DINNER
1562 Words
I arrived ten minutes early.
It wasn't because I was nervous.
At least, that was what I told myself.
The restaurant was one of those places where everything seemed designed to make you feel underdressed. Soft lighting, dark wood, quiet conversations, and waiters who somehow appeared before you realized you needed them.
I gave my name at the entrance.
“Ms. Brooks?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Vale is already here.”
Of course he was.
I followed the waiter through the restaurant and found Adrian sitting at a table near the windows.
He looked up when he saw me.
For a moment, he simply stared.
Then he stood.
“You're early.”
“So are you.”
“I own the company.”
I laughed.
“That doesn't explain anything.”
“It explains everything.”
I shook my head and sat down.
He took his seat opposite me.
A waiter appeared almost immediately.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Water, please.”
Adrian glanced at me.
“That's it?”
“I'm driving.”
“I can have someone drive you home.”
“I can drive myself.”
He gave me a look.
“I didn't say you couldn't.”
“You implied it.”
“I didn't.”
“You did.”
He leaned back.
“You argue about everything.”
“Only when I'm right.”
Something about that made him smile.
It was becoming dangerously easy to make him do that.
The waiter returned with my water, and for the next twenty minutes, we actually discussed work.
The campaign was moving faster than expected.
The London team had approved the concept.
Milan wanted to remain involved.
New York had requested a separate shoot.
The budget needed adjusting.
Adrian was focused, sharp, and annoyingly good at what he did.
I had expected him to be difficult.
Instead, he listened.
Actually listened.
When I disagreed with him, he didn't immediately dismiss the idea.
He asked questions.
When he disagreed with me, he explained why.
It was strange.
This was the same man who had practically dismantled my presentation the first time we'd met.
Now we were sitting across from each other discussing creative direction like two people who had done this for years.
Eventually, the conversation drifted away from work.
Neither of us seemed to notice exactly when it happened.
“You never wanted to work in fashion?”
I shook my head.
“I did. I just didn't know what part of it.”
“And now?”
“Now I think I found it.”
He nodded.
“What part?”
“Creating the story around something.”
I traced the rim of my glass with one finger.
“Clothes are beautiful, but everyone sees them differently. I like figuring out how to make people feel something when they see them.”
Adrian watched me.
“You've thought about that a lot.”
“I have.”
“What else do you want?”
The question caught me off guard.
“Professionally?”
“Whatever you want.”
I smiled.
“That's a dangerous question.”
“Why?”
“Because I have a lot of answers.”
“I have time.”
I looked at him.
“You're telling me the great Adrian Vale has time?”
“Tonight, apparently.”
I laughed.
I wasn't sure when I'd stopped feeling uncomfortable around him.
Maybe somewhere between the second argument and the first time he'd made me laugh.
“I want my own creative house eventually,” I admitted.
His expression changed slightly.
“You'd leave?”
“Not tomorrow.”
“But eventually.”
“Maybe.”
He nodded.
“That would suit you.”
I smiled.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What did you want before you became Adrian Vale?”
He was quiet.
For the first time that evening, I saw the walls return.
“I don't remember.”
I frowned.
“You don't remember?”
“I remember enough.”
“That sounds suspiciously like something I would say.”
His eyes met mine.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then he smiled faintly.
“Maybe.”
I looked down at the table.
There was something strangely familiar about the silence between us.
Not familiar in the way Adrian usually made me feel.
Different.
Comfortable.
As though we'd been having conversations like this for years.
The thought disappeared as quickly as it came.
“So,” I said, “what do you actually do when you're not terrifying your employees?”
He looked offended.
“I don't terrify people.”
“You absolutely do.”
“That's unfortunate.”
I laughed.
“What do you do?”
“Travel. Read. Work.”
“That sounds incredibly boring.”
“I enjoy it.”
“You need hobbies.”
“I have hobbies.”
“Name one.”
He thought for a moment.
“Chess.”
I stared at him.
“Of course.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I can picture you playing chess alone in a dark room.”
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
The sound surprised both of us.
I smiled.
“There. You can laugh.”
“I've always been able to.”
“You should do it more.”
His smile faded slightly.
“Maybe.”
Dinner continued.
We talked about food, travel, music, terrible movies, and the places we'd both like to visit.
He hated overly sweet desserts.
I disagreed with him.
He preferred quiet restaurants.
I preferred noisy cafés.
He liked old architecture.
I liked modern buildings.
We disagreed about almost everything.
And somehow, it was fun.
By the time dessert arrived, I'd forgotten that this was supposed to be a business dinner.
Apparently, so had he.
I looked at the time.
“It's almost eleven.”
Adrian glanced at his watch.
“I didn't realize.”
“Neither did I.”
Neither of us moved.
There was a strange pause.
Then he leaned back.
“I enjoyed tonight.”
I smiled.
“So did I.”
His eyes remained on mine.
There was something different in them now.
Something softer.
Then he looked away.
“I'll have my driver take you home.”
“I can drive.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because it's late.”
I hesitated.
“Fine.”
Outside, the night air was cool.
The car was waiting at the curb.
I turned toward Adrian.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Lilian.”
I opened the car door.
“See you tomorrow.”
He nodded.
I got inside.
As the car pulled away, I looked through the window.
Adrian was still standing there.
Watching.
I turned forward.
I didn't see the man across the street.
He had been standing near the entrance for several minutes, holding a camera.
He lowered it after taking one final photograph.
The next morning, my phone wouldn't stop buzzing.
I woke up to seventeen notifications.
I stared at the screen.
“What the hell?”
I opened the first one.
Then the second.
Then the third.
My stomach dropped.
There was a photograph of Adrian and me outside the restaurant.
Another showed us sitting at the table.
Someone had taken pictures through the restaurant window.
The headline beneath one of the articles read:
ADRIAN VALE SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY WOMAN AFTER WEDDING CANCELLATION
I sat upright.
“No.”
Another article had already appeared.
WHO IS LILIAN BROOKS?
My phone rang.
Sophie.
I answered.
“Tell me you're awake.”
“I am now.”
“Have you seen the internet?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought I'd have to explain to you that you're apparently dating a billionaire.”
I groaned.
“We were having dinner.”
“Apparently the internet disagrees.”
“It was a business dinner.”
“Sure.”
“Sophie.”
“Okay, okay.”
I could hear her trying not to laugh.
Then she became serious.
“This is going to get messy.”
I looked at the photograph again.
Adrian was smiling.
Not the distant, controlled smile I was used to seeing.
He looked relaxed.
Happy.
And somehow, seeing the photograph made the entire evening feel different.
I hadn't thought about how it looked.
I hadn't thought about what people would assume.
And now everyone was looking.
Including, apparently, Adrian.
A message appeared on my screen.
From him.
Don't read the articles.
I stared at it.
A second message arrived.
I'll handle it.
I smiled despite myself.
Then another appeared.
And for the record, I enjoyed dinner.
I read it twice.
My smile grew.
I typed back.
So did I.
I stared at the message for a moment before sending it.
Across the city, Adrian looked at his phone.
He read my response.
And smiled.
He had spent five years convincing himself that he knew exactly what he felt.
He hated Elena.
He had loved her.
He had survived losing her.
But Lilian Brooks was making everything complicated.
Because every time he was around her, he found himself forgetting the woman he had spent five years trying to hate.
And remembering how easy it was to simply enjoy being with her.
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