Chapter 1 - The Price of Four Hours
“And what,” Reese asked, “did you decide I would owe you instead?”
Matteo Brandt closed the folder.
“Nothing for the debt.”
She almost laughed.
Men who controlled private dining rooms and frightened collection offices did not erase six figures because they felt generous.
“Then why am I here?”
“Because I need a date for Saturday.”
Reese stared at him.
Outside the frosted glass, someone laughed softly. Silverware touched porcelain. The ordinary sounds made his answer feel even more absurd.
“You threatened my brother over a dinner invitation?”
“No. An employee threatened your brother. That happened under my name, which makes it my responsibility.” He pushed the check toward her. “This is what you paid into an account that should have stopped collecting months ago.”
Her exhaustion vanished.
“What?”
“I acquired the company holding Owen’s loan in February. During an internal review, my attorney found your payments routed into a separate account.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I wish it were.”
She had saved every confirmation. Every transfer. Eleven months of going without things she needed so her brother could keep his small auto shop open.
“Who received it?”
“We’re tracing that.”
“And you thought the best way to explain this was to ask me out?”
Something moved across his face.
“No,” he said. “I thought giving you the release first might allow you to hear the rest without feeling cornered. Apparently, I’m worse at this than I expected.”
Reese hated that she nearly smiled.
Her phone vibrated.
She answered immediately, turning away as a resident updated her on her postoperative patient. Matteo rose without a word and stepped into the hallway, giving her privacy in his own room.
When he returned, a waiter brought soup.
“I didn’t order.”
“You worked fourteen hours,” Matteo said. “You can refuse the soup too.”
She looked down at the bowl.
“How do you know my schedule?”
“Your public hospital profile says trauma surgery. Your coat says you came directly from work. Your hands are shaking.”
Reese flattened them beneath the table.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
“Why me?” she asked.
“Saturday’s benefit supports Mercy General’s emergency department. My foundation bought a table. My aunt believes an unmarried man is a public emergency.”
“Hire an actress.”
“I’d rather spend four hours with someone who might tell me when I’m behaving badly.”
“You’ve already had that experience.”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s been surprisingly useful.”
She let out a breath despite herself.
Then she remembered the name on his card.
“People say you run half the docks.”
“I own logistics companies.”
“They say other things too.”
“Some are true.”
He did not soften the admission. That frightened her more than a practiced denial would have.
“I don’t want your money,” she said.
“The check is yours.”
“I don’t want favors.”
“Neither do I. Dinner is a separate question. Say no, and your brother still owes nothing.”
Reese opened the folder.
A formal release sat inside, signed by the lender and accompanied by contact information for an independent attorney. She photographed every page.
Matteo waited.
Her former fiancé would have called that insulting.
Julian would have smiled, taken the papers away, and told her she worried too much.
The thought tightened her throat.
“I want my lawyer to verify this.”
“Please do.”
“And no one contacts Owen again.”
“Agreed.”
“And the person who wrote that note?”
“Suspended pending an investigation. You’ll receive a written apology. Any threats go to the police.”
Reese studied him.
“You say that like you don’t mind police.”
“I mind them less than employees who threaten women in my name.”
For the first time that evening, she picked up her spoon.
The soup was warm enough to hurt.
By Friday, an attorney Reese trusted had verified the release and the refund. Owen cried on the phone, then tried to hide it by blaming allergies.
On Saturday, she borrowed a navy dress from her friend Tessa and drove herself to the benefit.
Matteo met her beside the ballroom entrance.
“You came.”
“For four hours.”
He checked his watch.
“I’ll make them tolerable.”
For nearly an hour, he did. He introduced her by her profession, listened when she spoke, and never put a hand on her without asking.
Then Reese looked toward the entrance.
Julian Mercer stood beneath the chandelier.
The man who had taken her car, drained her credit, and disappeared eight months earlier wore the watch she had bought him for his birthday.
His gaze found her.
His smile changed.
Matteo followed her line of sight.
“That him?”
She nodded once.
Julian started toward their table.
Matteo leaned close enough that only she could hear.
“What do you need?”
No one had asked her that in years.
Reese swallowed.
“Stay beside me.”
His chair moved closer.
May you like
Then, with the faintest warmth in his voice, he said, “Stay beside me and smile. Only if you want to.”
For the first time since Julian had entered, she did.
