Torinne sat in his design studio, staring at his phone. Eight-fifteen. He'd been holding Robith's business card for the past twenty minutes, reading and re-reading the handwritten number on the back.
His studio was too quiet. Usually he loved the peace after a busy day, but tonight his mind wouldn't stop racing. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Robith's face. Those dark eyes. The way he'd stepped so close when Torinne was sketching.
"Just call him," he said out loud. "It's about work."
He knew it wasn't just about work. The tension in that office had been about something else entirely.
His phone buzzed with a message: Are you going to call, or should I assume you've changed your mind? - R
Torinne stared at the message. How did Robith even get his number? Then he remembered - it was probably in his portfolio information.
He typed back: I don't like being rushed.
The response came immediately: I don't like waiting.
Torinne found himself smiling. The guy had nerve, he'd give him that.
His phone rang. Robith's number.
"Hello?"
"You were taking too long," Robith said. His voice sounded different over the phone, even smoother. "I decided to call you instead."
"I was going to call."
"When? Tomorrow?"
"Tonight. I said I'd call tonight."
"It is tonight. It's past eight-fifteen."
Torinne could hear the smile in Robith's voice. "Are you always this impatient?"
"Are you always this slow?"
"I'm not slow. I'm careful."
"About phone calls?"
"About everything."
There was a pause. Torinne could hear typing in the background.
"Are you still at the office?" he asked.
"Yes. Where are you?"
"My studio."
"Working?"
"Thinking."
"About what?"
Torinne hesitated. About you, he thought. About the way you looked at me. About what might happen if we meet again.
"About the gala," he said instead.
"Liar."
The word hit him like a punch. "Excuse me?"
"You weren't thinking about the gala. Your voice changes when you lie."
"You don't know me well enough to know how my voice changes."
"I'm a good listener and you were definitely not thinking about work."
Torinne felt heat rise in his face. "What makes you so sure?"
"Because I wasn't thinking about work either."
The admission changed things instantly. Torinne's heart started beating faster.
"What were you thinking about?" he asked quietly.
"You know what I was thinking about."
"Tell me anyway."
There was a long pause, almost a minute.
"I was thinking about how you looked when you were drawing," Robith said. "How angry you got. How that anger turned into something else when you started creating."
"Something else?"
"Passion."
The word sent electricity through Torinne's body. "Robith..."
"I was thinking about how close we were standing. How you smelled. How it would feel to touch you."
Torinne's mouth went dry. This conversation had taken a sharp left turn from professional to not professional at all.
"We shouldn't be talking about this," he said.
"Why not?"
"Because you're a client."
"I'm a potential client. Nothing's been signed yet."
"That's not the point."
"What is the point?"
Torinne didn't have a good answer for that. The point was that this was dangerous. The point was that he was attracted to a man he'd met four hours ago.
The point was that mixing business with pleasure never ended well but all of that seemed less important when he heard Robith's voice saying his name.
"Torinne? You still there?"
"I'm here."
"Good. I thought I'd scared you off."
"It takes more than that to scare me."
"I'm glad to hear that." There was rustling on the other end of the line. "Are you hungry?"
The change of subject caught him off guard. "What?"
"Hungry. For food. Have you eaten dinner?"
"No. I was going to order something later."
"Don't. Meet me instead."
"Robith..."
"One dinner. We can talk about the gala. Keep it professional."
"Can we?"
"Probably not but we can try."
Despite everything, Torinne found himself smiling. "Where?"
"Do you know Marcello's? On Fifth Street?"
"The Italian place? That's expensive."
"I can afford it."
"I'm sure you can but I can pay for my own dinner."
"I'm sure you can too. But I asked, so I'm paying."
"I don't need you to pay for me."
"I know you don't need me to. I want to."
There was something in his voice that made Torinne's stomach flip. Want. Such a simple word, but the way Robith said it...
"Okay," he said before he could change his mind.
"Okay?"
"Okay, I'll meet you but just for dinner."
"Just for dinner," Robith agreed. But there was something in his tone that suggested dinner might not be all they ended up doing.
"What time?"
"Nine-thirty. I need to finish some things here first."
"Okay. I'll see you then."
"Torinne?"
"Yeah?"
"Wear something nice."
The line went dead.
Torinne stared at his phone. What had he just agreed to? Dinner with a client. Except Robith wasn't really a client yet and this definitely didn't feel like a business dinner.
He looked down at his clothes. Jeans and a paint-stained t-shirt. Definitely not something nice.
Twenty minutes later, he was standing in front of his closet, trying to decide what to wear. Something nice, Robith had said. But what did that mean? Suit and tie? Casual but expensive?
He settled on dark jeans, a black button-down shirt, and a jacket. Nice, but not trying too hard.
Marcello's was busy when he arrived. The hostess, a woman in her fifties with perfect makeup, smiled at him.
"Table for one?"
"Actually, I'm meeting someone. Dr. Mason?"
Her smile got bigger. "Oh yes, Dr. Mason's table. Right this way."
She led him through the restaurant to a corner booth. Private. Intimate. The kind of table you got for dates, not business meetings.
Robith was already there, studying the wine menu. He'd changed clothes too. Gone was the business suit, replaced by dark pants and a gray sweater that showed off his shoulders. He looked younger. Less intimidating.
More attractive.
"You made it," Robith said, standing up as Torinne approached.
"You sound surprised."
"A little. I thought you might change your mind."
"I almost did."
"What stopped you?"
Torinne slid into the booth across from him. "Curiosity."
"About the menu?"
"About you."
Robith's eyes darkened. "Dangerous thing, curiosity."
"So I've heard."
A waiter appeared. Young, good-looking, clearly trying to impress Robith.
"Dr. Mason, good to see you again. The usual table, I see."
"Thank you, Marco. This is Torinne. We'll need a few minutes to look at the menu."
"Of course. Can I start you with drinks?"
Robith looked at Torinne. "Wine? Or are you driving?"
"I took the subway. Wine sounds good."
"Red or white?"
"You choose."
Robith turned to the waiter. "The Barolo. 2018."
"Excellent choice." Marco disappeared.
"You come here often?" Torinne asked.
"Sometimes. When I need to get away from the office."
"And you have a usual table?"
"I like privacy when I eat."
"Or when you bring dates?"
Robith raised an eyebrow. "Is that what this is? A date?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
"I told you it was dinner."
"That's not an answer."
"What do you want it to be?"
Torinne looked around the restaurant. Soft lighting. Quiet music. Couples at most of the tables, holding hands, leaning close to each other.
"I think it might be a date," he said quietly.
"Good," Robith said. "Because I was hoping it was."
Marco returned with the wine, making a big show of presenting the bottle to Robith and pouring a small amount for him to taste.
"Perfect," Robith said after tasting it. Marco filled both their glasses and left again.
Robith raised his glass. "To new projects."
"To new projects," Torinne agreed, clinking his glass against Robith's.
The wine was good. Really good. Probably cost more than Torinne usually spent on groceries in a week.
"So," Robith said, settling back in his seat. "Tell me about yourself."
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
"That's a broad question."
"Start with the basics. How did you get into design?"
Torinne took another sip of wine. "Art school. Got a degree in fine arts, but realized I was better at design than painting. Started doing freelance work, built up a client base. Been on my own for about five years now."
"Do you like it? Being on your own?"
"Most of the time. I like having control over my projects. Not having to answer to anyone."
"Except clients."
"Clients are different. They're paying for my expertise. They can make suggestions, but at the end of the day, I'm the one who knows what works."
"Is that why you got so angry this afternoon? Because I questioned your expertise?"
Torinne thought about it. "Partly. But also because you were right."
Robith looked surprised. "I was?"
"Those sketches were safe. I was playing it conservative because I thought you'd want something traditional. Corporate."
"And instead I pushed you to do something better."
"Yeah. I don't like being pushed, but... sometimes it's what I need."
"I'll remember that."
Something in his voice made Torinne's stomach flutter. "What about you? How does someone end up running a newspaper at twenty-seven?"
Robith's expression changed slightly. Closed off.
"Family business," he said simply.
"Your father's?"
"My grandfather's. He started the Tribune in 1975. My father ran it until two years ago."
"What happened two years ago?"
"He died."
The words were matter-of-fact, but Torinne could hear the pain underneath.
"I'm sorry."
"Thank you. It was... sudden. Heart attack. He was only fifty-two."
"That's young."
"Too young." Robith took a long sip of wine. "He worked too much. Stressed too much. The doctor said it was inevitable."
"Is that why you work so late?"
"I work late because the paper needs me. There's a lot to do."
"There's always a lot to do. The question is whether you're working because you have to or because you're afraid to stop."
Robith looked at him sharply. "You don't know me well enough to psychoanalyze me."
"You're right. I'm sorry."
They sat in silence for a moment. Torinne wondered if he'd pushed too hard, too fast.
"You're not wrong, though," Robith said quietly. "About being afraid to stop."
"Afraid of what?"
"Failing. Letting the paper fail. Letting my father down."
"He's gone, Robith. You can't let him down anymore."
"Can't I?"
Marco appeared again with menus. "Ready to order?"
They ordered - pasta for Torinne, fish for Robith - and Marco disappeared again.
"Can I ask you something?" Torinne said.
"Sure."
"This afternoon, when you said you knew what you wanted... what did you mean?"
Robith was quiet for a long time. He stared down at his wine glass, turning it slowly in his hands.
"I meant," he said finally, "that I don't usually feel uncertain about things. I make decisions quickly. I know what I want from business, from the paper, from life. But today..."
"Today?"
"Today I met someone who made me question things."
"What kind of things?"
"Whether I'm as in control as I thought I was."
Their food arrived. It looked amazing and smelled even better. But Torinne barely noticed. He was too focused on Robith's face, on the way his voice had gotten quieter.
"Control is overrated," Torinne said.
"Says the man who likes being his own boss."
"That's different. That's professional control. Personal control... that's something else."
"You don't like personal control?"
"I like spontaneity. Surprises. Things that push me out of my comfort zone."
"Like having dinner with a client you met six hours ago?"
"Like having dinner with a man who challenges me."
They ate in comfortable silence for a while. The food was incredible, and the wine made everything feel softer around the edges.
"This is good," Torinne said, gesturing to his pasta.
"I'm glad you like it."
"Do you cook?"
Robith laughed. "I can make coffee and toast. That's about it."
"That's sad."
"I don't have time to cook."
"You don't make time to cook."
"What's the difference?"
"One implies you don't have a choice. The other implies you do."
"You think I have a choice about working sixty-hour weeks?"
"I think you have more choices than you admit."
Robith put down his fork. "You don't understand what it's like. Running a business. Having people depend on you."
"You're right. I don't understand that. But I understand what it's like to be so focused on work that you forget to live."
"I live."
"Do you? When's the last time you did something just for fun?"
Robith thought about it. "I don't remember."
"That's my point."
"What about you? When's the last time you did something just for fun?"
"Tonight."
The word hung between them. Robith's eyes went dark.
"This is fun for you?"
"This is..." Torinne searched for the right word. "This is the most interesting evening I've had in months."
"Interesting?"
"Interesting. Unexpected. A little dangerous."
"Dangerous how?"
"You know how."
They looked at each other across the table. The restaurant around them seemed to fade away. There was just the two of them and the tension crackling between them.
"We should probably talk about the gala," Robith said, but his voice suggested the gala was the last thing on his mind.
"We should," Torinne agreed.
Neither of them moved to get business papers or notebooks.
"October fifteenth," Robith said.
"Black tie."
"Five hundred guests."
"Red and black theme."
"Your idea was good. Really good."
"Thank you."
"I want to hire you."
"Good."
"We should discuss timeline. Budget. Details."
"We should."
But they didn't. They sat there looking at each other while the tension built.
Marco appeared. "Dessert? Coffee?"
"Just the check," Robith said without looking away from Torinne.
"Of course."
When Marco left, Torinne leaned forward. "Robith?"
"Yeah?"
"I should probably go home."
"You should."
"This was just dinner."
"It was."
"Nothing more."
"Nothing more."
Marco brought the check. Robith paid without looking at it.
They walked outside together. The night air was cool, and Tow City was alive with people heading home from dinner, from bars, from late meetings.
"Thank you for dinner," Torinne said.
"Thank you for coming."
They stood on the sidewalk, neither wanting to be the first to leave.
"I should get a cab," Robith said.
"I should catch the subway."
"Yeah."
But neither of them moved.
"Torinne?"
"Yeah?"
"I lied earlier."
"About what?"
"When I said this was just dinner."
Torinne's heart started beating faster. "What else was it?"
"I don't know yet."
A cab pulled up to the curb. Robith looked at it, then back at Torinne.
"Come with me," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"Come with me. To my place. We ca
n talk more about the gala."
"The gala?"
"Or whatever."
Torinne looked at the cab, then at Robith's face. This was the moment. The choice. Go home and keep this professional, or get in that cab and see what happened.
"Okay," he said.
Robith's face lit up. "Okay?"
"Okay."
They got in the cab together. Robith gave the driver an address in the expensive part of town. As the cab pulled away from the curb, Torinne wondered what he was doing but when Robith's hand brushed against his in the dark backseat, he decided he didn't care.