Chapter 3 #2
He slammed the door to the restaurant with more force than necessary, the bell above the door jangling in protest. They were meeting at a popular place on the Upper East Side, and given the time, it was already bustling.
His eyes scanned the first level, searching for a familiar face, but the moody lighting and the packed tables didn’t make it easy.
“Can I help you?” A hostess stepped forward, her smile clipped, no doubt because of his entrance.
Shit. It wasn’t fair to take out his frustrations on other people.
“I’m here for the Astral Realms Innovations party,” he replied, making sure to keep his tone friendly. He wouldn’t call himself a good person, not anymore, but he tried to at least be decent where he was able to.
Maybe he should have called the police about Galen Stone’s death. That definitely would have been the decent thing to do.
But he hadn’t.
And he didn’t want to.
So that was that.
Asshole had it coming if what Lucifer claimed was real anyway. If he’d just been playing with Eden all this time, sending him on a wild goose chase to protect some rich fucker in a penthouse.
“Right this way. They’re on the upper level.” The hostess turned and led him down a center aisle between packed tables to a stairwell set against the far right of the space.
The restaurant was colored in burgundies and blacks, with sleek surfaces and light orbs that floated dreamily around the ceiling.
They cast various glows, some more vivid white, others yellowish or gold.
A soft jazz tune played from hidden speakers set high on the walls, and laughter and the clinking of cutlery almost drowned it out.
This was the type of place people went to after work to unwind. The place one went to catch up with friends or enjoy an intimate meal with family. Warm. Inviting.
Wrong.
It reminded him too much of the things that he’d lost.
Maybe he’d check Enraptured later. Find someone willing to play with him and take his mind off things.
“Here you go, sir.” The hostess dipped into a small bow and held an arm out toward a long table at the back of the room.
“Eden!” Noon spotted him first and waved, the goofy grin on his face making it obvious he’d started drinking without him.
“Thank you.” Eden excused himself from the hostess and made his way over, scanning the table for an empty seat. There was only one, which happened to be on Noon’s right, so he assumed his friend had saved it for him. “Hey, sorry I’m late.”
“Ismay was about to blow a gasket,” Noon mumbled to him, turning so the woman at the end of the table couldn’t see his mouth.
A waitress appeared and asked for his drink order, and Eden got himself a hot coffee. He’d need the buzz to stay present tonight after losing out on the job. It wasn’t until she’d stepped away that his head turned, and he realized he didn’t recognize the man seated at his elbow.
Eden opened his mouth to introduce himself, but the second their eyes met, his mind went completely blank.
Somehow, he’d found himself sitting next to an angel.
Or maybe it was a devil.
No, the devil.
Only the real thing could invoke sex and sin at a mere glance.
Maybe the devil had finally come to drag him to the afterlife, where his family was waiting.
Angel or devil, it didn’t really matter.
The man at the head of the table was the most beautiful person Eden had ever seen.
He appeared to be a couple of years younger, with a sharp jawline and stunning ruby red eyes with flecks of black and gold. Those eyes seemingly latched onto Eden’s very soul, calling to him, coaxing him forward, until he found himself resting an arm on the table and doing just that.
Eden leaned a little bit closer, breath catching in his lungs. If he were a painter, he’d be scrambling for a brush or a pen, but as it were, music was his only art form. He could probably write a million ballads off this man’s looks alone.
The longer Eden stared, the more the man’s angelic features seemed to morph into feline ones, his thick brows lifting almost teasingly, the full, plush lips of his mouth tipping upward at the left corner.
A couple curls of ebony hair fell over his forehead, one slipping lower, to obscure his right eye.
It should have broken the spell, but it didn’t.
All it did was draw attention to the rest of him.
To his broad shoulders and fit arms, currently encased in a tailored suit made of silk in a stone-gray shade.
There was no tie, and the white dress shirt beneath had been left unbuttoned almost to the center of his chest. A pair of black and red headphones perched around his neck, a boyish detail that somehow did nothing to detract from the lavish vibe exuding from the stranger.
Even the scent of his cologne was expensive and enticing. Spicy and woody, with the barest hint of something citrusy.
Masculine.
Devilish.
Dangerous.
Eden felt his dick twitch in his pants, an altogether insane reaction to have from one single look, and it finally pulled him out of the trance.
He blinked, painfully aware he’d been staring like a loon, and cleared his throat as he pulled back and straightened in his seat. It wasn’t enough space, but he couldn’t very well get up without fear of letting his semi-hard-on be known, and there weren’t any other empty chairs available anyway.
“Hello,” the word came out breathy and low, far too telling, and if he’d been anyone else, he might have blushed in embarrassment. Instead, he kept himself as composed as possible, hoping he hadn’t lost as much time as it felt like he had. “I’m Eden Baldur. I play—”
“Ransom.” Gods, even the man’s voice was angelic.
Eden shivered.
“Uh,” at his side, Noon elbowed him lightly, “this is the new major investor Ismay was telling us about earlier, Ares Major.”
The new investor?
“How old are you?” Eden blurted before he could help himself.
He hadn’t thought much about who the new investor might be, but a part of him had just assumed it was another man or woman in their prime, looking for a fresh side hustle.
The type of person who could comfortably blow a small fortune on a gaming company that hadn’t even been around for five years.
Sure, Vanity was doing fantastic now, but they were still in the early stages. Trends changed, and fans moved on all the time. Investment in their company wasn’t child's play, and yet…
Across from them, Pilar, another voice actor who’d been listening in, swore under his breath at Eden’s bold comment.
“I’m twenty-one,” the angel—Ares—replied. “If I’m not mistaken, that was how old you were when the company was formed.”
It was. He and the others had been at the end of their senior year when Vanity had completed the testing stages and finally came together.
“We didn’t have the type of funding you apparently do, Mr. Major,” Eden said.
“He’s a Black Hart,” Noon told him, and if Eden wasn’t mistaken, the light in Ares’ eyes dimmed some.
Was he angry?
At least that settled the question. If this man was a Black Hart, that made him a devil for sure. A fallen angel. The fallen angel, with looks like his.
Lucifer was said to be gorgeous.
Lucifer.
Shit, now he was thinking about the masked stranger.
“What are you doing all the way on this side of the planet?” Eden asked. Since he was in his early twenties, Ares was no doubt a student at the prestigious university, Sacrum Cor, located on the opposite part of the globe, in the capital city.
“He’s a fan of our game,” Yarrow appeared behind Ares then, having abandoned his seat sometime during their talk.
His hand came down on Ares’ shoulder, and he must have missed the way their new shareholder tensed at the contact, because he continued to grin at Eden.
His excitement was palpable. “He came all this way to buy out half of our other shareholders, that’s how big a fan he is! ”
Yarrow had always sought fame and fortune.
To him, Vanity stood for more than hard work and dedication.
It was only part of his dream. Recognition?
Idealization? Those were the end goals, and it appeared that he felt he’d achieved those things by attracting someone with the sort of social standing Ares held.
Black Harts were members of the founding families. Prestigious. Wealthy.
Capricious.
Yeah, definitely a devil. Though a fallen angel was still an angel, and since this one had taken notice of them, it made sense that Yarrow would willingly join hands.
“He refused to let me buy him out, so I settled for close to fifty percent,” Ares stated, keeping his eyes on Eden despite Yarrow vying for his attention.
“So,” Eden reached for his glass of water, “I guess that makes you the new co-owner, really.”
“I’ll still maintain control of operations,” Yarrow said, though if he was insulted by the insinuation that someone else now owned his life’s work, he didn’t show it. “Mr. Major has agreed to leave me in charge. Isn’t that wonderful?”
It was suspicious.
“What do you get out of it, Mr. Major?”
“Ares,” he corrected, some of that light sparking back to life in his gaze the moment Eden rested his attention his way again. “Call me Ares.”
“You don’t seem to be short on coin, Ares.” Eden tilted his head when the younger man’s intensity grew at the sound of his name off his lips. This was weird, but was there a chance the attraction went both ways?
Eden wasn’t unattractive by any means. That was why Yarrow had asked him to model the character in the first place.
But maybe he was reading into it. That was likely.
A guy like his, a Black Hart, had to be surrounded by attractive people. Eden was probably unimpressive when compared to the company he must keep on the regular.
“Do you like playing games?” Ares asked.
“Eden doesn’t play games like Vanity,” Yarrow chimed in.
There it was again, a fissure. A crack in Ares’ composure. A glimpse beneath the angelic veneer.
He wasn’t sure what made him so certain, but Eden knew without a shadow of a doubt it was a mask.
There was something deceptive about the man seated at the head of the table.
Everyone knew the Black Harts were arrogant and not to be trifled with, but on this side of the planet, he’d never had the opportunity to meet one before.
Was this an opportunity? Or was it misfortune?
Vanity might not be his dream, but Eden relied on the game doing well. From the sounds of it, Ares didn’t intend to wrest control from Yarrow at the moment, but that could change.
He couldn’t afford to think with his dick right now, especially not when Yarrow was already doing enough mindless fawning for the both of them.
“Are you really a fan?” Eden held his gaze. “Or are you after something else?”
The smile delivered next was breathtaking. Criminal in and of itself. A resounding gasp carried throughout the table, making it clear Eden wasn’t the only one who thought so.
Yarrow’s hand on the man’s shoulder noticeably tightened.
“If you don’t play games like Vanity,” Ares lowered his voice, his tone cajoling and clearly meant for Eden alone, “what types of games do you like playing?”
“Horror RPGs,” he answered. “Specifically Psychological Horror RPGs. But I don’t get a lot of time to play them anymore.”
“Eden,” Yarrow laughed awkwardly, “you’re going to give him the impression I work you to the bone. I promise that isn’t the case, Ares. We treat all of our employees fairly and are above board. Especially the original crew that helped make Vanity a reality.”
“I’ve read your contracts,” Ares waved Yarrow off, then said to Eden, “I enjoy those types of games too. We should play together later.”
“Sure.” Eden didn’t like the way Yarrow was now frowning behind Ares, or how the rest of the table seemed to be staring at this exchange like they were some kind of show to be viewed. It wasn’t rational, but something told him he needed to get away from this before he did something foolish.
His coffee had arrived sometime during their discussion, but he’d hardly noticed and hadn’t touched it. Despite that, he pushed himself to his feet. “It was nice meeting you, Ares. Unfortunately, I’ve got to call it a night, but I hope you enjoy the rest of your dinner.”
“You’re leaving already?” Noon grabbed onto Eden’s wrist, but got no reaction.
Eden was too busy trying to make out what Ares was feeling from his expression, but it was enigmatic. Not cold, but not warm either.
“I’ll walk you out,” Yarrow offered, but Ares held up a hand.
“He can walk himself.” He smiled lightly at Eden. “I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah.” Eden stepped away from the table. “Later.”
He could feel Ares’ eyes on him the whole time he crossed the restaurant, only free of that weighted gaze once he was heading down the stairs to the main level. His heart pounded in his chest the entire drive home, pissing him off because he couldn’t understand why.
His reaction had been visceral, surreal. No one had been able to get so thoroughly under his skin just by merely existing before.
Except for maybe Lucifer.
Fuck.
And now he was thinking about him again.
Eden didn’t like it.
It would be best to avoid all things angelic and devilish and masked from here on out.