Page 5 of The Contract

The way he sets his glass back down is purposeful, as ifthis, too, is a move in the game.

“Delicious,” he murmurs, voice quiet, but something in it feels like a challenge.

I set my glass down, arching a brow. “I wasn’t aware I was offering a review.”

His lips twitch at the edges, but he doesn’t break. Doesn’t falter.

Instead, he leans back slightly in the booth, rolling the stem of his glass between his fingers like he has all the time in the world.

“I imagine you have a discerning palate, Miss…”

He leaves the space open for me to fill.

Waiting for my name.

I don’t give it to him.

Instead, I take another slow sip of my wine. “I imagine you like to ask for things you don’t get.”

His smirk deepens, and he sets his glass down with deliberate ease.

“Ah. A woman of mystery.”

I give a one-shouldered shrug. “Or just a woman who doesn’t hand over personal information to men who stare at her in restaurants.”

He chuckles, the sound rich, amused. “That’s fair.”

He doesn’t offer his name either.

Doesn’t fill the space between us with useless pleasantries.

I like that.

“Tell me,” he says, tilting his head slightly, his eyes sharper than before. “What was the news?”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“The news,” he repeats, unbothered. “Whatever it was that made you smile at your phone just before the waiter arrived.”

I lean back in my booth, fingers smoothing over my napkin as I study him.

"Bold assumption, thinking a woman should share the details of her life with a stranger.”

His smirk doesn’t waver. If anything, it sharpens.

Like he was hoping I’d say that.

And then—he moves.

Not away.

But up.

Standing.

And—fuck, he’s tall.

“Then let’s fix that.”

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