7. Alex
I pulled up outside her building and cut the engine. The Upper East Side looked the same as always, clean streets, polished glass, money pretending to be class.
Everything about the place felt staged. Perfect on the surface, rotten underneath.
I stepped out of the car, the afternoon sun hitting the tinted windows as the door shut behind me.
Her mother was already outside, standing there like she’d been waiting for me. Her heels clicked on the pavement as she approached, her face set in a taut smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
She was dressed in black slacks, a fitted blazer, her hair pulled back so tight it looked like it might snap. She had the look of someone who believed they owned the world and everyone in it.
She stopped a few feet away, her eyes raking over my clothes and my face, looking for a weakness. She didn't find one.
She came to a stop a few feet from me, her eyes flicking over me like she was sizing me up, “Tristan Kincaid, right? I’ve heard... things about you."
I stayed silent, my eyes steady on hers, waiting. I’d been in this game too long to be baited by the likes of her.
Her smile tightened, "I don't know what you think you're doing with my daughter, but it’s over. She doesn't need anyone in her life right now that could distract her from her career. I'm sure you can understand that, Mr. Kincaid."
“I do,” I said coolly.
Her gaze sharpened, studying me like a business problem she intended to solve, “Josephine is impulsive. Emotional. She mistakes attention for affection. You, however, are experienced. Successful. You understand consequences and long-term investments.”
She took a slow step closer, lowering her voice just enough to sound reasonable instead of threatening.
“So let’s not pretend this is anything more than a temporary indulgence,” she continued. “You’ll walk away now, and I’ll tell her you lost interest. It will spare her embarrassment and you unnecessary complications. That would be the smart choice.”
I watched her finish, letting the silence stretch just long enough to unsettle her. Then I adjusted the cuff of my sleeve, “I don’t go back on my word,” I said evenly. “Your daughter invited me to dinner. I plan on honoring that.”
The corner of her mouth tightened.
“I suggest you make the right decision, Mr. Kincaid, while you still can,” she said smoothly, “Otherwise, you’ll have to deal with the consequences. One phone call from me is all it takes to dismantle everything you’ve built.”
I almost found her words amusing. Consequences. The word rolled off her tongue like she’d rehearsed it a thousand times in front of a mirror.
“I’m not concerned about your consequences,” I replied calmly.
“I’ve dealt with men like you before,” she laughed, shaking her head.
A faint, humorless smile crossed my face, “Then you already know how this ends.”
Her jaw tightened, “Yes. With you walking away before you make a mistake you can’t undo.”
“Mm.” I glanced past her, bored, as if the conversation had already run its course, “Unlikely.”
Before she could say another word, the front doors opened, and Josephine walked out. She paused at the entrance, looking around like she was trying to understand what she’d just stepped into.
She looked... different. Her hair was pinned up neatly, a few loose curls falling around her face. She was wearing make up. The red dress fit her well. The color made her skin look pale under the lights, almost fragile.
I noticed it the way I noticed everything else quickly, quietly, without much thought. She looked put together.
She was pretty enough to distract a weaker man.
I wasn’t one of them.
Josephine moved past her mother as I walked around and opened the passenger door for her. She slipped into the seat quietly, without saying a word.
I circled the hood and stepped closer to her mother. She fixed me with a sharp glare, “You’ll regret this,” she said, quiet, almost a hiss, meant for me more than her daughter.
I leaned in just enough to meet her eyes, “You stay out of my way, Mrs. Van Alen, and I’ll do the same.”
She didn’t say anything back. She just stood there, her jaw locked tight. She looked like a woman who was used to breaking people until they did what she wanted. I wasn't going to be one of them.
I got into the driver’s seat and shut the door. I saw Josephine watching me. Her eyes were bright, and she had this little look of victory on her face. She didn't have to speak, the way she looked at her mother through the window told me everything.
As I started the engine, she shifted in her seat, that smug little smile still playing on her lips, “You know, I think that went well,” she said, her voice light, almost teasing.
I glanced at her, taking in the way her dress clung to her curves, the way her eyes were still sparkling with that mix of rebellion and excitement, and sighed, “You have a weird way of defining ‘well.’”
She shrugged and leaned back, looking relaxed, “My mother isn’t exactly the type of person people say no to.”
I felt a tiny twitch at the corner of my mouth, “I noticed.”
“Thanks for not backing down,” she said softly, “Most people just do whatever she says.”
I didn't answer. I just kept my eyes on the road and pulled away from the curb. But I could feel her watching me, studying my face, trying to see behind the wall I kept up.
And for the first time in a long while, I didn’t mind the attention.
The drive to the restaurant was a mix of city noise and Josephine's voice filling the silence inside the car. She had a way of talking like she was trying to fill all the empty spaces, lively, almost nervous. Her words tumbled out, one after another, like she couldn’t stop herself.
“I was talking to my best friend last night, spilling all the details about our date... your name, where we met, all of it. But my mom, being herself, was probably eavesdropping the whole time. She went ahead and did a background check on you. I’m really sorry about that.
.. that’s how she knew your name. I hope you’re not too annoyed. ”
I gave my head a subtle shake, “I'm not.”
“Honestly, I didn’t expect you to actually show up,” she said, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the edge of her seat, “My mother must have seemed like a real piece of work back there. She’s always been like that, trying to control everything around her, especially me.
I’m surprised you didn’t just turn around and drive off when she started her ‘stay away from my daughter’ routine.
I kept my eyes on the road, “It takes more than that to get rid of me.”
She laughed, a sound that was too bright for the dimming city streets, “I’m starting to get that. So, where are we going?”
“Somewhere quiet,” I replied, my tone flat, “And expensive. You would like that.”
She perked up, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.
“Oh, I do. I’ve got a taste for the finer things, always have.
Blame it on my upbringing, my mother indulged me a little too much but hey, let's get one thing straight, I’m the one paying tonight.
It’s only fair since I’m the one who asked you out, right?
I mean, I can't just drag a guy like you to dinner and then expect you to foot the bill, especially since you’re basically doing me a favor by being here, and, well, not a favor favor, but you know what I mean. "
My hand on the steering wheel tightened involuntarily, "I don't care who invited who," I told her, "I don’t sit at a table and let a woman pay for my meal, never have, never would. If I’m there, I’m the one providing. That’s how it works with me."
I felt her looking at me, her rambling finally dying down for a second.
I could feel her staring at me, her earlier rambling fading out completely. When I glanced at her, she was still watching me, eyes lingering a little too long, like she’d forgotten what she’d been saying in the first place.
“…Wow,” she blurted. “Do you, like… practice sounding that hot, or does it just happen naturally?”
The words seemed to surprise her as much as they did me, and she immediately looked away, clearing her throat as if she could take them back.
I kept my eyes on the road, “No,” I said simply, “I just mean what I say.”
She shifted in her seat beside me, clearly realizing how that had sounded. A quiet, nervous laugh slipped out of her.
“I didn’t mean— well, I did mean it, but— you know what, never mind.”
I gave a small nod, letting her talk herself through it without rescuing her from the embarrassment.
After a moment, she glanced at me again, “You’re very… intense.”
“That’s one word for it,” I replied evenly.
She smiled faintly at that, like she was trying to figure me out and failing. I didn’t offer anything more. One hand rested steady on the wheel, attention forward, and calm, the way it always was.
We pulled up to the restaurant, a place where the windows gleamed and the doorman stood a little straighter when I stepped out. They knew the car. They knew the man.
I didn't wait for anyone else to do it. I walked around the hood and pulled her door open. She slid out, her dress hugging her curves, her eyes catching the low lights from the street.
Women had always been the least significant part of my life, mere distractions at best. I’ve never had much use for them beyond the occasional night to clear my head. But I wasn't dead. I was still a man, and the way she looked in that light was a detail I couldn't ignore.
My gaze traced the lines of her, the way the fabric dipped low at the neckline, showing just enough skin to be a distraction. I noted the pull of the fabric across her waist, small enough that I could probably wrap my hands around it and have my fingers touch.
Then there were the legs. The slit in the dress showed them off every time she moved, long and pale.
I didn't let my face change. I didn't give her a smile. I just closed the door behind her with a solid thud and put my hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the entrance. My palm felt the heat of her through the thin dress, but I kept my touch light and my eyes on the door.
I led her to a table in the back, tucked into a deep corner. I’d picked it before we even stepped inside. It was private. Out of the line of sight. It gave her room to talk as much as she wanted without a dozen eyes judging her every word.
I sat with my back to the wall, my eyes scanning the room one last time before focusing on what mattered.
The waiter appeared at my elbow. I didn't give him the chance to hand us menus. I didn't look at her to see what she was craving. I knew the kitchen, and I knew what was good.
"Two steaks. Rare," I said, "A bottle of the '82 reserve. And keep the water glasses full."
The waiter nodded quickly, tucked his tray under his arm, and vanished. I didn't ask her if she liked steak, and I didn't ask if she was a red wine person.
Josephine just leaned back in her chair, a soft smile playing on her lips as she took in the room. The gold leaf on the ceiling and the heavy velvet curtains didn't seem to intimidate her, she looked at the luxury like she was born for it.
"You didn't even ask," she said, as she rested her chin on her hand, her eyes locked onto mine, "What if I wanted the lobster?"
"You didn't," I said, my face a wall of stone. "The steak is better. You're here to eat, not to pick at a shell."
She let out a little laugh, "So, you're just going to take charge of everything tonight? Is that how this works, Tristan?"
I leaned forward, the candlelight catching the edge of my jaw. I didn't smile back.
"I take charge of everything every night," I told her. "Why would tonight be any different?"
Her eyes tracked the movement of my mouth, “I’m not exactly used to guys ordering for me," she said, as she leaned back, the red silk of her dress shifting over her curves, "But I think I’ll let it slide this time. I’ve got a feeling you know what you’re doing.”
“You’d be right,” I said. I didn't say it to be arrogant. I said it because it was a fact.
The waiter returned, and he poured the wine. She took the glass, her fingers brushing the stem and then she took a slow sip, closing her eyes for a heartbeat as she let it settle.
“Okay,” she sighed, a small, contented sound, “I’ve got to admit, this is incredible. I’m a bit of a wine snob, so that’s a huge compliment coming from me.”
“It’s the best they have,” I said, my gaze dropping to the way her throat moved when she swallowed, “I don't see the point in paying for second best.”
She set the glass down, but she didn’t look away. Suddenly, her eyes got wider, and she sat up straight, a fresh wave of energy hitting her.
“Wait,” she said, her words starting to move faster, “Is it just me, or was that, like, a whole three sentences in a row? I think that’s a record for you.
Seriously, Tristan, I should probably write this down or something.
I’ve spent the last few days wondering if I’d have to learn sign language just to get a 'yes' or 'no' out of you, and here you are, actually talking! It’s kind of exciting. Is it the wine? Or do you just like the lighting in here? You’re usually so... quiet and now you’re ordering steaks and giving me life advice. I’m actually starting to think there’s a real person under that expensive suit. "
She let out a little breathless laugh, her cheeks flush with a mix of the wine and her own excitement.
“Don’t stop now, though. I was getting used to the sound of your voice. It’s a good voice. Very... cinematic. You should definitely use it more often.”
I watched her, my face still with the same cold indifference, but internally, I noted the way she lit up. She was like a live wire, sparking at the slightest bit of attention.
"I only say what's necessary," I said, my voice low and dry.
"See! Another one!" she chirped, leaning over the table, her eyes sparkling. "That's almost five words! We’re on a roll!"
The waiter reappeared, balancing two heavy ceramic plates. He set them down with precision, the scent of seared fat and rosemary cutting through the air. The steaks were thick, charred perfectly on the outside, bleeding just enough on the inside.
I didn't wait. I picked up my knife, and sliced through the meat.
"Eat," I said.
Josephine picked up her fork, but she was too busy buzzing to focus on the food, "It looks amazing. And the fact that you knew exactly what I’d want without even asking.
.. it’s kind of a lot. Most guys are so indecisive, you know?
They’re like, 'Oh, I don't know, what do you want? Let’s share a salad.
' And I’m just sitting there thinking, I want a steak, asshole, I want a steak and a glass of red wine. "
She took a bite, her eyes fluttering shut for a second.
"Mmm. Okay. You win. This is the best thing I've tasted in months. But back to what I was saying, the talking thing. At first, I thought you were like a secret agent or something. Or maybe you just hated my voice? I talk a lot, I know I do, my mom says I could talk to a brick wall and the wall would eventually apologize, but you’re just so... still. It’s fascinating.
Like watching a lion at the zoo, but there’s no glass, and I’m pretty sure you could kill everyone in this room with a butter knife if you felt like it. "
I chewed slowly, my eyes never leaving her face. She was a whirlwind, a mess of thoughts and energy, and I was the cold center of the storm.
"You talk enough for both of us," I said, "It saves me the effort."
"Effort? Is that what it is?" She gestured with her fork, her red dress shifting, drawing my eyes back to that clinical observation of her neckline before I looked back at her eyes, "I think you just like the mystery. You like being the guy that nobody can read. But I’m reading you, Tristan. Slowly. I figured out you like rare steak, old wine, and quiet corners. That’s a start. Next, I’m gonna find out what actually makes you laugh.
I bet it’s something dark. Like, people falling down stairs or corporate takeovers. "
I raised an eyebrow at her. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping but her pace staying just as fast.
"Are you always this intense? Even when you're at home? Do you brush your teeth with that same look on your face? Because that would be terrifying but also kind of impressive."
I set my knife down as I watched her. I didn't reach for my wine. I didn't break eye contact.
"You're done?" I asked.
She blinked, her chest rising and falling quickly, "For now. Maybe. I’m eating. See?" She shoved a piece of steak into her mouth, but her eyes stayed locked on mine.
"You want to know what I’m like at home?" I leaned in just enough to make her stop breathing for a second, "I’m exactly like this... just with fewer witnesses."
She swallowed that bite of steak and let out a tiny, soft huff of a laugh, "I bet if I were there, I’d drive you absolutely crazy within ten minutes.
I’d probably be humming in the kitchen or reorganizing your bookshelf by color just to see if I could get you to crack a smile or at least to get you to sigh. A sigh would be a win for me."
She gave me a little wink, so quick I almost missed it.
"You were there," I said, "Don’t you remember?"
She paused, her fork hovering near her lips, "Yeah, but I was hungover and you were a complete stranger who looked like he wanted to throw me off a balcony."
"We're still strangers," I replied.
"No, we're not," she shook her head, a stubborn little smile playing on her lips, "We're on a date. We know each other's names. You know my mom is a nightmare and that my ex is a spineless traitor. You know... a lot now. So, no, Tristan. We aren't strangers, not anymore."
She leaned in closer, her eyes looking straight into mine.
"You're stuck with me for at least the next hour," she added, "And I have a lot more secrets to tell you, so you better get used to the noise."
"Secrets are a liability, Josephine," I said, my gaze dropping to her mouth before snapping back to her eyes, "You should be careful who you give them to."
She took a slow sip of her wine, her eyes peering at me over the rim of the glass. She set the glass down, her finger tracing the stem.
"Okay, then I'll shut up," she said, "I’ve talked enough for three people, and you’ve just been sitting there being all mysterious. It’s not fair. I want to know about you."
I didn't move. I didn't give her a lead. I just watched her.
"And don't give me that 'nothing to tell' look," she chirped, shaking her head, "Everyone has something. Like... what did you want to be when you were a kid? Did you want to be a firefighter? An astronaut? Or were you just born in a suit with a scowl on your face?"
She giggled at her own joke, but her eyes remained fixed on mine, searching for something.
"I’m an orphan," I said. My voice void of any sentiment.
I didn't want her pity, I just wanted to give her the facts, "My parents died when I was young.
I didn't have the luxury of dreaming about being an astronaut.
I learned to be street smart because the alternative was starving.
I did odd jobs until I got my hands on a computer. That changed the math."
I took a slow sip of the wine.
"The rest is history. I built Nexus-V from nothing. It’s a data security firm. I don't do dates, Josephine. I don't do social events unless there’s a cause worth the appearance. My life is quiet, controlled, and exactly the way I built it. That's all there is to know about me."
She sat there, her playful smile softening into something more thoughtful, her gaze lingering on me as if she were trying to fill in the gaps I’d left out, "So... you're a self-made business titan with a secret heart for charity? That’s even more cinematic than my secret agent theory."
The waiter appeared again, he placed a single plate in the center of the table, a masterpiece of dark chocolate, gold leaf, and deep red berries that looked more like a piece of art than food.
"Compliments of the chef, Mr. Kincaid," the man murmured with a respectful bow before disappearing back into the shadows.
Josephine’s eyes lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning.
"Oh, wow. It’s almost too pretty to eat," she looked at the gold leaf, then back at me, her mischievous spark returning in full force, "But I’m guessing you’re going to tell me that sugar is a distraction and gold is just a metal, right, Mr. Controlled-and-Quiet? "
"I rarely eat dessert," I said.
To me, food was fuel, and sugar was an unnecessary spike in a system that needed to remain steady.
"Rarely isn't never," she countered, her voice dropping into that sweet, persistent lilt.
Before I could move, she had already carved out a perfect piece, dark chocolate, a hint of berry, and a flake of gold. She didn't hand me the spoon. She leaned across the table, her red dress dipping as she moved into my space, and held the silver spoon right to my lips.
"One bite, Tristan. The world won't end, and your data won't leak just because you had a little bit of fun."
I stared at her. I didn't like being handled. I didn't like the unpredictability of the gesture. But as I looked into her eyes, I relented. I leaned in and took the bite from her hand.
The chocolate was rich, bitter, and cold. It was good, but the heat coming off her skin as she leaned so close was more distracting. I chewed slowly, my gaze locked on hers, asserting my control even as I gave in to her whim.
"Satisfied?" I rasped.
"Extremely," she whispered.
Then, without breaking eye contact, she pulled the spoon back and took a bite for herself, from the exact same spot I had just touched. She let out a soft, hum of approval, her tongue catching a stray bit of chocolate on her lip.
"You know," she continued, carving out another spoonful and holding it out toward me like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I’ve always wondered what men think about on a first date. Like, are you mentally scoring me on some invisible checklist right now? Am I passing, Tristan?"
I leaned in and took the second bite, my jaw tight. She followed suit, taking her turn and then slowly sucking the remaining sweetness off the silver spoon.
"I wouldn't know," I said, "This is the first time I've ever been on a date."
Her eyes widened, the spoon pausing halfway to the plate. Surprise flickered across her face, followed by a sudden, breathless laugh of pure disbelief, "Wait, what? Really? No way. You’re kidding. You have to be kidding."
"I don't joke," I said.
She paused, the gears practically turning behind her eyes as she tried to process a man like me having a 'first' of anything. "Wow. Okay," she said slowly, blinking at me. "I mean, I just figured... well, you don't exactly seem like the type to get nervous."
"I’m not."
She tilted her head, "So, what made you want to go on a date with me? Of all people?"
I looked at her, taking in the flush of her skin and the way she hung on my every word, "You gathered the courage to ask," I said simply, "Most don't."
Her eyes softened, a tiny 'oh' forming on her lips. "Well, I guess that’s true. I mean, I was kind of terrified you’d say no, or maybe just glare me into oblivion, but then I thought, 'Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?
'" She giggled, "And look! Here we are. Turns out you said yes.
So, I guess that makes me pretty special, huh?
I officially took your first-date virginity. "
I didn’t answer immediately. I just watched her, the mess that shouldn't have made sense to a man who lived by logic.
I gave her a single, slow nod, "I guess you did."