Chapter 5 - Proposition

He turned without waiting for a response, clearly expecting to be obeyed. I hesitated only briefly before trailing after him, leaving a trail of water in my wake.

The private dining room was intimate, with just one table set for two and a crackling fireplace that instantly made me aware of how cold I truly was. Mr. Salvatore gestured to one of the chairs.

"Sit."

It wasn't a request, so I reluctantly lowered myself onto the plush velvet chair, setting my suitcase beside me. Up close, I could see that my rescuer was younger than I'd initially thought, perhaps late twenties — but there was a hardness to his features that suggested experience beyond his years.

"Thank you." I said, my teeth beginning to chatter. "I won't stay long."

He removed his suit jacket and held it out to me. "Take it. You're shivering."

I started to protest, but something in his expression stopped me. I accepted the jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It was warm from his body and smelled expensive, sandalwood and something uniquely masculine.

"Your name?" he asked, taking the seat across from me.

"Angel. Angelina Sinclair." I hesitated, then corrected myself. "Though I suppose it will be back to Angelina Winters soon."

His eyebrow rose fractionally. "Divorce?"

A painful laugh escaped me. "As of about two hours ago."

He didn't offer sympathy or questions, merely nodded as if processing data. A server entered with a teapot and a single cup, placing it before me with a bow before retreating.

"Drink," Mr. Salvatore commanded. "It will warm you."

I obeyed, wrapping my cold fingers around the delicate porcelain. The tea was fragrant and strong, instantly warming me from the inside.

"You own this restaurant?" I asked, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence.

"Among others." He leaned back, observing me with that same clinical detachment. "Why are you wandering in the rain with a suitcase?"

The bluntness of the question caught me off guard. "I.... my husband threw me out today. I found him in bed with my stepsister." The words tumbled out before I could stop them, raw and unfiltered.

"And you had nowhere else to go?" His tone suggested this was an inconceivable situation, which only highlighted how truly pathetic my circumstances were.

I stared into my teacup. "He made sure of that."

Mr. Salvatore said nothing, waiting for me to elaborate. Something about his silence compelled me to continue.

"He had me fired from my job, he knows the owner. He emptied our accounts, and he's friends with every lawyer in the city. I signed divorce papers without reading them because... what choice did I have?" My voice broke slightly. "I have nowhere to go."

"Family?"

"None that would help." I took another sip of tea, the warmth fortifying me. "My mother died five years ago. My father gambled away everything and then killed himself. My stepmother just watched as my husband threw me out."

He absorbed this information without visible reaction. "Friends?"

I shook my head.

"I haven't....maintained many friendships since getting married."

"Interesting choice."

The comment stung, all the more because it carried no judgment, just a cold observation of my failure.

"It wasn't really a choice." I said softly. "It just happened. George said we needed to focus on our relationship, on his business. I didn't realize I was being isolated until today."

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Your husband sounds like a strategic man."

"He's an asshole..!" I blurted, then covered my mouth, shocked at my own language.

Mr. Salvatore actually laughed then, a short, dry sound. "At least you can recognize that much."

The tea was bringing color back to my world, clarity to my thoughts. I studied my mysterious benefactor more carefully. He was handsome in a severe way, sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, those penetrating green eyes. But there was something cold about him, almost predatory in his stillness.

"Why are you helping me?"

I asked finally.

He tilted his head slightly. "Perhaps I'm curious. It's not every day a drenched woman with a falling apart suitcase stumbles into my restaurant."

"Your life must be very dull if that qualifies as interesting," I murmured, then immediately regretted my boldness.

His eyes narrowed, but not in anger. If anything, he seemed more intrigued. "You have a backbone after all. Surprising."

I wasn't sure if I should be insulted or flattered. Before I could decide, the door opened, and a tall man with dark hair peppered with silver entered. He wore an expression of barely concealed exasperation.

"Damien, the Millers have been waiting for fifteen minutes. Eliza is getting that look that suggests she's about to cause a scene."

Damien. So that was Mr Salvatore's first name, didn't even glance at the newcomer. "Tell them I had an urgent matter to attend to. Offer complimentary champagne."

The man's eyes flickered to me, widening slightly at my disheveled appearance, then back to Damien. "And this urgent matter is...?"

"None of your concern, Marco." Damien's tone was dismissive. "Handle the Millers."

Marco gave me another appraising look before nodding stiffly and departing. I shifted uncomfortably under the exchange.

"I should go," I said, setting down the teacup. "I've caused enough trouble."

"Where will you go?" Damien asked, his directness once again catching me off guard.

I had no answer for him. The tea had revived me, but it hadn't miraculously solved my problems. I still had nowhere to sleep, no job, and barely enough money for a few meals.

"I'll figure something out," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

Damien leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I have a proposition for you Angelina."

My pulse quickened. I'd heard enough cautionary tales about strange men offering "propositions" to desperate women. "What kind of proposition?"

"A business arrangementt," he said, his voice level. "One that would solve your immediate problems."