“I’m sure, although I haven’t taken a headcount.”
I nodded. “Fair enough. I’m glad to see that you appreciate women and their skills. I bet you she’s a much safer driver than any man.”
“I’ll make sure to convey to her your vote of confidence,” he retorted, amused. “I’m so looking forward to the day Dina takes you out on a highway.”
Before I could ask what he meant by that, Kian nodded to the waiter.
An older man with a kind smile approached, but he didn’t offer me a menu or even glance my way. Instead, his attention was entirely on Kian.
“Nice to see you again, boss.”
“Boss?” My brows arched.
“Bring us today’s special. The usual drink for me, and for the lady…” Kian instructed the waiter, then looked at me. “What are you drinking?”
After what happened earlier and considering I was with a perfect stranger, I should opt out of continuing my alcohol intake, but it would seem I was being reckless today. “Mojito, but don’t make it super strong. I like them sweet.”
“Me too,” Kian said, amusement lacing his tone. “Although, we might be talking about two different things here.”
My cheeks heated at the insinuation, and I internally cursed my fair complexion.
“You know, I can read a menu and decide dinner for myself,” I remarked instead.
He smirked. “I have no doubt, but the menu is in Albanian.”
I pouted. “And you wouldn’t translate for me?”
He laughed, and despite myself, I smiled.
“Somehow I get the feeling you’d be bored halfway through translation of the soup section,” he said “Though, if you want?—”
He lifted a hand, his eyes connecting with the waiter.
I caught it without thinking, my fingers closing around his wrist to gently but firmly pull it down. The contact sent an unexpected shiver racing along my spine and my pulse kicked up.
Seriously, what the hell was that?
I was a thirty-year-old woman, not a swoony teenager with a crush scribbled in the margins of a notebook. I’d kissed him, for crying out loud. There was nothing new or shocking about that. And yet my heart was pounding like it had forgotten every ounce of common sense I’d spent years cultivating.
Traitorous thing.
“I’m good with whatever you ordered,” I finally said, yanking my hand back as if burned by his flesh.
I turned to look out the large open windows. The air smelled like salt and grilled seafood and lanternlight flickered across the white tablecloth, lulling me into a special kind of comfort.
“It’s a nice spot,” I mused.
I glanced back and caught him watching me instead of the view, his attention so steady it made my skin prickle.
I cleared my throat.
“Why do you walk around with a gun?” I asked, nodding vaguely toward his jacket. “And why exactly do you need a weapon when you’ve got a bodyguard glued to you like a shadow?”
Amir—whose name I’d learned earlier—had very clearly wanted to sit in the back seat with us. He’d hovered, stiff and suspicious, like I might suddenly take his boss out with my… what, feminine wiles? Mild sarcasm?
The whole thing would’ve been ridiculous if he hadn’t been taking his job so seriously. I almost admired the commitment. Almost.
Kian leaned in, propping his elbows on the table and resting his head on a fist. “You ask a lot of questions, Sophie.”
