Michael arched his brow at Greyson. He leaned his back against his chair, and he looked at Emeralde.
Emeralde looked at her meal, trying to avoid his gaze. Her fingers trembled when Greyson brushed his hand against hers.
"You must be Michael," Greyson stretched his hand towards him, his gaze briefly flicking to Emeralde.
"Yes. And you are?" Michael asked
A sinister chuckle left his lips before he could answer. Emeralde beat him to it.
"A friend. He's just a friend I know," she answered.
Michael raised a brow at her, but he nodded at her. However, Greyson's jaw tightened, his grip tightening around Michael's hand.
"A friend? I'm a friend?" he asked her.
Emeralde cleared her throat and looked out the window while she hugged herself.
A hiss made her turn her gaze to Michael. She looked down and realised Greyson's grip was tightened around Michael's.
She pulled Greyson's hand away from Michael's hand. Greyson felt the warmth from her hand, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. She was holding his hand. She didn't hold Michael's hand; she held his hand.
"It means something, right?"
He tightened his hold on her hand and pulled it beneath the table. Michael's gaze lingered on them a moment longer than necessary before he leaned back in his chair.
"What brought you here? I'm sorry I didn't get your name."
"Greyson. Greyson Rufus."
Michael nodded. He cleared his throat and took a sip from his wine.
His attention remained on them. He pulled his chair back with a scrape, drawing their attention.
"I'm sorry this has to end early, Emeralde. But I have to go."
Greyson scoffed under his breath.
"What? But we just got started. Is it because of Greyson? I can ask him to leave."
Greyson looked at her sharply. She met his gaze for a moment before turning back to Michael.
"Go on, Emy. Say it again"
Emeralde's jaw tightened. She hated that name.
"You both have nicknames?" Michael questioned.
"Fuck, we do? Do you believe the bullshit she spouted?" Greyson scoffed. "Friend? You believe that bullshit? I've had her in ways you can only wish for."
Michael stares at Greyson for a moment after that line. The atmosphere becomes uncomfortable. Then he stands.
"Right," he grabbed his jacket. "I think you two have... things to sort out."
His gaze lingered on Emerald before he added quietly, "Call me if you need to leave."
" She wouldn't need that." Greyson snapped.
She watched Michael's silhouette disappear from her sight. She turned her gaze towards Greyson.
"What is wrong with you?" Her jaw tightened.
"What is wrong with me? It's you I should be asking that."
Emeralde bit her lower lip and pushed her chair back.
"I'm not having this conversation with you."
Before she could grab her purse, Greyson caught her wrist.
"We'll be having this conversation, Emy."
He dragged her out of the restaurant and towards his car.
"Let go of me, Greyson."
Greyson spun her around and pinned her against his car.
"Listen to me, Emeralde Gibson. I don't give a flying fuck if you remember that night. But I do give a damn when I see you with someone who isn't me.
"You want answers? Greyson laughed without humour. "You really don't remember anything"
Emeralde tenses. "Remember what?" "You keep talking about a night like it means something."
"You were drunk." his voice dropped. " You were sitting outside the club, crying as the world had just ended."
Emerealde frowned.
"I don't go around crying in clubs."
He remembers everything, and her denial annoys him.
"You grabbed my jacket and told me not to let you go home. You told me things an outsider shouldn't know."
He ran a hand through his hair and moved closer to her. He cupped her cheeks and said, " You dragged me to one of the rooms." His gaze locked on hers.
"And we didn't just talk, Emy."
Emeralde stiffened back her tears; she held his gaze. Tears threatened to fall, but she held them in. She cleared her throat and rested her hand on his chest. Creating some distance.