“You’re welcome to.” He settled back in his chair, one brow lifting. “Italian. Thai. Brazilian. Anything your heart desires.”
“How about another rewatch ofTwilight?” The words burst out before I could stop them, half laugh, half challenge.
He groaned dramatically. “I’d do it for you… again.” Then his attention caught mine, teasing but sincere. “But seriously—how the hell did that become your favorite movie?”
“It isn’t,” I laughed, waving him off. “It’s just this stupid little ritual Candace and I have when life gets too hard.”
He froze mid-bite, eyebrows knitting. “Wait. You willingly rewatchTwilight—and it’s not even your favorite movie?”
I shook my head, giggling now.
He leaned back, eyes wide in mock horror. “You’re some kind of masochist.”
That did it. Laughter tore free, unstoppable, my shoulders shaking as I tried—and failed—to hide my face behind my hands.
His laugh carried across the terrace on the breeze—deep, rough-edged, and rich with disbelief. The kind of sound that made my chest ache in the best way.
We stayed like that for a while, trading jabs and half-serious smiles. Little reminders of what we’d been before everything became so painfully complicated.
By the time our plates were cleared, the air between us had softened. Not fixed. Just… easier.
“Okay,” I said, swirling the last of my wine. “This was a pretty decent apology dinner.”
His grin broke wide. “Good. I was ready to roll out a third course if I had to. Maybe even a backup daffodil.”
A laugh slipped out of me as he reached to refill my glass. “You really came into this with a full contingency plan.”
His face lit with boyish mischief. “You’re Emma Sinclair. I’d be an idiot not to plan for every angle.”
“You do realize you’re setting a dangerous precedent.” I gestured between the wine and the skyline. “The bar is now sky-high.”
“I’m okay with that.” He shrugged. “I’ve always liked a challenge.”
I smiled, but the ease didn’t quite settle before another thought broke through—sharp and unwelcome.
“Okay,” I began, careful. “We need to decide how we’re going to handle Wednesday.”
“We keep everything separate,” he said immediately, composure sliding back into place. “Clear lines, clear boundaries. Business stays business.” He gestured between us, expression sharp now. “And this stays here.”
“And after Wednesday?” I pressed, unwilling to let him off that easily.
He sighed, the strategist emerging again. “We keep it private until the merger is finalized.”
He must have seen the flash of something in my expression because his tone eased.
“Not because I’m embarrassed of you,” he added gently. “But because Candace was right, we need to get through this first. Once you’re firmly under—”
“Beside,” I corrected.
A smile ghosted across his lips as he dipped his head. “Beside Falkirk officially,” he amended. “Then we can make this public.”
I nodded gradually, rolling the words around in my mind. “And if your company pushes back once they find out?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Then I dissolve Falkirk, and we build something new.”
I blinked, my heart tripping at the certainty in his tone. “Be serious, Damien.”
“I am,” he said simply. “If they have a problem with us after everything we’ve built—after everything has been signed—they can kick rocks.”
