His eyes met mine, then traveled down. Slowly. Taking in the dress, the curves, the bare shoulders.
Don't you dare blush. Don't you dare.
There was a flicker in his gaze when it finally returned to my face. Something that made my breath catch despite myself.
"You look..." He paused. "That color suits you."
I walked past him without responding.
Outside, a black SUV waited at the curb. Sebastian moved ahead of me and opened the door himself, gesturing for me to enter. I slid inside without acknowledging it. Unnecessary. All of this was unnecessary.
He settled in beside me. The car pulled away.
"How was your day?" he asked.
"Fine."
"Did the final numbers come in from the gala?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"They were fine."
I kept my eyes on the window, watching the city blur past. I could feel him watching me. That steady gaze that always made my skin prickle.
"The foundation must be pleased with the turnout," he tried again.
"Mmhmm."
Silence. I counted the blocks. Fourteen more until we hit Tribeca, if I remembered the restaurant district correctly. Fourteen blocks of this car, this closeness, his cologne filling the small space with something woodsy and warm.
I pressed closer to the window.
"You're going to make this difficult," he said. Not a question.
"I'm going to make this exactly what it is." I finally turned to look at him. "You bought my time. You didn't buy my conversation."
His jaw tightened. I watched the muscle flex beneath his skin.
Good.
The rest of the ride passed in blessed silence. Even when we arrived at the restaurant, I still didn’t speak. It was a nice place, I’d give him that. It was a converted townhouse with no sign on the door. The kind of place that didn't need to advertise.
Sebastian stepped out first and extended his hand to help me from the car. I looked at his hand. I looked at him. Climbed out on my own. His eyes narrowed. I felt a small spark of satisfaction.
Inside, the host greeted Sebastian by name and led us through the main dining room, past white-clothed tables and soft candlelight, and the quiet murmur of wealthy people eating expensive food.
We kept walking, past all of it, through a door at the back into a private room. An empty private room. Just one table, set for two, candles flickering in the silence.
I stopped. "You booked the entire room?"
"I did. Because I wanted privacy for our date."
I turned to stare at him. "This isn't a date."
"It definitely is." He moved past me and pulled out my chair. "I told you it was. I believe my exact words were 'a private dinner at the restaurant of my choice.' This qualifies."
