“I’m not calling you.”
“I know.”
“Then why give it to me?”
“Because I want you to have a door you can open. Not one I push through.”
The sentence unsettled her.
Because it sounded thoughtful.
Because she wanted it to be true.
Because wanting was exactly the problem.
She took the card only because refusing it felt too dramatic. Then she left the suite with her shoes in one hand and the memory of his gaze burning between her shoulder blades.
By the time she reached the lobby, she had a plan.
She would forget him.
She would tell Camille only the funny parts.
She would return the necklace, scrub off the perfume from his skin, and never again attend anything involving a silent auction.
Dorian Vale would go back to towers, boardrooms, and women who knew what fork to use with oysters.
He would forget her.
Three days later, the orchids arrived at her office.
Not roses.
Orchids.
White, elegant, expensive, and delivered in a vase large enough to drown a cat.
Every person at Briar & Lowe Restoration stopped working.
Lena stared at the card.
No printed message.
Just two words written in dark ink.
Breakfast, then?
Her phone rang before she could decide whether to scream.
Unknown number.
She answered because apparently one wild night had damaged her survival instincts.
“The orchids are inappropriate,” she said.
Dorian’s voice warmed the line. “I was told roses were too obvious.”
“How did you get this number?”
“A guest list, your firm’s public directory, and poor judgment.”
“That sounds like stalking with better shoes.”
A pause.
Then, quietly, “Yes.”
Lena blinked.
“You’re admitting that?”
“I’m not defending it.”
“Most men would.”
“I’m trying not to be most men.”
Her anger wavered, which made her angrier.
“You can’t send flowers to my office.”
“I understand.”
“You can’t look me up because you’re curious.”
“I know.”
“You can’t make my coworkers stare at me like I’m a hostage in a romance novel.”
This time, he almost laughed.
“I apologize for the vase.”
“You should apologize for all of it.”
“I do.”
Lena looked through the glass wall. Camille, who had arrived with emergency coffee after hearing the news, pressed both hands to her mouth and mouthed, Is it him?
Lena turned away.
“What do you want?”
“One dinner. Public place. You choose. I’ll explain myself, and if you still want me gone afterward, I’ll disappear.”
“You expect me to trust that?”
“No,” he said. “I expect you to test it.”
She hated that answer.
It was too good.
“One dinner,” she said at last. “No private rooms. No surprise cars. No more flowers. If I leave, you do not follow.”
“Agreed.”
“And you explain how you found me.”
“Yes.”
“And if you say something like ‘I always get what I want,’ I will pour soup in your lap.”
A beat.
“Should I avoid ordering soup?”
“Dorian.”
“No soup. Understood.”
She hung up and immediately wanted to throw the phone into the orchid vase.
Camille grabbed her by both shoulders.
“You are absolutely going.”
“I am absolutely making a terrible decision.”
“Those are often the most educational.”
At eight that night, Lena met Dorian in a crowded old restaurant where the tables were too close together and the owner seemed unimpressed by wealth, beauty, or emotional tension. Dorian arrived without security, wearing a charcoal coat and an expression that softened the instant he saw her.
“You came,” he said.
“I said I would.”
“You also threatened me with soup.”
“I still might.”
He pulled out her chair.
“I’ll deserve it if I’m dishonest.”
That made her sit carefully.
Over dinner, he did not charm her.
That was the first problem.
He told the truth.
That was the second.
“I looked for you after you left,” he said. “At first, I told myself it was pride. Then curiosity. Then unfinished business. But none of that was honest.”
“What was honest?”
He looked down at his hands.
“You saw me without needing anything from me. No pitch. No performance. No fear. You argued with me like I was just a man with a bad idea.”
“You did have a bad idea.”
“I had several.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to dig into my life.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“Did you?”
His face changed.
“Yes.”
The answer hit her like cold water.
“What did you find?”
“I know where you work. I know you grew up in Michigan. I know your mother was a nurse. I know your father left before your senior year of high school. I know you won a scholarship, lost part of it, and worked two jobs to finish your degree.”
Lena put down her fork.
The restaurant noise blurred.
“You had no right.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that like confession is a magic trick.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then why did you do it?”
He looked almost ashamed then. Truly ashamed. Not embarrassed at being caught.
Ashamed.