Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 15909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
Before I can request an Uber, a black sedan with dark-tinted windows rolls up to the curb in front of me. My heart races. The back door opens, and a man in a dark suit beckons to me.
"Ms. Cross?" he asks.
I nod, moving closer. "Who are you?"
"Someone who works for Mr. Vale," he says shortly. "He sends his apologies that he couldn't pick you up himself."
I nod again, not knowing what to say. It's becoming clear that tonight, Mr. Vale is in full control, and I'm just along for the ride.
The man holds out his hand, and I take it, letting him help me into the car. I'm surprised by how soft the seats are, how luxurious everything is. The leather is buttery smooth, the tinted windows cut down on the light, and the car smells faintly of pine.
It isn't long before we reach the bistro. The driver comes around to open the door and help me out, but I barely notice him. My perception has narrowed down to just what's in front of me. I have to focus on putting one foot in front of the other so I don't chicken out, call my dad, and tell him to handle his own nonsense. But I've come this far, I might as well hear Mr. Vale out.
The driver leads me past the hostess stand, where I open my clutch and pull out the note that came with the roses, handing it over. The host’s eyes flick over it, and she nods, wordlessly motioning for me to follow her.
The inside of the bistro is dimly lit, with dark hardwood floors and walls decorated with black and white photos of various places in Seattle. I can smell garlic, seared meat, and expensive wine.
My guide stops at the last table, set against the wall in a dim corner. It's hidden away enough that most of the other patrons won't be able to see us. Sitting at the table is a man I immediately know to be D. Vale. He looks up as we approach, and our eyes meet, sending a shock through me. I stop walking, staring at him, dumbstruck.
He's wearing a dark suit, crisp and tailored, with a pale green button-up underneath. In the low light, it's hard to tell the color of his eyes, but they're dark enough that they must be some deep shade of brown. His skin is bronzed, his wide jaw dark with stubble, and his hair is cut short and neat, longer on top. Mr. Vale's features look like they've been cast in stone—a powerful nose, heavy, dark brows, and a mouth that looks alarmingly soft amongst the rest of his harsh features. Everything about him screams expensive, from the watch on his wrist to the way he sits with casual ease.
Time simply stops when he looks at me. My stomach had been churning with fear and anxiety about what the dinner would bring, but that feeling is immediately replaced with a heat so powerful that it takes me off guard. I've felt attraction before, but never anything like this. The intensity of it is almost overwhelming.
I feel dizzy, and I have to force myself to look away from him. It takes all of my energy to start walking again, following my guide over to the table. She pulls out my chair, and I sit, smoothing down my skirt.
"Here you are, sir," she says.
"Thank you." His voice is low, gravelly. "Would you bring a bottle of the house red?"
She nods, disappearing back into the restaurant.
I glance back over at him. He's still watching me. I swallow hard. "Mr. Vale, I presume?"
His expression doesn't change, "Call me Dante … Isla."
He doesn't wait for me to offer my first name, but simply uses it as if he has every right to. "Okay, Dante. I got your letter. What did you want from me?"
The wine arrives as he answers, and Dante waves the server away, pouring the glasses himself. "First, let's discuss what I hold over you, Isla. Are you and your father close?"
"Yes."
"So did he disclose to you what kind of trouble he's in?"
I fight back a wince. "No. He doesn't talk about work much."
"Then I'll keep this as surface-level as possible. Your father invested heavily in a startup shipping business, and the business owners disappeared with all the investors' money. He borrowed the money from some dangerous people, and with no way to pay it back, he was about to lose everything."
The urge to cry hits me, but I keep my composure, sipping the wine to hide my quivering lip. My poor father. "And I suppose you're the dangerous person he borrowed from?"
"No. Although make no mistake, Isla, I am dangerous. But I bought your father's debt because he has something I want. Something much rarer than money."
Dante stops, and as the silence stretches, I realize he's waiting for me to ask, "What?"