Arianne didn’t want to be here.

The bar was the kind of place where businessmen went after office hours to conduct deals they didn’t want in boardrooms, the lighting dim, leather booths worn soft by years of use. The low murmur of conversations that were never meant to leave the room. The air smelled like whiskey and old money and the particular arrogance of men who thought they were smarter than everyone else.

She’d been invited three times. She’d declined three times. The fourth invitation had come with a veiled implication that the prospective partner would show up at Rochefort Group if she didn’t meet him here, and Arianne had decided she’d rather deal with him on neutral ground than in her own office. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Gio sat beside her in the booth, his tablet on the table, his expression neutral. Mira stood near the bar, close enough to intervene, far enough to give the illusion of privacy. Two glasses of whiskey sat untouched on the table. Arianne hadn’t touched hers. She wasn’t planning to.

"He’s late," Gio said.

"He’s making an entrance. He thinks it gives him power."

"Does it?"

"No. It gives me time to decide how much I dislike him before he even opens his mouth."

The man arrived five minutes later. He was older—mid-fifties, silver hair, an expensive suit that fit him well but not well enough to hide the softness around his middle. He wasn’t alone. A younger man followed him into the booth: tall, handsome in a polished way, with the kind of face that belonged on magazine covers. Arianne recognized him vaguely — an actor, a rising star with a significant following among younger audiences.

The older man smiled. It was the smile of someone who thought he was offering something valuable. "Ms. Summers. Thank you for meeting with me. This is—"

"I know who he is." Arianne didn’t return the smile. "You’ve been persistent. I’m here. What’s the proposal?"

The man’s smile flickered but held. He slid into the booth across from her, the younger actor settling beside him. Gio’s expression didn’t change, but Arianne could feel his disgust radiating beside her. Mira, at the bar, had gone motionless.

"Straight to business. I appreciate that." The man signaled for drinks. "I’ve been following Rochefort Group’s recent success. Very impressive. The consolidation strategy, the resource acquisition—you’ve done remarkable work."

"The proposal."

"I’m getting there." He leaned back. "I want to secure a partnership between our companies. I have resources you could use. Connections you haven’t tapped yet. And—" he glanced at the younger actor beside him—"I have access to talent that might interest you personally."

The younger actor smiled. It was a practiced smile, designed to charm. "It’s an honor to meet you, Ms. Summers. I’ve followed your career. You’re an inspiration."

Arianne said nothing.

The older man pressed on. "I’ve heard you appreciate good company. Noah Hart, for instance. A fine actor. But he’s been in the industry for over a decade. Tastes change. Sometimes a woman in your position deserves something—fresher." He gestured at the younger man. "More eye-catching. Someone who understands the value of a powerful patron."

The implication hung in the air like smoke. Gio’s hand had stopped moving on his tablet. Mira’s posture had angled, almost imperceptibly, toward them.

The rumors had spread, then — Noah Hart as Arianne’s lover, the socialite and the actor. It seemed the business world had decided she was a woman who collected celebrities the way other executives collected art. And this man had decided to test the theory by offering her a new acquisition.

Arianne’s expression didn’t change. "I didn’t come here for that. I came for the partnership proposal. If you have one, present it."

The man’s smile tightened. He’d expected a different reaction — flirtation, maybe, or interest. He recovered quickly and slid a folder across the table. "The terms are generous. I think you’ll find them favorable."

Gio took the folder and read it. His expression flickered—barely perceptible, but Arianne caught it. He handed it to her without comment. She already knew what he thought.

She read through the document. The terms were not generous. They were insulting. The partner would contribute minimal capital while expecting Rochefort Group to shoulder all the risk, and the profit split was laughable. The exit clause was predatory. It wasn’t a partnership proposal. It was a demand dressed up in business language, delivered by a man who thought he could sweeten the deal by offering her a handsome young actor as a side benefit.

She closed the folder and said nothing.

He hadn’t stopped talking. "And as I mentioned, my colleague here would be delighted to—"

"I don’t need that."

"I think you’ll find—"

"She said she doesn’t need it." The voice came from behind Arianne. Low. Familiar. "I think that’s clear enough."

Franz walked around the edge of the booth and slid into the seat beside Arianne without waiting for an invitation. He was dressed for the evening—dark jacket, no tie, the longer hair Arianne had commented on weeks ago. He wore relaxed well enough that only someone watching closely would know the difference.

"I’m sorry I’m late," he said to Arianne, as if the other two men didn’t exist. "The meeting ran long."

"You’re just in time." She turned to him, and something in her expression gave—the cold annoyance fractured at the edges. "Dear, what do I do? Mr.—" she gestured vaguely at the partner—"says I can have him." She tilted her head toward the younger actor. "He says he’s more eye-catching."

Franz’s expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes went flat. He turned to look at the younger actor, then at the older man.

"Is that so?" His voice was pleasant, conversational. "What do you think, dear?"

Arianne considered the younger actor with an appraising look that was entirely for Franz’s benefit. "I’m not sure. He does look handsome."

"He does," Franz agreed, his tone agreeable and mild. "Very handsome. Very young."

"His jawline is a bit weak."

The younger actor’s practiced smile faltered.

"Now, see here—" the older man began.

Franz ignored him. He picked up the folder, read through the proposal with the same efficiency Arianne had, and set it back down. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its pleasant edge.

"I’m sorry, Mr.—" he paused, as if searching for a name he definitely already knew—"but Rochefort Group isn’t interested in this venture. The terms are unacceptable. The offer is insulting. And the suggestion that Arianne might be interested in anything other than a business proposal is something I’m going to choose to forget, for your sake."