"Clarifying the terms of what you offered."
"This is just a proposition with more steps."
"Correct."
She'd spent the whole day being the thing in the room that didn't quite register. Background frequency. Easily talked over, easily managed, easily redirected toward whatever the men around her had already decided. It hadn't even felt remarkableuntil right now, sitting across from a man who kept trying to actually hear her.
Somewhere between the taco coupons and the negotiation she'd developed a Pavlovian response to being taken seriously, and now it was warm in here and she was still sitting and he was still waiting and—
"This is insane." April said, and she couldn't tell if she meant him or herself.
"And yet you're still sitting."
"You say that like it's evidence."
"It is."
He was actually listening. That shouldn’t feel revolutionary.
It did.
She tilted her head, studying him the way she'd study a contract with too much fine print. The silver at his temples that made him look like he'd earned every year of whatever he'd done to get here. The jawline that could probably cut glass if he turned his head too fast. Shoulders that suggested his suit wasn't doing any heavy lifting—just providing a professional wrapper for something considerably more dangerous.
His hands, resting on the table. Broad palms. Long fingers. No rings. Hands that looked like they knew exactly how much pressure to apply to get what they wanted.
He was still waiting.That shouldn’t be this attractive.
"Okay. Then we're negotiating the terms of the extra."
Dante's gaze dipped to her mouth. Then back up. "Yes."
She let the silence sit, the bass seeping through the glass like a low, rhythmic warning. April leaned forward just enough to let the light catch the emerald silk. "The prank is free. So really, you're the one propositioning me. And I've realized something today." She gave a small, lethal smile. "I'm expensive."
The bass outside thudded through the glass while Dante waited, patient as a threat. April could see his chest rise and fall. Controlled. Like even his breathing was a negotiation tactic.
"Name your price."
Name your price.
The same tone. The same calm assumption that he’d set the frame and she’d answer inside it.
If she let him define the terms, she’d disappear into them.
Not tonight.
"I'm the boss."
Don Dante
"I'M THE BOSS."
No hesitation. No smile playing at the edges.
Just her voice, calm across the table, like she was correcting a clerical error in his own ledger.
Dante's hand stilled on the wood.
She held his gaze. Green dress catching low light. Shoulders square. Breathing even.
