Amelia’s POV
Two nights later, I regret ever agreeing to dinner.
Eric on his end, apparently had been clear—it’s important for Wilson & Co. That I entertain this potential investor.
“Keel it polished, keep it professional,” he’d advised.
So on my end, I dress the part: Black silk dress, hair swept up into a ponytail, and a pair of comfortable heels.
I take in a deep breath as I walk into the restaurant, which apparently is one of those high-end places where the waiters glide like ghosts and the chandeliers shimmer a little too much.
Running a hand over the prints of my dress, I remind myself this is just business and—-
“Miss Wilson!” a voice calls out from in front of me.
I force a smile, smoothing my dress and head for his table. Mr Charles the investor. Mid-forties, with slicked
