Chapter 9
Nine
Giancarlo
My table at the Grille Room was ready when we arrived—as expected—tucked into a private alcove on the second level, overlooking the main dining room below.
“Is this a kink of yours, Giano—to lord over peasants from various mezzanines?”
I chuckled at Rowen’s teasing, instinctively knowing it was good-natured compared to how he spoke to Agent Markel.
Fuck, it’s hot when he bosses people around.
I wonder how to get him to boss me around…
“It’s more that I like my privacy and personal space,” I confirmed, even as I wished we didn’t have a table between us. “I’ve never been particularly social.”
Rowen observed me thoughtfully, waiting until the ma?tre d’ walked away to rest his elbows on the table and lean forward. “You seemed like you were in your element while schmoozing at your party. Again, you had me fooled.”
I sighed. Just as before, he wasn’t accusing me of anything, simply trying to figure me out—exactly as I wanted to do with him.
And I will gladly tell him anything.
Almost anything…
“While I was given alone time in my childhood, my mother made it clear there were expectations,” I carefully began.
“Especially with how I presented myself in public. The Luxford name holds a certain amount of… importance in old money circles, and whether or not it held the same importance to me was inconsequential. On behalf of my family, I have a reputation to uphold.”
Rowen’s dazzling eyes lit up with interest, no doubt picking up on my sour tone and recognizing he was receiving insight I rarely gave to others.
I can only hope to earn the same confidence from him.
The waiter appeared to take our drink order and, after confirming Rowen drank wine, I ordered a bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild Pauillac from the private cellar.
An expense approved by the trust, naturally.
I was hoping this wouldn’t be my last “date” with Rowen, not only because I wanted to soak in his company as much as possible, but because I’d decided on my way to The Andervelt that I would circumvent the trust fund restrictions by spending as much money on him as humanly possible.
Another tiny rebellion.
“How much did that bottle just set you back?” he asked—a question I’d normally find incredibly tactless, but not from him. “Because you’re buying, by the way.”
“It would be incredibly rude of me to invite you to dinner and not pay,” I replied, stifling a laugh as I imagined Mother rolling in her grave at the prospect. “But that was a 2016 bottle of Lafite, so it only set me back a thousand dollars.”
“Good GOD!” Rowen exclaimed, drawing the attention of our fellow diners below. “Listen. Just FYI… when I return the favor of buying you dinner, we’ll be brown-bagging it and getting slices at Original Ray’s.”
I had no idea what “brown bagging it” meant, but was delighted he intended to see me again. “Which Ray’s? The original on Prince Street closed in 2011.”
He arched an eyebrow and sat back as the sommelier arrived with the wine. “Okay, Moneybags, I see you. There’s a new pizza place at the same location that’s not half bad, and I just call it Ray’s out of habit since I’m there at least three times a week.”
Is that so?
“You live near Little Italy?” I asked before testing the Lafite and nodding at the sommelier to pour, hoping my eagerness for intel wasn’t overly apparent.
Rowen smirked, grabbing his glass by the bowl and taking a large, loud swig.
Mother would have hated him.
I love it.
“Why do you wanna know?” he teased, after we were left alone again. “Planning on stalking me or something?”
Yes.
“I’m attempting to get to know you, Rowen,” I replied, drinking him in with the same relish he was giving the wine. “Isn’t that what one does on a date?”
As expected, he became guarded. “I wouldn’t know. Casual hookups are more my speed and those aren’t the same as dating.”
“No, they aren’t,” I confirmed, treading carefully for both our sakes.
Since I don’t have much experience dating either.
“I also don’t usually fuck anyone I’m in business with,” he added, just as the waiter appeared to take our order.
And overhear.
“The usual, Mr. Luxford?” the waiter—Travis, I believed—smoothly asked, politely ignoring our inappropriate conversation.
“What’s the usual?” Rowen placed his elbows on the table again and rested his chin on his hands.
“Authentic carbonara,” I replied. “It’s exquisite.”
“But is it heavy?” Rowen gave me a meaningful look I couldn’t decipher. “Because, if it is, I’m gonna need something that won’t cause issues with the next phase of this date we’re on…”
What?
“If the gentleman is looking for lighter fare, might I suggest the gazpacho and Luxford salad?” Travis blessedly intervened. “It’s our chef’s interpretation of the Waldorf, using locally sourced ingredients and topped with a homemade vinaigrette.”
“Sounds perfect.” Rowen smiled so brightly at the waiter, white-hot jealousy hissed through me.
“Yes, thank you, Travis,” I cut in. “That will be all.”
Rowen snickered as he watched the poor waiter’s retreat. “So snooty.” He finished his glass and reached for the bottle. “Travis knew what I needed.”
I didn’t like his insinuation one bit, because if anyone was going to provide for this man, it would be me. “Do you have dietary restrictions? If there’s something specific you like, I can have the chef prepare it for you.”
I’ll go down there and make it myself.
Rowen snorted. “Welp, you just answered the question I’ve been wondering since we met.” When I stared at him expectantly, he grinned devilishly. “You’ve never bottomed before.”
My jaw dropped. That was not where I thought the conversation was going, and certainly wasn’t the sort of thing discussed at the Grille Room.
For all I knew, it was something only Rowen Quincy talked about in public—loudly and unabashedly—and his candidness simultaneously thrilled me and painfully reminded me how out of my element I was.
“Ruh-roh, did I break you, Moneybags?” He took a long sip of his wine, studying me over the glass. “Have you ever been with a man before?”
There was zero judgment in his tone, but my cheeks heated all the same. “Yes, but it was always… arranged.” I cleared my throat and lowered my voice. “There’s a club in Midtown. Discreet for clients like me…”
“Wealthy heirs forced to uphold the reputations of past generations.” He smiled knowingly as I nodded. “And I assume everyone gets tested at this fancy sex club?”
I huffed, thankful he’d added some levity to the situation. “Of course. The standards are exceptionally high, and the price per encounter reflects that.”
“More than a 2016 bottle of Chateau whateverthefuck?”
A smile twitched my lips. “Yes. More than a bottle of Chateau whateverthefuck.”
I may have whispered the last part, but Rowen still smiled proudly. “Good boy. I told you I’d have you swearing in no time.”
The room suddenly felt stifling. My cock twitched at his words—at his confidence—and I shifted in my seat, willing my mind to focus on the present moment instead of future possibilities.
Rowen’s eyes tracked the blush creeping up from beneath my collar, but he blessedly didn’t comment on it as our food arrived. Even once we were left alone again, we ate in surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes until the conversation shifted to more typical “first date” topics.
“So… what do you do for work?” Rowen asked, picking at his salad, removing every single cranberry before taking a bite. “Is it mostly jet-setting around, buying up property on private islands for the next Luxford Hotel?”
Fuck.
I quickly made a mental note about having the cranberries eliminated from the Luxford salad altogether, then paused, debating how to answer his incredibly astute question.
Since the information he’s after is… proprietary…
“I am usually involved in acquisitions, yes,” I carefully replied. “Sometimes an on-site visit is necessary, but more so it’s simply that my signature is needed to finalize the deals.”
And sometimes not at all.
He lifted his gaze. “And you hate it.”
I set aside my fork, carbonara forgotten. “It’s not the sort of work I would choose if given the option, no.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could take them back, not because I didn’t want Rowen to know me but because I knew exactly what his next question would be.
“If given the option… what would you choose?”
I don't know.
“It doesn’t matter,” I curtly replied, because it didn’t. Even with both my parents dead, this was my life—my legacy—and even I could acknowledge it would be foolish to throw it all away.
Yet, here I am… self-destructively skirting the edge of ruin.
Unsurprisingly, he pressed on. “It does matter, because it will tell me what kind of man you are.”
He doesn’t play fair.
I wanted to be the kind of man Rowen was interested in, more than anything, but I had the sense my privileged upbringing made that a hard sell from his perspective.
The “Moneybags” nickname gave it away.
What he didn’t know—what I longed to explain, even if I would be sharing too much—was how ill-fitting it all was. How I’d never felt like I belonged in this world.
Something tells me he already knows how that feels…
“I’m still figuring that out, to be honest,” I haltingly began. “I do know I want to be free.”
He raised his eyebrows, probably surprised by my candidness. “Free of what?”
“The circumstances I’ve found myself in,” I replied, holding his gaze and forcing myself to not hide behind my usual facade.
While what I was saying was the truth, I could admit I was also being slightly manipulative, using Rowen’s own desires against him. But, as he himself had said, I was willing to do anything to get what I want.
I don’t play fair either.
He stared at me for a long moment, his deceptively cherubic face schooled into an impassive mask worthy of most of the company I’d been forced to keep throughout my life.
I take it back.
Mother would have grudgingly respected him.
“I think it’s time you asked for the check, Giano,” he finally said, gaze trailing over me with so much heat, I sat up straighter in my chair. “And see about getting us that room.”
I fully exhaled before carefully responding, wary of appearing exactly as eager as I was. “Does that mean you are willing to make an exception to your usual rule of not mixing business with pleasure?”
Please say yes.
Rowen demurely dabbed his mouth with the cloth napkin before revealing his blatant smirk. “Oh, you bet I’ll make an exception for you, Giancarlo Luxford. I have no generational reputations to uphold, and I’m dying to help you ruin yours.”
Please.
I knew his words were yet another signpost along my path of self-destruction, but I couldn’t find it in me to course correct or care. Instead, I called over the waiter to put the bill on my tab before leading my “date” out of the restaurant and toward the penthouse elevator.
Please ruin me.
Once inside the car, Rowen crossed his arms and casually leaned against the mirrored wall while we ascended—the epitome of calm as I stared at the numbers and tried not to leave my stomach behind on the second floor.
“Can the Luxford Holdings shareholders reserve the penthouse too, or is that just a benefit for you to enjoy?”
“Only me,” I replied, my voice a low growl, my nerves aflame, subtly clenching my fists by my side to keep from reaching for him.
Mine.
Rowen remained quiet as the elevator dinged and the doors opened, and when I walked out into the living room, he didn’t follow. I slowly turned, suddenly terrified he was about to close the elevator doors and disappear from my life completely.
“I’m not the first man you’ve brought here, am I?” he asked, his expression giving nothing away.
He wants honesty.
“No,” I confirmed. “It would not have been… appropriate for me to bring the men I hired through the club to my family’s apartment.”
Not while Mother was alive.
The realization I could technically bring whoever the hell I wanted home with me now hit the same moment I acknowledged Rowen couldn’t be included in that newfound freedom.
No one can know about us.
“So this is where you keep your secrets,” he murmured—a statement, not a question—finally exiting the elevator to join me.
“Yes,” I choked out as he reached for my collar, deftly removing my tie this time and tossing it aside. “It’s where I can be exactly who I am.”
Rowen roughly shoved my suit jacket off my shoulders, smirking when it hit the floor before unbuttoning my shirt—all the while backing me toward the bedroom. “Mmm… I still don’t think you’re showing me who you really are, Moneybags.”
“I want to,” I breathlessly replied as the back of my knees hit the mattress. “Please…”
The “please” was an accident, but it caused Rowen to freeze with his hands on my shoulders, no doubt preparing to push me into the bed.
“Okay then.” He stepped back and rolled up his sleeves before unbuckling his belt and pointing downward. “Show me—on your knees.”