“You chose this on purpose,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Because you’re dramatic?” she asked lightly, trying to pretend that it hadn’t hit her dead center.
“Because Main Street doesn’t give you room to breathe.”
That landed.
He’d noticed that about her? The way she walked downtown like she was braced for impact?
She didn’t like how exposed that made her feel.
Wine was poured.
He wasn’t perfectly clean-shaven like he was for court. A shade more than five o’clock shadow darkened his jaw, roughening all that polish.
It was ridiculous that a millimeter of scruff could make this harder.
Eleanor set her glass down carefully.
“This can’t happen.”
Her voice came out steadier than she felt. One date. One view. That was all this was allowed to be. Anything else was how you ended up on glossy podcasts with your life dissected between ad reads.
Reid didn’t interrupt.
She pressed forward before he could.
“You’re the District Attorney. I’m defense. The podcast is circling. My past is already being dragged back up. This—” she gestured between them “—is a liability.”
Images flashed—microphones, headlines, a photo of her walking out of a courthouse she’d never agreed to pose for. The low, practiced murmur of a host pretending empathy while sharpening the knife.
He leaned back slightly, listening. Not arguing.
“I have worked too hard to build credibility here,” she continued. “I will not let history repeat itself.”
His gaze stayed on her, steady. Too steady.
He tilted his head.
“You’re finished?” he asked calmly.
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Are you finished outlining the terms?”
“Reid, I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She straightened. “This is a one-time dinner.”
He studied her for a long beat.
Then—
“No.”
