Page 6 of The Contract

His voice carries a weight that suggests he’s used to commanding a room without saying a word.

I watch, expression carefully neutral, as he steps around the small space between our tables, reaching for the chair across from me.

He doesn’t sit—not yet.

Instead, he rests his hands against the back of it, tilting his head slightly.

Waiting for my permission.

“Sharing a meal means we won’t be strangers anymore.”

It’s a line. A simple one.

But the way he says it—like he’s already decided how this will go, like heknowsI’ll let him sit—that is what makes me want to say no.

But the tattoo over his right forearm makes me rethink my choice.

It’s Latin:

Fortis fortuna adiuvat.

Fortune favors the bold.

A mantra I adopted during college.

I shouldn’t.

But something about him...

Something about this moment...

It feels like fate is pulling us together.

And who am I to say no to fate?

Feigning irritation, I make a show of exhaling as I roll my shoulders.

“Fine.”

I pretend to adjust the angle of my seat. “If only to spare my neck the strain of looking over at you since you refuse to leave me alone.”

He hums, amused, as he pulls out the chair and takes his seat.

There’s a distinct shift in the energy of the table.

I don’t know what it is exactly, but I canfeelit—the game changing.

Andhecan too.

I see it in the way he settles in.

The way he leans back in his chair with a confidence that feels like an unspoken declaration.

He likes this.

This push and pull.

This game between us.

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