The first bite of my lobster and saffron risotto melted against my tongue, its richness balanced by a subtle citrus note. Across from me, Lawrence carved into his Wagyu steak with precise, measured movements, his gaze never straying far from mine.
The air between us was charged—each word, each glance, each sip of wine was another move in this unspoken game.
"So tell me, Ivanna," he said, setting his knife down. "If you knew I was a mystery before accepting this dinner, why agree to meet me?"
I dabbed my lips with my napkin, taking my time before answering. "Because mysteries are meant to be solved."
His smirk deepened. "And what if I don't want to be solved?"
"Then why invite a woman who loves puzzles?"
He leaned back, swirling the Château Margaux in his glass. "Maybe I enjoy watching people try."
A quiet hum left my lips as I lifted my own glass. "Or maybe you just like control."
He didn't deny it.
Instead, he cut into his steak with a slow, deliberate motion. "Control isn't a bad thing."
"No," I agreed, spearing a piece of my lobster. "Unless it's being used to hide something."
A flicker of something passed through his expression—brief, but there.
Intriguing.
"You assume I'm hiding something," he mused.
"I know you are," I countered smoothly. "The question is, why?"
His fork paused just before reaching his lips. Then, just as quickly, he took the bite, chewing thoughtfully before speaking again.
"And yet, you're still here."
"I'm here," I said, lifting my glass, "because the food is exquisite, the wine is rare, and the company is… interesting."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Careful, Ivanna. Flattery is a dangerous game with men like me."
I took a sip of my Sauternes, letting the sweet wine linger on my tongue. "Who said I was flattering you?"
The corner of his mouth lifted in amusement, but his eyes… his eyes held something darker.
Something that warned me he wasn't just playing this game—he was controlling it.
Our plates slowly emptied, the conversation shifting between business, travel, and fleeting personal details—his preferred investments, my upcoming expansion plans, our shared disdain for mediocrity.
But beneath it all, the tension remained.
Thick. Unspoken. Undeniable.
By the time the dessert menu arrived, I knew one thing for certain.
Lawrence Winston was more than just a mystery.
He was a storm waiting to be unraveled.
And I was already standing in the rain.