Chapter Eight — Dinners and Distractions
545 Words
Ava Cole didn’t do distractions.
But apparently, the universe — or Cassian Hale — hadn’t gotten that memo.
She had just wrapped up a meeting when her phone buzzed.
Cassian: Dinner tonight. 7 PM. Don’t be late.
No question mark. No “if you’re free.” Just pure assumption.
Ava rolled her eyes. Arrogant.
And yet, two hours later, she was standing in front of her mirror, slipping on a sleek black dress that probably screamed effortless, even though she had tried too hard not to look like she cared.
Her driver dropped her off at one of the most exclusive rooftop restaurants in the city — the kind that served gold-dusted desserts and had chandeliers worth more than some people’s cars.
Cassian was already there, sitting by the edge, city lights reflecting off his watch.
He looked up when she approached — and for a fleeting second, she caught that rare expression of appreciation in his eyes.
“You’re late,” he said, smiling slightly.
“I had work,” she replied, taking her seat.
“I thought you lived at work.”
“I do.”
“Then maybe tonight,” he leaned back, “you can live a little.”
The waiter brought wine, soft jazz filled the air, and Cassian — annoyingly — made conversation too easy.
He asked about her latest project, listened without interrupting, and even threw in a few smart insights that made her raise an eyebrow.
“Who knew a billionaire playboy actually knew about architecture?” she teased.
Cassian smirked. “Who knew the ice queen could make a joke?”
Ava’s lips twitched before she hid it behind her glass. “Don’t get used to it.”
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “You always say that. Don’t get used to it. Don’t get close. Don’t care. What are you so afraid of, Ava?”
Her eyes snapped up to his — cool, guarded, unreadable. “You think you can psychoanalyze me over pasta?”
He smiled softly. “I don’t have to. You do it for me.”
Ava froze, suddenly aware of how close his hand was to hers on the table.
She pulled back, clearing her throat. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re addicted to control.”
“Maybe that’s why we don’t mix.”
“Or,” Cassian said, eyes glinting, “maybe that’s why we do.”
After dinner, he walked her to her car. The city lights painted his face in gold and shadow.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said, tone clipped.
He nodded. “You’re welcome. Though I can’t tell if you actually enjoyed it.”
“I did. Against my better judgment.”
Cassian chuckled. “That’s progress.”
She gave him one last look — professional, distant, and maybe just a little curious — before stepping into her car.
As the door closed, Cassian tapped the roof lightly and murmured, “See you soon, Ava Cole.”
That night, as Ava lay in bed, her phone buzzed again.
Cassian: I think we’d make a great team. On and off the project.
She rolled her eyes, typing back:
Ava: Stick to the project, Hale.
But she didn’t delete the message.
Not this time.
- Writer
