You Look Ravishing

He looked up from his second glass of wine and nearly forgot how to breathe when Eva walked in.

Curtis had outdone himself. She looked curated. Sculpted. As if Botticelli had been summoned to clothe her in couture. The sleek mini-dress shimmered against her skin. Her curls bounced with every step, her eyes scanned the room devastatingly.

Eva's eyes found his across the room.

She walked slowly, giving him time to watch. And watch he did.

The maître d' moved to escort her, but Alex was already on his feet, pulling out her chair.

"Miss Winslow," he greeted smoothly.

She sat, smirking. "Mr Baldwin."

He leaned in and pressed a warm kiss to her cheek, just below the curve of her cheekbone, the kiss lingering just long enough to blur the line between polite and possessive. "You look ravishing," he said.

Eva arched a brow, trying to ignore the electric ripple the kiss left in its wake. "Thank you," she replied crisply. "But I have questions."

That got his attention.

She waited for him to take his seat, watching him through narrowed eyes.

"Okay?"

Her tone dropped an octave, and her eyes held his with defiant heat. "Why the hell am I not wearing any underwear?"

His mouth twitched. Just slightly. That amused little twitch he always did when he knew he'd done something wicked and was waiting to see if you'd slap him or kiss him for it.

"You'll see," he replied. "But first, we have business to discuss."

Before she could demand further clarification on the underwear situation—which frankly deserved a congressional hearing—a waitress appeared. She placed a frosty bottle of Cristal Rosé on their table with two long, fluted glasses.

"Shall I pour?" she asked in a soft French accent that probably earned her bigger tips.

Alex nodded. Eva nodded tighter.

As the waitress took their order and glided away, Eva turned back to him with narrowed eyes. "What business?"

Alex didn't look at her right away. He tapped his fingers against the menu before finally speaking. "Before Mary died," he began carefully, "she was in charge of handling my public profile. She buried scandals, negotiated leaks. The ones that slipped through, she spun into something palatable. Inspirational even. I haven't replaced her."

Eva's brows creased. "Is this because of the blog posts this morning?" she asked, voice softening slightly. "I'm sorry about that but I and scandal are a package deal, you know that."

He gave a half-smile. "Which is exactly why I want to hire you to replace Mary."

"Alex…"

"You were partners," he said, gently but firmly. "You did good work."

Eva's stomach turned. Her voice came out quieter than she meant it to. "But she never told me she was your press manager. She never even told me about you."

"That's because she signed an NDA," Alex said calmly, as if it were the most natural sentence in the world to drop over dinner.

"You made your own sister sign an NDA?"

 "I didn't make her sign it. She wanted to," he clarified, looking utterly unbothered. "It was her idea. It protected her from ever having to divulge… incriminating information."

Eva let out a small scoff. "You're a finance mogul, not a cartel boss. What exactly is incriminating about what you do?" Her voice had that dangerous sweetness to it.

Before he could answer, the waitress returned with their plates. Eva gave a tight-lipped smile until the woman left again, then raised an eyebrow.

"I'm just saying," he said smoothly, slicing through a roasted carrot, "this job benefits you, too. Aside from the incredible pay package, you'd be in a position to manipulate the press. Control your own narrative. Save your image."

Eva paused, letting her fork hover in the air. "I don't know," she murmured. And she meant it.

Because wasn't this exactly what got her into trouble the first time? Being too close to power. "Why don't you think about it?" he said, tilting his glass in her direction before taking a sip of his champagne. The golden liquid caught in the dim restaurant. Then, as if he were simply ordering dessert, he turned to her again and added, "I want you as my mistress. That you do not have to think about."

Eva choked.

"Flattering," she deadpanned, eyes narrowed. "What every woman dreams of: to be a billionaire's mistress. What part of that statement do you think would entice me, exactly?"

"I'd think how well I fuck you would entice you," he said, unapologetically and with zero regard for the fact they were still in public. "And please don't deny you don't find me as addicting as I find you. Do not dare to insult my intelligence—and certainly not my sexual experience."

Eva stared at him, slack-jawed, then glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one at the adjacent tables had heard.

She turned back to Alex, flustered but not retreating. "Are you actually propositioning me?"

"I am." He said.

"You're unbelievable," she muttered.

"And you're breathtaking," he replied without missing a beat.

She reached for her water, eyes locked on the man beside her, the one who had just casually declared he wanted her to be his mistress, as if he were inviting her to a weekend in Milan. "You're right," she finally said. "That… I do not have to think about."

"I cannot be your mistress." She met his gaze directly, firm now, the steel returning to her voice. "First of all, it is insulting to want me as nothing more than a mistress."

Alex's brow furrowed, and he leaned forward a little, one hand resting casually near his wine glass. "I didn't mean it that way."

"Let me finish." Eva raised a finger. She needed to say this before he hijacked the conversation again with his sinful lips and god-tier ego. "I cannot be in any kind of distracting relationship because I have a plan for where my life goes from here on out."

"I returned to New York for a reason," she added, voice quieter now.