chapter 3: Dinner with the Devil
916 Words
Amara checked her reflection in the tinted window of the luxury SUV as it glided through midtown traffic. She wasn’t nervous — not really — but the dress she wore clung to her skin like tension: smooth black silk, high neckline, slit just enough to command attention without begging for it.
The email invitation from Liam Blackwood had been blunt.
> “Dinner. 7:30. Il Sole. We’ll talk Roosevelt Tower.”
No greeting. No signature. Just instructions.
Typical.
But it wasn’t the meeting that made her shift in her seat as the car turned onto a quiet cobblestone street in SoHo.
It was him.
Something about Liam unnerved her — not in a dangerous way, but in the way cliffs made you want to look down. You knew it was reckless, but your heart still beat faster anyway.
The SUV stopped. The driver opened her door, and she stepped out into the cool night air.
Il Sole wasn’t just a restaurant. It was a place with no name on the door, where people like Liam Blackwood never had to ask for a table. Inside, candlelight glowed from glass chandeliers, casting long golden shadows on exposed brick walls. The scent of truffle oil, aged wine, and roasted garlic hung in the air like perfume.
Liam was already seated in a private corner booth.
He looked up as she approached, and for once, his eyes didn’t scan her like a threat.
They scanned her like a man seeing something unexpected.
“You clean up well,” he said.
Amara arched a brow. “I didn’t realize this was a beauty contest.”
“It’s not.” His eyes gleamed slightly. “But if it were, you’d win.”
That threw her off balance — and he knew it. The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as she slid into the booth across from him.
The waiter approached. Liam ordered without asking: a bottle of wine older than either of them, a few hand-selected dishes from the chef.
“You didn’t let me order,” she said.
“I did my research.”
“You researched what I like to eat?”
“I research everything I invest in.”
There it was again — the word that made her blood rise.
“You think of me as an investment?”
“I think of you as high risk,” he said calmly, pouring her a glass. “But possibly high reward.”
She met his eyes, glass in hand. “You should know — I don’t perform on command.”
“I don’t want you to perform.” His voice dropped, lower, deeper. “I want you to be dangerous. The way you were in my office.”
For a second, the air between them changed. Less boardroom. More something else.
Something darker.
Amara looked away first. “The Roosevelt Tower files are a disaster. Your last site manager signed off on materials that don’t meet regulation. It’s going to cost you.”
“Fix it,” he said simply.
“I will. But if you’re looking for a savior, I’m not your girl.”
“I don’t believe in saviors,” Liam murmured. “I believe in people who don’t flinch.”
Their food arrived — elegant plates of wild mushroom risotto, roasted duck, and seared scallops. The conversation paused, but the energy between them didn’t.
After a few bites, Amara leaned back, setting down her fork. “Why are we really here, Liam?”
“You already know.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Liam’s eyes didn’t waver. “Because I don’t trust anyone else. Because I’ve built this company with blood and fire, and I’m not going to let one bad project humiliate me. And because—” he paused, “—you’re the only person who’s ever told me I might be the problem.”
Amara blinked. It was… honest. More honest than she expected from a man with walls higher than the city skyline.
“Most men like you don’t like being challenged.”
“I like it more than I should,” he said quietly.
She stared at him for a moment, unsure whether he meant the compliment or the confession. Maybe both.
“Do you always flirt with your consultants?” she asked, sipping her wine.
“Only the ones who stare me down like they want to set my world on fire.”
The words hit her low in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the man. Probably both.
“You think I’m fire?” she asked, amused.
“I think you’re the storm that follows it.”
Amara didn’t answer. She just reached for her napkin, dabbed her lips, and stood.
“I’ll see you at the site tomorrow.”
“You’re leaving already?”
“I came for business. Not games.”
He stood too. Close. Too close. His scent — something woody and expensive — lingered like a dare.
“No games,” he said, voice low. “Just a man who hasn’t met a woman like you in a long time.”
She looked up at him, her voice smooth. “That’s because women like me don’t wait around for men like you.”
And with that, she walked away, her heels clicking like a countdown behind her.
Liam didn’t follow. He just watched.
And for the first time in a long, long while… he wanted to chase.
- Writer
