Page 15 of His Dark Vices

I want to look away, but his dark green eyes have me frozen in place. I just stare—until I realize he's expecting me to say something. What tips me off is the smile he's fighting back.

"Y-yes!" I finally agree, nodding quickly and zipping the glass to my lips.

Sam turns away to pour himself a drink as I down about half of mine, forcing the bubbles to go down. It's not the smartest choice, but I want to get over these nerves as soon as possible. Being so close to this guy in the back of a car is doing things to me I hadn't anticipated. He's so in control, so calm, ready to problem solve. Just like how he quickly noticed my nervousness, he also caught me before I could fall the last time we met.

It's kind of nice. If I'm not in control every second with him, things won't completely go to shit.

Maybe the drink is hitting me fast, but I relax a little.

Actually, I'm going to have fun tonight.

Sam tastes the liquor, his eyes on me. His long fingers hold the glass gently yet firmly, and I remember his touch on my hand.

"Do you do that a lot? Just watch people without saying anything?" Sam jokes.

"That's my job, you know," I say, masking my brief embarrassment. "I'm a journalist. I pursue the real story atanycost." I waggle my eyebrows.

"What kind of stories?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows back.

"Whatever my editor passes to me." I don't hide the grumble in my voice and take a long sip. "I'm still working my way up to writing my own stories, pursuing the topics I'd like to uncover. For now, I write about what grabs people's attention."

Sam nods, studying my expression. "What do you want to write about instead?"

I swirl my drink in the glass, trying to think of an answer. I've never had a good answer, even for myself. Journalism appealed to me because I thought I could earn my own success, separate from my parents. But did I just start doing anything that was far enough removed from them? Sometimes I wonder what I'd really like. It's like I don't have time to sort that out with myself.

I shake my head slowly and give a little laugh. "Writing about popular topics is fine for now. I'm just complaining."

Sam doesn't say anything, and I don't look up. It's obvious this is a bit of a sore spot for me, and I feel awkward that I brought up the topic in the first place.

"Hey!" I perk up as music softly fills up the silence. "This is my favorite band!" I look from the front of the car to Sam, confused. "Is the radio playing?"

"No, they don't play this on the radio." Sam laughs. "This is my playlist. I like this band, too."

"No way! No one I talk to ever knows these guys!" I angle toward him enthusiastically, almost spilling my drink.

"Careful," he warns. "Have you already had too much? Lightweight?" Sam makes motion to take my glass, and I pull it out of reach, grinning from ear to ear.

The rest of the ride is much more comfortable. My nerves disappear as we talk about lighter topics, pointedly avoiding work. I want to know what he does, but if I'm not ready to talk, I can't expect him to spill all the beans. But as soon as we get to the stunning restaurant, his possible occupation is all I can think about.

The Skyview absolutely delivers on its name. Located at the tippy top of one of the tallest buildings in the city, the restaurant has a 360° view of the city far below. Our table is right by the window, and the twinkling lights steal my attention right away. Which is an impressive feat, considering how beautiful the interior is. Gold accents mix with white marble to create an elegant vibe, and not too many tables crowd around. This is the kind of place you have to fight to get a reservation at.

Sam is right at home. He handles it all, including the menu we'll be enjoying for the evening and our drinks. I gratefully keep silent, letting my attention drift to the city below as I try to adjust to the setting.

What could his job possibly be?

"Well, how do you like it here?" Sam asks, though I have a feeling he doesn't really need an answer. His eyes twinkle in the cozy lighting.

"I don't know if this is going to be enough to pay you back for stealing your lunch," I say, pressing a hand to my chest in mock concern.

But as we eat, I realize he absolutely doesn't need me to pay him back for anything. He said this place is his favorite, so he must be used to carefully curated plates of culinary delights. Me, on the other hand…

I hardly know what I'm eating—tiny little balls that explode in my mouth, juicy cuts of meat, and perfectly prepared veggies I've never even tasted before. But I'm having the time of my life, and Sam seems to enjoy my reactions to the food. We finish off a bottle of wine before the meal comes to an end, and I find myself perfectly satisfied despite the many little dishes that came and went.

"So?" Sam prompts me again, folding his hands expectantly on the immaculate table. He didn't make the tiniest mess. I wonder if he grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth.

"This was amazing," I gush, unable to keep myself from beaming.

"Skyview has the best food in the city, hands down."

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