Chapter 3

Adlan

After ending the call with my brother, I could still feel the anger simmering beneath my skin, refusing to settle. My grip on the pen in my hand tightened as my phone rang again, dragging me back into the moment.

I cursed under my breath.

Snatching the phone off my desk, I was ready to unleash the rest of the words Andrew hadn't stuck around to hear but when I glanced at the screen, the number flashing across it wasn't his.

An unknown caller.

I frowned, hesitating for only a second before swiping to answer on the third ring.

"Hello," I said, my tone sharp, impatient but there was silence at the other end.

I pulled the phone from my ear, glancing at the screen. The call was still connected.

"Hello," I repeated, slower this time, giving whoever it was one more chance before I hung up.

"This is Laura George. I'd like to meet."

Every nerve in my body went taut.

I checked the screen again, as if I hadn't heard right.

"Hello? Are you there?" she asked, her voice soft but urgent.

A slow smile stretched across my face.

Finally.

"Yes," I breathed, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Yes, I'm here. And yes, we should meet."

"Do you have a place in mind, or would you rather I pick?"

Her voice carried a quiet confidence, but beneath it, I could hear something else. A slight edge.

I hesitated. "Are you really Laura George?"

"Yes," she answered immediately, no hesitation in her voice.

She sounded as eager as I felt. Of course, I had always wanted to meet her again.

"Then leave the location to me," I said. "Let me take care of it."

There was a beat of silence. For a moment, I thought I'd said something wrong.

"I..." she started, her voice softer now. I could hear her swallow. "I don't want to go somewhere far."

Her tone carried a vulnerability I wasn't expecting.

"Best believe it'll be within the right proximity," I assured her.

She might not have noticed that night, but I was a perfect gentleman.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"No. Thank you. Thank you for finally reaching out. I almost thought..."

"Please," she cuts in, her voice firm. "Let's just meet up."

I exhaled, nodding to myself. "I'm sorry. Okay... I'll text you the address soon."

"All right."

The call ended, and I stared at my screen, still processing what had just happened.

"She called," I muttered, a slow chuckle bubbling up in my chest. Then I laughed fully, the sound echoing in my office. "She finally called!"

Excitement surged through me as I pushed back from my desk and got up. I straightened my suit, smoothing my hand down the front, already heading toward the door.

"Cancel all my meetings for today," I told my secretary as I walked past. I didn't wait for a response. I had more important things to do.

The anticipation built as I waited, sitting at the private table I'd reserved.

I adjusted my cufflinks and checked the time for the hundredth time.

"She's only a few minutes late," I muttered under my breath.

Was she driving? Should I have picked her up? Was she having trouble finding the place?

I tapped my fingers against the table, trying to push down my restlessness. I had made sure this meeting was as private as possible, no interruptions, no unwanted eyes. It was short notice, but I had done my best to create the perfect setting.

Seven minutes passed.

Unable to sit still any longer, I got up and stepped outside, dialling her number.

Before I could press the phone to my ear, I heard it ringing from a few feet away.

My gaze snapped up.

A woman stood near the entrance, holding her phone to her ear, her eyes locking onto mine.

Laura George.

I lowered my phone, ending the call as I stepped toward her. "Laura?"

She nodded, her expression unreadable.

I smiled, a small one, as I led her inside. She followed, offering a polite nod but little else.

Something felt... off.

She looked different from that night, but I couldn't put my finger on why.

I pulled out a chair for her, and she sat hesitantly, an awkward smile flickering across her lips before disappearing.

As I took my seat, I studied her, but she refused to meet my gaze. There was no trace of a smile on her face. No makeup. No effort to enhance her beauty and yet, she still managed to take my breath away.

She looked tired.

That night, she had worn a black dress that hugged every curve, a dress that had been made for her body. Black stilettos. Red lips that had burned themselves into my memory. Her wavy hair had been elegantly pinned up, concealing its full length. She had looked like perfection, luxury, elegance incarnate.

Tonight, she looked... raw. Unpolished. As if life had been weighing on her shoulders.

"Was it hard getting here?" I asked gently. "I tried to pick somewhere nearby."

She finally lifted her head, her eyes studying me with a look I couldn't quite decipher.

"What would you like to drink?" I offered, smiling. "Cocktail? Mocktail? Juice? Water..."

She said nothing, her gaze shifting around the restaurant instead.

"If this place isn't to your liking, I can arrange something else."

Her eyes settled back on me, assessing me in a way that made me oddly uncomfortable.

"You look different from that night," she finally said.

Her voice. Fuck. It was just as I remembered—smooth, sweet, yet laced with something sharper beneath the surface.

I smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Do I not match your taste in men?"

She blinked, shaking her head. "No, that's not what I meant. You just... you look more put-together."

The waitress arrived, placing our meals in front of us.

"I had them prepare your favorite," I said, watching her carefully. "Specially made for you."

She glanced down at the plate, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

"The restaurant is empty," she pointed out.

I chuckled. "I made sure it's just us."

Her gaze flickered with something unreadable but when she picked up her spoon and took a bite, her face softened.

"This tastes like perfection."

I grinned, leaning back in my seat. "Thank God you love it. I was prepared to fire the entire kitchen if you didn't."

She arched an eyebrow. "You have the authority to do that?"

I nodded. "And the waitresses too."

She set her spoon down, lacing her fingers together on the table. "Firing people just because the food isn't good?"

"Isn't that the whole point of a restaurant?"

She held my gaze, unblinking. "I beg to differ."

I leaned in slightly, intrigued. She's interesting.

"Well, I was just being responsible," I countered.

"I appreciate that but..."

"Try the abalone pasta," I cut in smoothly.

She hesitated. "Abalone?"

"Yes. You told me that night it was your favorite."

Her lips parted slightly, then she laughed. "Oh. Yes, yes. I love seafood. All of it." She took a bite, and I watched as her eyes lit up.

I chuckled, relief washing over me.

By the time we left, I was convinced that, despite the differences, she was still the same woman from that night.

As I drove, I felt her gaze on me.

"What's on your mind?" I asked, glancing at her. I placed a hand over hers, resting on her thigh.

She looked down at our hands before meeting my gaze.

"How did you get my address?"

That wasn't what I had expected.

I hesitated. "I just... figured it out."

"Being honest is sexy."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I had one of my men get it for me."

I looked at her, trying to gauge her reaction. "Are you mad?"

"No. Just impressed."

I raised an eyebrow. "Impressed?"

"Pull over," she said suddenly.

"What?"

"Pull over!"

Her voice cracked. I immediately hit the brakes.

She threw open the door and stepped out.

I followed, my pulse spiking when I saw her face—her eyes red, her skin flushed.

And then she whispered, "I can't do this."