove we belonged for different reasons. Ethan came later. We went through something intense together. It made us family.”
Marco returns with wine and a plate of bruschetta topped with fresh tomatoes and basil. The bread is still warm.
“So,” Kai says, pouring me a glass of crisp white wine. “Tell me about work. The real stuff.”
I take a sip, buying a moment of courage. “The real stuff isn't very impressive.”
“Try me.”
I set down my glass. “I've been struggling. There's this guy, Miles, who's been at GVM forever, and he treats me like a threat instead of a colleague. Keeps me off the big campaigns. Buries me in spreadsheets. I know I'm good at my job, Kai. Yesterday was just a glimpse of what I can do, but it's hard when you're fighting for space every day.”
He listens without interrupting. His attention is entirely on me, and it's both unnerving and addictive.
“Yesterday was a fluke,” I continue. “I only presented because Vanessa got sick. I'm good at this, Kai. I know I am. I just can't get anyone to see it.”
They will,” he says simply. “You're impossible to overlook.”
“Flattery is a dangerous weapon,” I murmur.
“I only say what I think.”
I change the subject. “The racing. Is that still part of your life?”
“When I can.” He leans back as Marco brings a delicate seafood risotto. “I don't compete professionally anymore, but I still ride. Still race sometimes, unofficially. It's the only thing that shuts out the noise. On a bike, nothing else exists but the next turn.”
“Is that why you chose investment? The adrenaline of the deal?”
“Different kind of rush.” He twirls his fork through the risotto. “ELK is about building things that matter. Sustainable tech, clean energy. I wanted to prove you could be successful without destroying the world to get there.” He pauses, something darker crossing his face. “It hasn't been easy. Someone’s trying to bury us. Blocking contracts, pressuring investors, squeezing our supply chain. The Silverpoint bid could have put us back on solid ground, but he got the council to delay it.”
“That sounds personal.”
“It is.” He doesn't elaborate, but the tension in his jaw says enough.
“Yet you keep fighting.”
“I have to. It's not just about me.” He sets down his fork. “We have two hundred people at ELK. Engineers, analysts, admin staff. People with mortgages and kids in school. If we go under,they lose everything. I'm not going to let that happen because some...” He catches himself, jaw tightening. “Because someone with more power than ethics decided I don't deserve to exist in his market.”
The flash of anger is brief, but I catch it. There's history there, something deeper than business rivalry. I file it away for later.
He looks at me, those blue eyes intent. “Enough about me. Why marketing if you love art?”
I laugh, though the sound is hollow. “Stability. My parents always said art was a beautiful hobby but a terrible career. Marketing felt like a compromise. I could be creative without the fear of starving.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Sometimes.” I trace the rim of my wine glass. “At that painting class, I remembered how much I missed it. The feeling of making something just because it wanted to exist.”
