Chapter 30
JAMIE
I’m glad Morgan gave me something to work on, because otherwise I worry too much about these dinners with investors. I want to google them so I don’t make a fool of myself, but it seems to ‘read better,’ as Morgan says, if I go into things naive.
This is the first science I’ve gotten my hands on since I started at Artemis, and I’m not about to second-guess it.
But it’s a complicated case. It’s not until I realize Morgan’s left the balcony that I check the time. It’s quarter ’til five.
I jump up and scurry into my room, and I swear I hear Morgan chuckle behind me.
She was maybe teasing me with wear something nice, but then I see the suit bag tucked into my suitcase and I realize… I really could. If I don’t know who the investors are, I can probably make a better impression than a sweater, right?
And maybe a little part of me wants to prove that not only Tobias can pull off a suit after all.
I tuck in the button-up and slip on the jacket, then assemble the accessories that Eileen and I picked out. There’s a stack of hammered copper bracelets, hoop earrings with gold spikes and dangling emeralds, and a gilded rose pin for my lapel.
I glance into the mirror and put my hair back up with the clip I accidentally stole from Eileen.
And I have no time to overthink this as Morgan knocks on the door.
I get déjà vu—or I guess it’s not déjà vu, since this has happened before—as I pull the door open.
There’s something inherently sensual about the deep crimson of her silk suit with its black silk lapel on the cropped blazer and matching color block black hem for the pants.
She wears the blazer open as usual, revealing a black silk sleeveless top underneath.
Black diamond pendant earrings, matte black loafers, and a high ponytail complete the look.
She’s as gorgeous as ever.
Her eyes flick down, lingering on my shoes before slowly dragging up.
I shiver, my spine tingling with the sensation of her gaze.
I want to say something about how I can change, but her eyes hold me. When they meet mine again, they’re black with just the slightest ring of violet.
It is dim in here.
“You look good, Jamie,” she says casually. Then she turns towards the door, and I know to follow her.
#
I was expecting another extremely fancy restaurant, but I was not expecting to step into another dimension. Something literally beyond my imagination.
This restaurant is delicately settled into an ecological marvel—a natural seaside grotto that weaves in and out of the water-licked cliffs. The air tastes of salt and seaweed, and there’s only a low railing between the tables and the ocean crashing against the rocks twenty feet below.
The waiter leads us confidently along a narrow ledge along the cliff, and there’s no railing here.
I hesitate, feeling a sudden and deep affection for American safety regulations.
“Now you’re afraid of heights?” Morgan teases.
“Just afraid of falling,” I murmur.
“Why?’
“What if I slip?”
“Then I’ll catch you,” Morgan says, with a quiet confidence that sets my heart thundering.
She nods at me to go first, and with her steady presence behind me, I can put one foot in front of the other.
I’m nearly to safety behind the railing when something hits me from behind. My balance is off, the world spins, a yelp rises in my throat—
Morgan’s hands firmly grip my upper arms, keeping me on my feet. They’re also what threw me off balance.
“Gotcha,” Morgan teases.
“You fucking asshole!” I breathe as my lungs work again, adrenaline turning into shaky laughter.
I turn and smack her on the arm, and Morgan’s eyes glitter with mirth. My breath catches in my lungs again, and Morgan nudges me towards our table.
“Don’t keep the poor man waiting,” she says.
I whip a glare at her, then scurry after the waiter.
It’s clear which table is ours—it’s the only one on the small platform.
And there are only two chairs.
“I thought we were meeting investors,” I say dumbly as the waiter pulls out my chair.
“What gave you that impression?” Morgan says.
“Well…” I start to formulate a sincere answer, then glance at Morgan’s face. I’m pretty sure she’s giving me a hard time. So I pivot and say, “I just thought you were getting sick of me, is all.”
Morgan glances out over the ocean. I can’t help but follow her gaze—it’s so close, rolling out in streaks of teal and azure and violet all the way to the horizon. Seagulls freckle the sky, and a yacht cuts a wake nearby.
“Sick, yes,” Morgan finally says. “Of you, no.”
I blink, shuffle my feet. “It’s hard to imagine you sick.”
She cracks a half-smile. “You don’t want to see it. I hear it’s even worse than when I’m hangry.”
I cough out a laugh, then finally relax.
The glass of wine helps too.
I scan the menu, but I’m secretly hoping Morgan orders for me again.
“Why don’t you ever order caviar?” I ask. “You’re not averse to spending money.”
“Because it’s disgusting.”
“Then why is it so expensive?”
“So people can flaunt their poor taste.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“If you want to spend my money, get the Wagyu.”
“What’s that?”
“Way better than caviar.”
I scan the menu and find the listing. It’s Japanese steak, apparently. And boy is it expensive.
But I’m feeling a little stubborn. I might want revenge for Morgan scaring the shit out of me.
The waiter stops by to take our appetizer order.
“I’ll get the caviar,” I cut in before Morgan can stop me.
“Which variety?”
I point at the most expensive one. He nods. “And for you?”
“The Wagyu carpaccio,” Morgan says, staring me down. There’s an edge in her expression, but it’s not anger.
My heart flips. But I stand my ground.
The waiter returns up the cliff walk.
I make it through another half-glass of wine before our appetizers arrive.
The volume of caviar in the miniature bowl is surprisingly small for the price, though Morgan’s appetizer isn’t much larger by mass—the steak is sliced paper thin and arranged across the surface of the plate with a drizzle of dark sauce and a garnish of arugula.
“Well,” Morgan purrs, her eyes blazing into me. “Go on.”
The plump black eggs are arranged on a bed of crushed ice, and the spoon is iridescent. Mother of pearl?
I take a bite. I’m ready to have my mind blown. To prove Morgan wrong.
It’s certainly a… unique experience. It’s salty but not as fishy as I expected. The pop of the roe and the shift of the flavor towards nutty is… deeply unpleasant to my brain.
I frown reflexively, taking a big drink of wine to clear my mouth.
“How is it?” Morgan presses.
“It’s… um, good.”
“So go ahead. Take another bite.”
“Let me try yours, too. Then I can properly compare before I get too into mine.”
Morgan scoffs. “Absolutely not. You could have ordered Wagyu, like I told you to. But you didn’t.”
“Aw, c’mon. I thought you could share.” My teasing backfires as I remember sitting next to her on the bed, my blood ticking a degree warmer. I muster my focus, pushing the memory away.
“When I want to,” she returns.
I want to read into that. I shouldn’t. “Well, you want to, now.”
“Oh, do I?”
“Because… how can I tell you just how right you are if I haven’t tasted both?”
“I don’t need you to validate objective reality.”
“You don’t need me to, but I think you want me to.”
“Oh? You know what I want?” There’s an edge to her voice, something like humor and irony, and it short-circuits my brain, though I don’t know why.
“C’mon,” I press. “Just one bite.” I’m not sure why I’m being so capricious except that Morgan brings out this side of me.
Morgan keeps her eyes on me, twisting her fork across the plate to gather a paper-thin segment of meat, a dab of sauce, and a sprig of arugula. She presses it into her own mouth, sweeping her tongue up the fork to pull it clean.
My heart skips a beat. Don’t be a creep, don’t be a creep. I’m sure she does this with all of her… business associates?
She gathers more on her fork, and I expect it to disappear into her mouth again—but, never breaking eye contact, she holds it out towards me.
I lean down and take the bite off the fork, only afterwards realizing that I probably should have taken the fork with my hand first.
Those thoughts melt away in the presence of the smooth, buttery meat, incredibly flavorful despite being raw, offset perfectly by the bite of the sauce and the crunch of the arugula.
I’m reluctant to swallow, because I know I’m not getting a second bite.
“Oh wow.”
“Told you so.”
“See, I knew you wanted to rub it in.” I look down at the caviar, feeling a little guilty. I force myself to take a second bite. It’s… not as bad as the first. And there’s only like four bites, anyway.
“You don’t have to eat something just because it’s on a plate in front of you,” Morgan says.
“The menu said it was healthy, at least. So, better to not let it go to waste.”
“The sturgeon’s already dead, whether you eat that or not.”
I frown. “I thought roe could be harvested without killing the fish?”
“Salmon roe, sure. But sturgeon? Nope.”
“Oh…”
Morgan gives a light laugh. “It’s just a fish.”
“Yes, but I am a bleeding heart.”
“I can see that.”
I resolve to scoop the rest into my mouth and swallow it in one bite. Morgan watches my throat bob.
A wicked smile pulls at her lips. “You have a lot of practice?”
I’m not exactly sure what she means, but I can kind of guess, and my cheeks burn with heat.
I’m saved by the waiter returning to take our orders for the main course.
“Your ordering privileges are revoked,” Morgan informs me, and rattles off dishes to the waiter for four more courses. He jots them down with brisk efficiency.
When the food arrives, I can’t remember what anything’s called, but it’s all gorgeous.
There’s cooked fish on a bed of black squid ink pasta, garnished with vegetables cut to resemble leaves, a fresh roasted potato-like tuber bursting with herbal flavor and sharp lemon, and delicate steak medallions pre-sliced and ringed with a moat of sauced risotto topped with crisp rice.
Every bite is life-changing.