The question stumped her for a moment—simple but profound. “I... don’t know. I haven’t thought about it in a while.” She paused, realizing that was a lie. “Actually, I’d love to work on cause marketing. Using design to promote organizations that are actually making the world better, not just selling more stuff.”
He nodded, the helmet moving slightly. “Why don’t you?”
“Bills. Rent. The usual culprits.” She shrugged with a halfhearted smile. “Most nonprofits don’t exactly offer competitive salaries.”
“But they’re more fulfilling?”
“I interned at a conservation foundation in college. The pay was terrible, but I felt like what I was creating mattered.” She smiled at the memory. “I designed a campaign that helped them exceed their fundraising goal by 40%. My boss at Vertex would have hated it—too simple, not enough ‘wow factor’—but it worked because it was honest.”
“Honesty,” he said, the word hanging between them with unexpected weight. “Not always appreciated in marketing. Or in life.”
Morgan tilted her head, studying the inscrutable helmet. “Says the man hiding his face.”
“Touché.” He shifted the screen. “Another bite?”
She averted her eyes even as he slid the screen to block her view, listening to the sounds of his movement. There was something oddly intimate about this arrangement—not seeing his face made her more attuned to everything else. The timbre of his voice beneath the electronic filter. The confident way he handled his cutlery. The faint scent of sandalwood and leather that surrounded him.
“Clear,” he said as he pulled aside the screen again.
Morgan looked up, curiosity burning inside her. “Can I ask why the secrecy? Most people don’t work this hard to remain anonymous.”
“Most people aren’t me.” He tapped his fingers on the table, considering his words. “Let’s just say my life is... compartmentalized. Work in one box, personal life in another. Meeting you was unexpected. I’m still figuring out which box you fit in.”
“Maybe I don’t fit in a box,” she challenged, raising an eyebrow.
“That,” he said softly, “is what I’m afraid of.”
The waiter returned to clear their plates and deliver the main course. Morgan used the interruption to gather her thoughts. This was supposed to be a simple thank-you dinner, yet the conversation kept veering into deeper waters.
When they were alone again, she steered toward safer ground. “So, Bullet. Obviously a nickname. Any chance I get to know the story behind it?”
“Military,” he replied after a moment. “I was known for being... direct. Precise. Always hitting the target.”
“You served?”
“Special forces. Feels like a lifetime ago.”
Morgan nodded, pieces falling into place. “That explains a few things. The way you carry yourself. How you handled my ex without escalating. And you mentioned Kane had military background, did you serve together?”
“Observant.”
“Designer’s eye.” She smiled. “We notice details.”
“What else do you notice?”
The question felt loaded. Morgan took a sip of wine, considering. “Your watch is expensive but understated. You’re comfortable in this setting but equally at ease on your motorcycle. You choose your words carefully. And despite the whole mysterious biker aesthetic, you’ve been nothing but respectful.”
“Is that why you agreed that we keep up the anonymity? Because you feel safe?”
Morgan set her wine glass down. “Partly. But it’s also... I just got out of a relationship that turned out to be built on lies. There’s something refreshing about this—” she gestured between them, “—where the mystery is right up front. No pretense.”
“Except for the helmet.”
“Except for that,” she agreed with a laugh. “But it’s an honest deception, if that makes sense. Clear boundaries.”
He was quiet for a moment. “That might be the most insightful thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
The main course—a perfectly cooked filet with roasted vegetables—was delicious, but Morgan found herself more hungry for the conversation. They established a rhythm without the screen, she would close her eyes or study her plate while he took a few bites, then they would continue talking while he wore the helmet.
