Page 44 of Love so Cold

"Yeah, don't worry about a thing," Emily adds, her tone light as she nudges Ethan forward. "We've got this covered. Enjoy your evening!"

My grateful smile is tight at the edges as they disappear with a gaggle of kids in tow, leaving me alone with Victor Stone—only now there's an awkward space hanging between us.

"Thank you," I manage, aware of how stiff I sound.

"Good to know you can be polite," Victor remarks, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. His blue eyes hold mine for a moment longer than necessary before he continues, "I'm glad you agreed to dinner."

"Let's get one thing straight," I say, crossing my arms defensively. "I'm here to talk about what you plan to do for the community, not small talk."

"Of course," he replies, unfazed by my standoffish demeanor and gesturing toward the automatic doors. "Shall we?"

I follow him, determined to keep my guard up, but there's a part of me that can't help but notice the way the cold air seems less biting around him. We step outside, and sure enough, his sleek car idles by the curb, its engine a soft purr against the evening chill. The driver stands by the rear door, a respectful distance away, a silent sentinel awaiting command. I hesitate for amoment, the warmth from Victor's gaze doing nothing to thaw the frostiness of my mood.

"Really? A driver?" I scoff, unable to mask the disdain in my voice as I slide into the leather seat, cold to the touch. "Must be nice not knowing what it's like for the rest of us, struggling to keep our lights on."

Victor doesn't respond, just gives the driver a nod and slides in beside me, closing the door with a definitive thud. The partition is up, glass separating us from the front seat, and I can't help but feel it's also there to keep emotions at bay—like we're specimens under observation.

"The community's barely holding together," I mutter more to myself than to him, staring out at the passing streetlights that blur one into another. "People here don't get chauffeured around. They fight for every dime."

Silence stretches between us, a taut rope ready to snap. I catch a glimpse of Victor’s profile, his jaw set, eyes fixed straight ahead. There’s a story there, behind those eyes, but whether it's one of understanding or indifference, I can't tell.

The city slips by, unnoticed, as we move toward whatever fancy place he’s picked out. I fold my arms, defensive, preparing for a battle of wits over white tablecloths and crystal glasses.

"Nice night, isn't it?" His voice finally cuts through the quiet, but even then, it’s empty of the conversational warmth one might expect.

"Sure," I reply curtly, not bothering to look at him. If he thinks small talk will soften me up, he's got another thing coming. I already warned him.

We pull up to the restaurant, and the car comes to a smooth stop. I wait for him to break the silence, to offer some platitude about making things better. But nothing comes. Just the quiet hum of the city and the sound of my own heart, beating a rhythm of wary anticipation.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Victor

As the carrolls to a smooth stop in front of One Eleven Chophouse, I feel my stomach drop. It's all polished wood and valet parking, nothing like the cozy joints that dot the town. A ripple of regret washes over me; this place screams Victor Stone, billionaire, loud and clear.

Avery's gaze is fixed outside the window, her eyes narrowed just enough to betray her thoughts without a word spoken. The disdain etched on her lovely face says it all: I've blundered, big time.

Neither of us says anything. She just keeps staring at the grand entrance as if it's a gate to somewhere she never wanted to be.

I reach out, laying my hand gently over hers. Herhead snaps toward me, confusion dancing in her eyes. "Aren't we getting out?"

"No," I admit, squeezing her hand lightly. "I'm... I'm no good at this."

She draws back slightly, tucking a strand of that beautiful chestnut hair behind her ear, and retorts, "This is a business meeting, Victor."

"Yes, but not the usual kind." My voice comes out more raw than I intend. "I deal with people who—people who have egos bigger than this whole town. They want fancy dinners; they want to be seen. Maybe I've let that world color my judgment. But that's not me. Not really."

"Isn't it?" she asks, her tone a bit harsh, but I understand why. In her eyes, I've come into her home to make money, and she probably thinks I'm trying to buy her too. But that couldn't be further from the truth.

I shake my head. The leather seat creaks as I shift to face her fully. "No. That's not how I was raised. Or rather, not how I grew up. I went into automatic mode, Avery. I'm treating you more like an investor and less like a person. I'm sorry."

There's a long pause, the car idling patiently, the hum of the engine a low background symphony to our exchange. Avery looks at me, and I can't quite read what's going on behind those eyes. But I hope she sees the truth in mine.

"Look, Avery," I start, trying to find a middle ground in her still-hard gaze. "This town... it's yourhome. It means something to you. And I know you think I've come here like some sort of steamroller without considering that." My own features scrunch as I search for the right words. "But, I promise you, that's not my intention. How about we ditch this place? You show me around instead, pick somewhere you love. Where we can talk, and you can show me the town from your point of view."

She blinks at me, and for a moment, I think she might argue. But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, her expression eases. "Fine," Avery says, though her voice betrays a reluctance. She rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of curiosity there too.

"What's your driver's name?" she asks.

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