Chapter 22
“There you are, my dear,” he exclaims with a wide smile.
My God, he’s old. His wrinkles are carved deep. His hair is all silver, slicked back with unnatural precision, and his gray suit clings to him like it’s been worn by many before. It’s rich but stale.
Why would my father want me to meet this man? Why would he want me instead of my father? This doesn’t feel like business.
As he walks closer to me, I don’t speak. Hell, I’m speechless. But I feel Adam’s arm tense beneath my hand, tighter than before—maybe tighter than ever.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you,” he says, nesting my hand into his wrinkled palms. “I am Leo Anderson.”
Next to him are two bodyguards, standing there like soldiers.
I didn’t even notice them before, but I guess that’s the point.
One is a man, lean and solemn, eyes dead and disciplined.
The other is a woman. She seems cold and strong as hell.
Her long, black hair is slicked back into a high ponytail.
Red lipstick, tight black leather showing off her toned butt and thighs.
“Uhm,” I barely mumble, my eyes darting everywhere but him.
“Come, sit.” He gestures to the table he was sitting at. “Let me take a good look at the treasure your father’s been hiding.”
Cazzo … Fuck …
Nothing about it feels normal. It feels like a transaction.
After a few seconds of resisting, I force a step forward, only to feel Adam’s body stiff and unmoving, rooted to the floor, almost dragging me back. His eyes narrow on the man like a predator sensing something unusual. I bet he’s right.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper.
His jaw twitches, but he says nothing. He walks to the table, pulls out my chair, and waits.
It’s mechanical and practiced. Maybe it’s just part of the job.
Still, he does it too well. Too smooth and princely.
I look at him for a second longer before I take a seat.
He seems off. Consumed by something I can’t reach.
Eventually, I sit anyway, pretending everything is okay while Adam folds his hands in front of him and stands beside me.
The waitress clears his plate without a word, and another waiter steps in with a bottle of red wine.
“You’re late,” Leo says, leaning back in the chair, one leg resting over the other.
“Traffic,” I mumble.
“I forgive you.”
He what?
The nerve. That fossil actually thinks he owns me, and that he gets to forgive me for being late? Fuck him.
My ears start ringing out of nowhere. My chest tightens, and my pulse won’t slow down. I don’t even know why.
He won’t stop staring at me. Maybe that’s why I feel like my skin is too tight.
Or maybe it’s just this whole freak show.
Everyone’s staring at someone. Leo’s looking at me like I belong to him.
The woman looks like she’s seconds away from snapping Adam in half with her eyes.
The other guy’s staring at nothing, completely blank—probably wishing he’s not even here.
And Adam’s watching him, tense, expecting him to move suspiciously. What’s wrong about that man, anyway?
My eyes dart back at him. Cazzo, he’s still staring at me.
“Is there something wrong?” I ask bravely.
He takes a sharp inhale and rests his elbows on his knees. “So young … so perfect. Your father said I’d be pleased.” He raises his brows. “He wasn’t wrong.”
“What?”
“Let’s eat.” He waves for the waitress to come closer.
“Didn’t you just eat?” I ask, one corner of my mouth lifting.
“You didn’t.”
“I’m not hungry.”
The waiter approaches and hands the menu to Leo. He doesn’t even glance at it before passing it to me. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, dear.”
For some reason, I can’t move, as though I’m paralyzed. I thought Adam would’ve snapped by now, put him in his place, threatened him or something. But he hasn’t, and that scares the hell out of me. He’s quiet. And without him stepping in, I feel exposed.
After a few seconds that feel too long, I take the menu and set it in front of me, hoping it’ll make me disappear from his sight.
Why does everything on this menu look like shit? Who the hell eats lamb tartare with beetroot foam on purpose?
Sea urchin custard with fennel pollen? Who’s actually eating this crap? Duck liver br?lée. Is this a dessert menu for serial killers? And what the hell is charcoal-infused bone marrow toast?
I feel all eyes on me, as if they’re waiting for me to spill some top-secret government info.
The menu-shield didn’t help after all.
Without saying a word, Adam steps closer and points to something on the menu. Wagyu ribeye, A5 grade, served with truffle demi-glace and gold leaf fingerling potatoes.
I glance up and catch him already watching me. A small smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it, and I quickly lower my eyes.
I raise my head and look at the waiter. I squint my eyes in defiance and flash a broad smile.
“I’ll take the steak.”
The waiter’s eyes widen, and he clears his throat. I guess I offended the sacred menu.
“S-steak?” he repeats, sweat trickling from his temple. He looks at Leo, like he needs permission or something.
“I mean this.” I show him the menu.
“Oh, you mean the Wagyu ribeye. Excellent choice, miss.”
“Yes, the steak,” I repeat on purpose.
“W-wagyu is not just a steak,” he mumbles.
“I apologize,” Leo interrupts with a smile. “You’ll have to excuse the way young people talk nowadays.”
I can hear Adam barely holding back a chuckle, but I try to keep my cool. My dad set me up on this date for some reason I still can’t figure out, so I might as well have fun on my own terms.
The waiter nods politely and departs. Then, another comes and pours us some wine.
This whole situation is ridiculous. Me, on a blind date with a man who could be my grandpa, set up by my dad, pretending everything’s normal. Meanwhile, the female bodyguard won’t stop staring at Adam. What the hell is her problem?
“So, Mr. Anderson. What’s the purpose of this date?” I say, exaggerating a British accent just to match the energy. The whole setup feels like a 1950s tea party—formalities and ridiculously fake smiles.
He takes the glass of wine and brings it close to his lips, his eyes looking at me over it. “You can call me Leo.”
“I am taught to respect the elders,” I say sassily, pretending I’m not shaking underneath.
Adam lets out a louder giggle this time, and the female bodyguard shoots me a death stare.
She walks up to me, places her hands on the table, and leans in. “I suggest you keep that little mouth of yours shut, Barbie.”
Adam steps in, mirroring her posture, his hand on the table in front of me, shielding me. “And I suggest you learn the difference between a warning and a death wish,” he says, smiling. “Because I’ve been dying for an excuse tonight.”
“Oh my, would you look at that. Cerberus guarding his queen,” Leo drawls, a hint of amusement curling in his tone. “It’s alright, Sloane. Miss Calvano’s got herself a rare kind of wit.”
He motions for her to step back. Her eyes linger on me, before she finally straightens back to that statue-still posture.
“You can leash your dog now, dear.”
Adam’s hands grip the table harder at that. I can almost hear the wood creak under his fingers.
My anger burns colder than his. How dare he call him a dog? He should be grateful Adam hasn’t torn his throat out yet.
Gently, I place my hand over Adam’s and raise my eyes to his. “It’s okay now.”
He doesn’t back down. His eyes stay on Leo long enough to make it uncomfortable before he finally steps back to my side.
I clear my throat. “Mr. Anderson, speak to him like that again, and you can finish this little meeting without me.”
Leo, unbothered, takes out a cigar, lights it up, and inhales the filthy smoke. “What makes you think you have any power over it?”
His words hit harder than I want to admit. For a moment, my throat tightens from the weight of knowing he’s right. Still, I force my expression smooth and straighten my posture.
“Power is overrated,” I say lightly. “Some of us get results without it.”
He hums, taking the cigar between his fingers. “Beautiful and sassy.”
The waiter arrives with my plate, setting it down with such exaggerated precision it’s almost a performance.
Leo nods to his bodyguards again. They step forward without a word.
“Escort this gentleman a little further,” he says, eyes never leaving Adam. A thin smile tugs at his mouth. “I’d like a moment alone with my date.”