A deep chuckle came from behind the visor. “Too much paperwork. Besides, your muffins won Kane over. He’d be upset if anything happened to his new favorite baker.”
“High praise. He seemed to know what he was doing with those locks.”
“Kane’s the best.” He gestured to the table. “I hope this setup works for you. I thought a private space would be better for our... unique situation.”
Morgan took in the twinkling lights, the elegant place settings, the bottle of wine waiting to be opened on the table. “Did you arrange all this yourself?”
“I know people who know people.” He pulled out a chair for her. “Who happen to owe me favors.”
“Must be nice,” she said, taking her seat and allowing him to push her chair in. “I seem to accumulate IOUs rather than favors.”
He sat across from her, the helmet still firmly in place. “About the eating situation..."
“I’ve been wondering about that,” Morgan admitted with a smile. “I’m picturing some elaborate straw system fed through the helmet.”
He laughed, the sound warm even through the modulator. “Not quite. You could look down when I need to take a bite. You’ll have to let me know when you’re not looking.”
“So I’ll be closing my eyes a lot?”
“Only if you want to. Or we could use this.” He reached beside the table and produced a decorative folding screen, about a foot and a half tall—perfect to place between them on the table. “Old-fashioned, but effective.”
“You’ve really thought this through,” Morgan said, impressed despite herself.
“I like to be prepared.” He set the screen on the table off to the side. “And I’ve arranged for the food to arrive in courses.”
As if on cue, a waiter appeared from a hidden panel, carrying two plates. He set them down without comment, opened and poured the wine, and disappeared again.
“So,” Morgan said once they were alone. “How does a mysterious biker afford private courtyard dinners and personal locksmiths?”
He shifted in his seat. “Let’s just say I’ve done well for myself.”
“Clearly.” She picked up her fork, studying the perfectly plated appetizer. “Drug dealer? Professional assassin? Tech billionaire?”
The laugh that came through the helmet was surprisingly genuine. “Not quite as exciting, I’m afraid.”
“So boring corporate job by day, badass biker by night? Like a motorcycle-riding Batman?”
“Something like that.” He adjusted the small screen between them. “I’m going to take a bite.”
Morgan smiled as the sounds of him adjusting his helmet reached her ears from the other side of the screen. She was tempted to stand up and peek—just a glimpse of her mystery man—but found herself honoring their agreement. The game was too intriguing to spoil so quickly.
“I’m good,” he said a moment later, as he slid the screen aside, the helmet firmly back in place.
She raised her eyes to find him watching her—or at least, the blank visor was pointed in her direction.
“Your turn,” he said. “What does Morgan do when she’s not getting locks changed and having dinner with strangers?”
“Marketing and design at Vertex Creative,” she answered, taking a sip of wine. “I create pretty visuals to make people want things they don’t need.”
“You don’t sound thrilled about it.”
“The work is fine. The management is... less so.” She speared a piece of perfectly cooked scallop. “My boss makes the devil look like a reasonable employer.”
“That bad?”
Morgan thought about the endless revisions she’d completed until 3 AM last night, only to have her boss reject them all this morning, like she knew he would, and demand yet another approach that kept her working through her Saturday afternoon. “Worse. But job hunting is its own special circle of hell, so here we are.”
“What would you do if you could do anything?”
