The night air on the balcony was cool, sharp, and far quieter than the suffocating glamour inside.
Lila Evans stepped out behind Adrian Blackwood, her heels clicking softly against the polished stone. The glass doors slid shut behind them, muting the orchestra and the hum of wealthy conversation.
Finally.
Space to breathe.
Adrian stopped near the railing but didn't turn around immediately. One hand rested loosely in his pocket, his posture relaxed in that infuriating, controlled way that screamed power without effort.
Lila folded her arms.
"If this is where you dramatically reject our proposal," she said dryly, "you could've just sent an email."
Adrian's shoulders shifted slightly.
Then he turned.
Up close, his gaze was even more unsettling—sharp and assessing, like he was reading footnotes in her soul.
"I haven't decided whether to reject you yet, Miss Evans."
Lila's jaw tightened.
Oh, this man is impossible.
"Good," she replied coolly. "Because I didn't come here to be dismissed in under five minutes."
A faint glint of approval flickered in Adrian's eyes—gone so quickly she almost thought she imagined it.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The city lights glittered below like scattered diamonds. A soft breeze tugged at a loose strand of Lila's hair, brushing it across her cheek.
Adrian noticed.
He noticed everything.
"Tell me something," he said at last. "Do you always speak to potential investors like they're obstacles in your way?"
Lila didn't hesitate.
"Only when they act like one."
Silence.
Heavy.
Charged.
Most people would have backed down by now.
She didn't.
Adrian's gaze darkened slightly, but there was something else there too—interest, sharpened and dangerous.
"You're either very confident in your proposal," he said slowly, "or very confident in yourself."
Lila lifted her chin.
"Both."
For the first time, Adrian's mouth curved—not quite a smile, but close enough to be dangerous.
"Fine," he said.
Then he moved.
Without warning, Adrian stepped closer.
One step.
Two.
Until the space between them was no longer comfortable.
Lila's pulse betrayed her with one sharp, traitorous spike.
Stay calm.
She refused to step back.
Refused.
Adrian's voice dropped lower.
"Convince me."
Three simple words.
But they landed like a challenge thrown at her feet.
Lila's eyes narrowed.
"You want the short version or the version that actually makes you money?"
That did it.
A real flicker of amusement crossed Adrian's face.
"Bold," he murmured. "Go on."
Lila tapped her tablet awake, instantly shifting into professional mode.
This was her battlefield.
Numbers.
Strategy.
Logic.
All the things that didn't come with infuriating dark eyes and unfairly calm voices.
"The Westbridge development is undervalued by at least eighteen percent," she began smoothly. "Your current acquisition model is too focused on short-term yield."
Adrian's brows drew together slightly.
Oh?
Now she had his attention.
Lila continued, confidence building with every word.
"If you restructure the investment timeline and rezone the commercial sector first, you don't just recover costs—you dominate the district within five years."
She turned the screen toward him.
Clean projections.
Precise data.
No fluff.
Adrian didn't interrupt.
Didn't move.
But his gaze had sharpened into something far more serious.
Inside, the orchestra swelled.
Outside, the air between them shifted.
"You're suggesting," Adrian said slowly, "that my current strategy is flawed."
There it was.
The billionaire ego.
Lila met his gaze head-on.
"I'm suggesting," she said evenly, "that you're leaving money on the table."
Silence.
Long.
Dangerous.
Then—
Adrian stepped even closer.
Close enough that she could see the faint tension in his jaw.
"Do you have any idea," he said quietly, "how many people have tried to tell me that?"
Lila didn't flinch.
"I'm guessing most of them were wrong."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Again.
That almost-smile.
For the first time that evening, Adrian Blackwood looked genuinely intrigued.
Not polite.
Not social.
Genuinely.
"You're either very good at what you do," he said, voice low, "or very good at pretending."
Lila's eyes flashed.
"Stick with me, Mr. Blackwood. You'll find out which."
The challenge hung in the air between them—sharp as broken glass.
And Adrian liked it far more than he should have.
But neither of them noticed the figure watching from behind the balcony curtain.
Her expression was no longer just irritated.
It was cold.
Calculating.
And when her eyes landed on Lila Evans…
They burned with promise.
Adrian straightened at last, stepping back just enough to break the dangerous closeness.
"We'll continue this discussion," he said smoothly, "in my office tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock."
Lila blinked.
Wait.
Was that—
A meeting?
Not a rejection?
She quickly masked her surprise.
"I'll be there."
Adrian's gaze lingered on her for one extra second.
"One more thing, Miss Evans."
Her brows lifted.
"Yes?"
His voice dropped, quiet and deliberate.
"Try not to disappoint me."
Heat flared in her chest—half irritation, half something far more inconvenient.
Lila's smile turned razor-sharp.
"Try not to slow me down, Mr. Blackwood."
For the first time in years…
Adrian Blackwood watched someone walk away from him—
—and felt the faint, unfamiliar pull of interest tighten in his chest.
Trouble, he thought.
Miss Lila Evans was going to be trouble.