Public Appearances
The restaurant is the kind that doesn't list prices on the menu.
White tablecloths. Soft lighting. Conversations murmured instead of spoken. Every detail curated to whisper money without ever saying it aloud.
Elliot's hand rests at the small of my back as we're led to our table. It's light—almost polite—but my entire body is aware of it. Of him.
"This is unnecessary," I murmur under my breath.
"Relax," he replies just as quietly. "You're doing fine."
"I haven't done anything."
"Exactly."
We sit. A waiter appears instantly, pours water I didn't ask for, disappears again.
Across from me, Elliot looks perfectly at ease. Like this world was built around him and he merely stepped into it.
"Who's going to be here?" I ask.
"People who matter," he says.
"That's reassuring."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "You don't need to impress anyone. Just be yourself."
I snort. "You don't know who that is."
"I do," he says, eyes steady on mine. "You just don't like showing her."
Before I can respond, a voice cuts in.
"Elliot Blackwood. As I live and breathe."
A tall man in an expensive blazer steps up to the table, his gaze sliding immediately to me. Interest sharpens his smile.
"And you are?" he asks.
Elliot answers before I can. "With me."
The words are simple. Possessive. My pulse jumps anyway.
"I'm Lucas Grant," the man says, offering me his hand. "And you must be the mystery."
"Mystery?" I echo.
Elliot's fingers tighten slightly at my back. "Lucas enjoys exaggeration."
Lucas laughs. "You never bring anyone, Elliot. People are already talking."
"Let them," Elliot replies coolly.
Lucas's eyes flick between us. "Careful. That's how rumors start."
"Good," Elliot says. "I like efficient outcomes."
Lucas studies me one last time, then smiles. "Enjoy the night." He walks away.
I turn to Elliot. "That was… intense."
"Yes."
"That didn't bother you?"
"What?"
"The rumors."
His gaze sharpens. "Did it bother you?"
I hesitate. "No."
Something in his expression softens—barely, but enough that I notice.
Dinner arrives. Conversation flows more easily than I expect. Elliot asks questions—not about my resume, not about my past job, but about what I like. What I read. Where I'd go if money weren't an issue.
"You?" I ask. "What would you do?"
He pauses, fork suspended. "Exactly what I'm doing."
"Don't you ever want more?"
"This is more," he says quietly. "Control. Clarity. Purpose."
"And people?"
His eyes lift to mine. For a moment, the noise of the restaurant fades.
"People complicate things," he says.
A woman approaches the table then—elegant, confident, clearly accustomed to attention.
"Elliot," she says warmly. "I didn't realize you were bringing a date."
"I didn't," he replies. "This is—"
He stops.
I hold my breath.
"—someone important," he finishes.
The woman's smile falters for half a second. "I see. I'm Vanessa."
"Nice to meet you," I say, meaning it.
Vanessa's eyes linger on Elliot. "We should catch up soon."
"Perhaps," he says.
She leaves.
I exhale. "That looked complicated."
"It was," he admits.
"And now?"
"Now," he says, meeting my gaze, "it's clearer."
The check arrives without being asked for. Elliot stands, offering his arm again.
As we walk out into the cool night air, I realize something unsettling.
This arrangement—this deal—is changing the way people see him.
And worse…
It's changing the way he sees me.