Henry had been right about the ambiance. The entire inside of the restaurant was bathed in black, with occasional pops of red. Even the abundant overhead chandeliers and tabletop candles did nothing to brighten the cavernous-feeling space.
“Right this way, Mr. Westrock,” the hostess said.
Finn’s hand pressed to the center of her back, and she pretended to ignore the way her skin felt warm at his touch as they moved through the tight space between tables until they reached their own.
“I’m not sure how we’re going to read this,” Iris said after the hostess handed them their menus and moved away.
“You can’t really go wrong with steak.”
“Is steak good for optics?” Iris asked.
To that, Finn’s head tipped to the side, his gaze curious as he looked at her, making her feel suddenly exposed.
Whatever he was about to say, though, fell away as he closed his menu.
“Yes. Research shows that eating meat is popular among humans and most paranormals. So long as I am also willing to be seen at the occasional vegan restaurant as well.”
“Isn’t that exhausting?” she asked.
“What?”
“Always wondering what people think and want from you?”
“That’s the job,” he said, shrugging.
The server interrupted them then, taking their orders, and then pausing when there was an ear-piercing scream from somewhere deep in the building. Around them, several water glasses shattered, making the bussers rush over to clean them up.
“Our chef,” the hostess said with a strained smile. Iris was sure she could see pain behind the woman’s eyes, like she had a headache from the screaming.
“Of course,” Finn said, his press-conference smile firmly in place.
“I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
“What does wine taste like?” Iris asked after the hostess walked off.
“You’ve never had wine?” Finn asked, brows rising.
“No. We don’t have grapes in the ocean.”
“Of course. We probably should have put some wine tasting in your training. You can pretend to sip it if you don’t care for it. It’s … an acquired taste. Henry forced me to learn to like it over the course of six months. I ordered a pretty sweet one, so it’s a decent introduction.”
“Why can’t you just drink what you like?” Why couldn’t she?
“It’s more about proper etiquette. You never know what you are going to be served at various events or someone’sdinner party. It would be rude to turn something down or not at least taste it.”
“I guess that makes sense. I feel that way about fish eggs.”
“You don’t like caviar?”
Iris couldn’t help the full-body shiver at just the idea of the eggs. She was surprised by the laugh that escaped Finn—the sound making a different kind of shiver move through her. And that smile he shot her? It almost looked real.
“Did you try to get out of it when you were younger?”
“There was a particularly disastrous time I tried to hide them in my bra, only to have them float out in front of important company.”
He was laughing now—really laughing—and the sound made something in her crack open.
Maybe he wasn’t just a mouthpiece in slacks. Maybe, under all the polish and platform language, there was still a person in there.
