Vorian’s POV
Iskandar was exactly where he said he’d be posted by the curb, back straight, arms folded neatly in front of him, eyes scanning the area like he expected an ambush. Another check in his favor. The man knew how to keep his posture and presence sharp.
When he spotted me, he opened the door without a word. I slid inside, and he got behind the wheel, silent and professional.
“Foxlight,” I said, catching his eye in the rearview mirror.
He didn’t speak, just gave a slight nod before turning his gaze back to the road. Five minutes later, we pulled into the restaurant’s valet circle. He parked, hopped out, and opened my door like clockwork.
“Thanks,” I muttered, stepping out and heading for the entrance.
The hostess was a delicate little thing jet-black hair, smoky eyeshadow, l
