Page 32 of Over the Edge

“I see. Well, maybewecan come to a mutually satisfying arrangement tonight.”

Gross. Inwardly, I gagged. Outwardly, I kept my pleasant smile firmly in place. “Maybe we can.”

“Excellent. This calls for wine.” He lifted a finger, and the waiter appeared as if conjured, setting down two glasses of wine.

“1995 Château Margaux,” Moreau said, watching with a hungry glint in his eyes as I brought the glass to my lips. “I also took the liberty of ordering dinner for you. Châteaubriand with black truffle jus and pommes Anna. I hope you don’t mind.”

It was another power play. Everything with him was, every gesture calculated to shrink the space I occupied. To make me feel small. Controlled. Owned.

Unlike Flynn.

Flynn’s possessiveness earlier, as infuriating as it was, had come from someplace raw and honest. He didn’t need me to stroke his ego just to feel like a man. Moreau, on the other hand, craved it.

“Perfect,” I lied, letting the wine roll across my tongue. Ask me, it wasn’t worth the seven-hundred-dollar price tag. I’d had better ten-dollar bottles.

He ran a finger around the rim of his glass, his gaze sweeping over me, assessing like a collector studies a rare artifact for flaws. “Tell me,chérie. What is it you truly want from Sentinel?”

I tilted my head just enough to catch the light in my earrings. “I already told you. Security. Control. The same thing every man in that auction room wants.”

“Ah, but you are not a man. And your kind typically prefers softer methods. Subtler games.” He reached across the table and captured my hand, his thumb tracing the pulse point at my wrist. “Are you playing games with me, Elisa?”

I allowed it, maintaining the cool, unaffected facade of Elisa while calculating how many fingers I could break before his guards, tucked discreetly away in the shadows, made it to the table.

At least three.

Our dinners arrived, and Moreau released my hand, sitting back to shake out his napkin. He took his time cutting into his filet before speaking again. “You intrigue me, Elisa. You come from money, but you move like someone who’s had to fight for power.” His gaze dropped to my hands. “I imagine you don’t enjoy being underestimated.”

“I don’t mind,” I said lightly, spearing a potato with my fork. “Underestimation is an advantage.”

He hummed, clearly pleased. Whether it was with the dinner or our verbal sparing match was anyone’s guess. “A woman who understands the game. Rare.”

“A woman who wins the game,” I corrected, lifting my glass again.

He smirked. “We shall see.”

The rest of dinner passed in a delicate dance of probing questions disguised as small talk. Moreau asked about my background, my family connections, my education. I fed him the fiction Ozzy had crafted—a Swiss boarding school, a fortune inherited from my father’s shipping empire, investments in defense technology that had turned a modest inheritance into a formidable portfolio. Each lie was cushioned with enough truth to make it digestible, each answer calculated to make me desirable as both an auction participant and a conquest.

He nodded approvingly at all the right moments, but I could see the calculations happening behind his eyes.

He didn’t believe me. Not entirely.

Good. I didn’t want him to trust me too easily. Men like Moreau respected resistance… to a point.

When the plates were cleared, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small velvet box, setting it on the table with a slow, deliberate push.

“Another liberty,” he said, his smile lazy.

I didn’t immediately reach for it, and he tapped a finger against the top.

“Go on.”

I exhaled through my nose, then flicked open the lid. Inside, nestled against black silk, was a diamond bracelet—delicate at first glance, but edged with marquise-cut stones that gleamed like tiny blades.

“It reminded me of you,” he said. “Elegant. Sharp.”

I closed the lid and pushed it back across the table. “I don’t want diamonds. I want Sentinel.”

Moreau’s smile tightened at the corners. “You’re direct. I like that.” He pushed the box back toward me. “But I insist. Consider it a gesture of goodwill. A symbol of what could be… if we reach an understanding.”

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