Chapter 6
Dae
Driver: We’ll arrive in ten minutes.
Satisfaction rolls through me as I peer down at the text message from the driver I had pick Kennedy up from her home.
I knew the card I sent with the flowers would pique her interest. It’s the reason I left my name off of the card. My little warrior is smart enough to figure out they were from me.
“Would you like anything else while you wait, Mr. Kim?” our private waiter for the night asks.
“Not at the moment.”
After assuring me for the second time in the past ten minutes that he’s available for anything I need, he takes his leave. I peer around the private dining area of Seven Spices—one of the premier Indian restaurants in the city.
Most importantly, Kennedy’s favorite.
The earth tones and soft music provide a comfortable warmth to the space. It’s the perfect place for my first real date with Kennedy.
I don’t get stuck in my musings for too long before I receive a text from my driver informing me that they’ve arrived. Less than five minutes later, the hostess shows Kennedy inside.
I rise to my feet, drinking her in with my gaze. Instead of the sexy as fuck dress that she wore to The Black Opal last night, she’s opted for a simple black wrap dress that stops just at her knee.
However, nothing looks simple on her. The wrap accentuates the curvature of her waist and hips. The V-neck cut of the dress shows enough skin to make the look classy. Her hair is in another high bun, neatly tucked away, although a few tendrils spill down the sides, framing her beautiful face.
Her lips are a shade of red, and her cheeks are tinted with a rose pink color. Her light makeup showcases her flawless light brown skin and the freckles that dust her cheeks and nose.
I’ll take her any way she’ll fucking come to me. But my favorite state is her in her most natural state, with as little makeup as possible.
“So it is you,” she says by way of greeting.
Something tumbles in my stomach from the sound of her voice, even if it’s not meant to be warm or inviting.
“You were expecting someone else?” I clench my fist because even though I know she must have figured out who she would be meeting, the idea of her getting dressed up, putting on makeup, and leaving her home to meet another man sets me off.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I wasn’t.”
I release the breath I held onto and unclench my fist.
“Then you came to see me.” My lips spread.
“No, I came for the answers you promised in your card.”
“And I’m the only person who can give you those answers.”
She frowns. “You’re one of many.”
“If that were the case, you wouldn’t be here right now, Kennedy.”
Our gazes lock on one another.
“Why don’t we take our seats?” I wave the waiter off when he walks toward us.
I move to the opposite side of the table and slide the low-seating chair.
“I didn’t come here to have dinner,” she says, looking from the chair to me.
“Oh?” I hover over the chair.
“I came for answers. About Blackmon,” she emphasizes.
“Even hard-working reporters need to eat.”
She bites her lower lip, a sign of her mounting frustration.
“If you want answers, you’ll have a seat, Kennedy.” My voice leaves no room for argument.
Her nostrils flare but she takes a step toward the table. And then another, until she’s seated. I unashamedly let the tips of my fingers brush against her shoulders as I push her chair in.
The waiter is at our side in an instant.
“Red wine?” I ask Kennedy.
She gives me a stiff nod. I order the best red wine on the menu before shifting my gaze back to her. My fingers itch to reach out and touch her.
Even though this moment is happening before I anticipated, I’ll savor it.
“How about we start with an appetizer? I hear the aloo gobi is delicious.”
“You haven’t eaten here before?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.
“I’ve been waiting for a special occasion.” I hold her gaze for a beat before she looks down at the menu.
“It is good. Let’s order, and while we wait, you can answer a few questions.” She places her phone on the table and blatantly displays it in record mode.
Once our waiter takes our order and leaves, I take her phone, stop the recording, and place it in the middle of the table.
“Nothing I say or don’t say will be on the record.”
She pinches her lips before sighing. “I figured.” She sounds only slightly disappointed.
“Let’s start with how you came to know Sebastian Blackmon.” She’s so determined to get her answers.
“Why don’t we start with a sip of wine?” Right as I finish, the waiter delivers our glasses of wine.
“Mr. Kim, I don’t—”
“Dae.”
She opens and closes her mouth. “Excuse me?”
“We don’t need to be so formal.”
The smile she gives me is tight and stilted, but I revel in it. I want to devour and savor any expression on her face.
“This isn’t a personal exchange, Mr. Kim,” she emphasizes the Mr.
My stomach muscles tighten in anger. I lean forward. “Why can’t it be a bit of both?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t date,” she says.
She’s so fucking beautiful it almost hurts to look at her. Yet, my attention is drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
Her eyes fall to my lips, and it’s now that I realize a smile has crept across my mouth. I rarely smile, but in her presence, it seems inevitable. Her lips part, and her tongue lightly brushes across her bottom lip. I’m sure she’s unaware of her body’s physical response to me.
“It would seem that you do,” I finally reply.
She sucks in a breath, her eyes flying back to meet mine as if she just realized that she got lost in staring at me.
Kennedy clears her throat. “Nothing is what it seems.”
My entire body stiffens.
Those were my words to her on that day. Right before I ran away and hid like the fucking coward I was.
Does she remember?
“Nothing is what it seems,” I repeat, mulling over the phrase.
Our waiter brings out our appetizers while we silently observe one another. I search her gaze for any hint of recognition. There’s a glint of lust, of want, in her beautiful copper eyes.
But there’s no recognition.
She doesn’t remember.
I don’t know if this realization relieves me or depresses me. With a slight shake of my head, I remind myself it’s better that she doesn’t remember.
“Why don’t we enjoy our meal before we get into your questions?”
She tilts her head sideways, studying me. “You’re not going to answer unless I agree to eat, are you?”
The corners of my mouth kick up. “Depending on your questions, there’s a chance I won’t answer even after we share a meal,” I admit, honestly.
Frustration wrinkles her features for a moment, but then she smiles. Widely. “Do you know why I became an investigative reporter, Mr. Kim?”
I lift an eyebrow, anticipating her answer.
“My deep, unrelenting curiosity to know more. Because the stories of the people in this world interest me. As much as the fictional stories I grew up reading … no, scratch that, even more.”
She leans in closer.
“I haven’t come across a story yet that I couldn’t crack. Whether you give me the information I’m seeking or not, I will get the answers I’m looking for. That’s a promise.”
My dick gets hard from every word. Especially the way she looks me in the eye as she speaks with such confidence, it’s a foregone conclusion that she’ll get what she’s searching for.
My little fucking warrior.
I also lean in closer to her to ensure she hears what I’m about to say. “Are you aware that you’ve just sealed your fate with that declaration?”
Her eyes balloon.
I don’t follow up my question with anything else. I want my words to settle in. For her to absorb them. Because the sooner she does, the sooner she’ll recognize who she belongs to. Has belonged to for the past ten years.
“Are you ready for the entreé?” our waiter asks, breaking the silence.
I look back at Kennedy. “Perfect timing.”