Chapter 6
Elena
Carter pulled out her chair smoothly, one hand resting on the backrest as those familiar brown eyes locked onto hers. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, clearly reading every ounce of the shock plastered across her face.
“Please,” he said softly, giving the chair a tiny, polite nudge. “Have a seat.”
Elena collected herself, realizing her dramatic pause had officially crossed the line into a full-blown stare down.
Forcing her legs to cooperate, she took her seat with deliberate caution. If she didn't sit down right that second, her knees were going to give out beneath her anyway. Somebody was definitely playing a joke on her.
Carter sat across from her, and Elena immediately found herself thinking that women probably threw themselves at him on a daily basis. Wait, where did that thought come from? She cut herself off, instantly annoyed at her own brain.
But honestly, time had been unfairly generous to Carter Evans. The soft edges of his youth were completely gone, replaced by sharp lines, broad shoulders, and a shadow of stubble that made him look dangerously attractive. Back in college, he’d been handsome in a careless, messy sort of way.
Now, everything about him felt polished into something quietly powerful, like the world had spent the last few years shaping him on purpose.
The black designer suit fit him flawlessly, and a Rolex gleamed beneath the dim restaurant lights as he casually adjusted his sleeve.
Even his posture had changed. He looked calm, controlled, and confident in a way that practically demanded attention without even trying—which was the exact polar opposite of the absolute nervous wreck she currently felt like.
It almost irritated her how attractive it was.
“It’s really good to see you, Elena,” he said, holding her gaze like he actually meant it.
Elena forced her lungs to do their job, taking a slow breath before answering.
“I wish I could say the same,” she replied, channeling her best ice-queen impression.
“Then again, I suppose seeing you feels similar to seeing a ghost.”
Carter let out a quiet laugh, looking entirely too amused by her hostility.
Before she could snap at him, the waiter materialized. Elena stared blankly at the menu, her brain completely offline. She didn't care about the soup of the day; she cared about murder. Specifically, the murder of William.
That backstabbing traitor. This was why he’d been sweating and acting suspicious earlier.
Oh, she was absolutely going to strangle William Harrington.
The second the waiter left, Elena leaned back in her chair, trying to steady her racing heart.
It was so incredibly weird. How were they supposed to sit here exchanging polite pleasantries when this man had left her without warning after three incredible years together?
Life wasn't a sitcom; he couldn't just pop back in and act like it didn't hurt.
“You and Will seem close,” she said, a healthy amount of suspicion slipping into her voice.
“Yeah,” Carter replied casually. “We stayed in touch over the years. I’m actually business partners with his brother.”
Elena nodded slowly, the pieces finally clicking together.
Well, that explained the money. She had heard William's brother, Nick, had founded a tech startup in London with some friends—that turned into a massive multi-billion-dollar unicorn company in just a few years.
The Carter Evans she knew was a scholarship kid from a struggling family.
Now he had enough money to casually invest in a failing company.
Of course William knew. Of course everyone apparently knew except for her. She was going to have a very long talk with her friends later.
“So,” Carter asked, resting one arm against the table and leaning in slightly. “How have you been?”
“Good,” she popped the word out like a cork, offering absolutely nothing else.
Thankfully, he didn’t press her to elaborate.
Instead, they sat there, not quite meeting each other’s eyes, the awkwardness practically radiating off the tablecloth until the waiter finally arrived with their food. Elena offered a quiet, relieved thank you as the plates were set down between them.
Elena was just staring at her risotto, trying to figure out how to navigate the field of mushrooms, when Carter’s fork casually invaded her plate. He scooped up a cluster of them and moved them to his side dish, acting entirely on instinct.
Then, he froze, his hand stopping over the table.
“Sorry,” He murmured slowly looking up, his eyes met hers with a mix of surprise and sudden amusement. “Old habit. You still hate them, right? Or did you magically develop tastebuds while I was gone?”
“No,” Elena said, trying to sound cool, though her heart was currently hammering against her ribs.
The corners of his lips tucked into a soft smile. “Good to know. Some things never change.”
Elena quickly looked down at her wine glass, swirling the liquid just to give her hands something to do. The sheer familiarity of the gesture had completely thrown her off-balance.
Desperate to steer the conversation into safer territory, she cleared her throat lightly. “How’s your mother? And Caroline?”
“They’re good,” Carter replied. “My mom actually loves London, though Caroline isn’t a huge fan.” He leaned back slightly, the casual mention of London a quiet reminder of exactly where he’d vanished to all those years ago.
“Anyway, Caroline got accepted into Aurelia.”
Elena blinked in surprise, her defenses dropping for a fraction of a second. “Really? Wow. Good for her.”
“Yeah. She's in the design program. It’s her third year, actually.”
“She should be proud,” Elena said softly, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. “Aurelia has an incredible design department.”
Carter nodded once, taking a slow sip of his drink. “I actually visited her last week and got a tour of the campus. They removed the fountain behind the west building, by the way.”
Elena’s head snapped up. “What? The one with the statue of the ugly swordsman in the middle? No way.”
“Yep. The swordsman has officially fallen,” Carter said, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “They’re turning the whole area into some modern outdoor study space, apparently.”
“Oh, no,” she muttered, a wave of genuine nostalgia hitting her. “I liked that fountain.”
The second the words left her mouth, the memory hit her like a physical wave.
Warm summer nights. Carter sitting on the edge of that ugly fountain, pulling her between his knees while music from some distant fraternity party drifted across the dark grounds.
She could almost feel his hands sliding up her thighs under her coat, the breathless laugh she’d hidden against his mouth as she warned him they’d get caught.
Her stomach did a sharp, violent flip.
She looked up, and the knowing intensity in Carter’s eyes told her he was trapped in the exact same memory.
The casual atmosphere of the dinner vanished, replaced by a sudden, suffocating weight. His eyes tracked across her face before dropping to her lips, just for a fraction of a second.
Elena’s breath hitched. A rush of heat coiled in her veins before her brain could even attempt to fight it off.
God.
Her heart gave one stupid leap, the exact same way it used to years ago when Carter looked at her like that. Like she was the only person in the room. Like she was still his.
Elena immediately stiffened, pulling herself back from the edge. What on earth was she doing?
Over the years, she had imagined a thousand different scenarios where she’d run into Carter Evans again.
Some involved epic screaming matches. Some ended in icy, glamorous indifference.
A few even ended with her finally getting the answers she deserved.
Not a single one of those scenarios involved her blushing like a schoolgirl.
And yet, there he was, sipping his drink and acting entirely too comfortable, as if their history wasn’t a massive elephant sitting right between their dinner plates.
If he wanted to pretend they were just casual acquaintances who had never shared a life together, then she was officially done playing along.
Elena set her glass down hard enough to make the silverware rattle.
“What are you even doing here, Carter?” she asked, cutting straight through the pleasantries.
He leaned back lazily, looking entirely too comfortable. “Saving your company, of course.”
That was the absolute last straw. Whatever restraint she had left snapped entirely.
Elena snatched her purse, throwing her napkin onto the table as she stood up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor. “You know what? I’m leaving.”
“Elena—” Carter started, catching the sudden fire in her eyes.
She didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. She spun around and walked briskly toward the exit, her heels clicking angrily as she ignored the stares of nearby diners. She made it as far as the dim hallway leading to the doors before he caught up, his shadow falling over her.
“Wait,” Carter said softly. “That was rude. I’m sorry.”
He actually sounded sincere. Elena stopped walking.
“I’m sorry for a lot of things,” he continued quietly. “There’s no excuse for how I handled things back then. I know that. I just… I hope eventually we can at least be friends.”
Elena’s arms locked across her chest, a physical barrier between them.
A prideful part of her wanted to play it cool, to shrug and pretend the past was ancient, irrelevant history. But the sheer weight of years spent wondering what she’d done wrong rose up and crushed that idea instantly.
Friends. He wanted to be friends. As if he hadn’t shattered her world when he left. Every instinct she possessed revolted against the easy out he was begging for.
“If I had known the investor was you,” Elena said, each word dropping like a stone between them, “I would have walked away from the deal immediately. I have zero interest in tying my dad's company to someone as unreliable as you.”
For the first time that evening, Carter’s calm expression completely faltered.
Elena let out a sharp, bitter laugh as the dam broke on years of suppressed fury.
“You really do love hiding behind a paper trail, don’t you?” Elena said, gesturing sharply between them. “First it was a breakup note slipped under my apartment door, and now it’s a stack of contracts and lawyers. I guess playing the coward is easier than having an actual conversation.”
Carter’s expression darkened instantly. Elena stared at him in utter disbelief because he actually had the audacity to look offended.
“Well,” he said slowly, stepping closer to her, “coward or not, Ms. Waldorf, you need me.”
Elena immediately lifted her chin, refusing to back down.
“That’s right,” he continued, his dark eyes fixed steadily on hers.
“Waldorf Fashions won’t survive another month without my investment.
The financial management has been so disastrous it’s a miracle you've even made it this far. Your only shot is the restructuring plan I’m putting in place.
So, I highly suggest you start acting professionally with the one person currently keeping your father’s legacy alive. ”
The sheer arrogance in his voice made her blood boil.
Carter stepped even closer, cutting the distance between them until there was barely any air left to breathe.
The hallway grew suffocatingly warm. Elena’s senses filled with him—the subtle scent of woodsmoke and amber from his cologne, the heat radiating off his chest. Her eyes involuntarily tracked the sharp line of his jaw, the dark shadow of stubble there, before dipping—completely against her will—to his lips.
Her breath caught, her mouth parting just a fraction as the air left her lungs.
Carter’s gaze followed hers, his lips curving into a smug, familiar smirk, proving he could still read her body language like a book.
He knew exactly what he was doing to her,
But Elena refused to give him the satisfaction of stepping back. She lifted her chin higher, digging her fingernails into the strap of her purse to keep from shaking.
“Fine,” she breathed, the word sharp and cold.
His smirk faded, his gaze darkening as his eyes narrowed onto hers.
“Fine,” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave, the word sounding less like an agreement and more like a dangerous challenge.
They stood locked in a silent game of chicken, neither willing to back down an inch, the sheer friction between them practically throwing sparks.
Elena broke first, spinning on her heel to bolt for the exit before her brain entirely lost the battle to her instincts—which were currently hovering somewhere between kissing him or stabbing him with her salad fork.
She marched straight out of the restaurant and into the night air, absolutely convinced that this had been the worst dinner of her entire life.
The freezing Manhattan air hit her face instantly, but it was nowhere near cold enough to put out the fire raging inside her.
It wasn't until she was safely inside the car, staring blankly at the back of the driver's headrest, that the anger finally quieted down enough for the panic to set in.
What the hell had she just gotten herself into?