Page 28 of The One-Night Heist

Rowen snickered as he watched the poor waiter’s retreat. “So snooty.” He finished his glass and reached for the bottle. “Travis knew what I needed.”

I didn’t like his insinuation one bit, because if anyone was going to provide for this man, it would be me. “Do you have dietary restrictions? If there’s something specific you like, I can have the chef prepare it for you.”

I’ll go down there and make it myself.

Rowen snorted. “Welp, you just answered the question I’ve been wondering since we met.” When I stared at him expectantly, he grinned devilishly. “You’ve never bottomed before.”

My jaw dropped. That was not where I thought the conversation was going, and certainly wasn’t the sort of thing discussed at the Grille Room. For all I knew, it was something only Rowen Quincy talked about in public—loudly and unabashedly—and his candidness simultaneously thrilled me and painfully reminded me how out of my element I was.

“Ruh-roh, did I break you, Moneybags?” He took a long sip of his wine, studying me over the glass. “Have you ever been with a man before?”

There was zero judgment in his tone, but my cheeks heated all the same. “Yes, but it was always… arranged.” I cleared my throat and lowered my voice. “There’s a club in Midtown. Discreet for clients like me…”

“Wealthy heirs forced to uphold the reputations of past generations.” He smiled knowingly as I nodded. “And I assume everyone gets tested at this fancy sex club?”

I huffed, thankful he’d added some levity to the situation. “Of course. The standards are exceptionally high, and the price per encounter reflects that.”

“More than a 2016 bottle of Château whateverthefuck?”

A smile twitched my lips. “Yes. More than a bottle of Château whateverthefuck.”

I may have whispered the last part, but Rowen still smiled proudly. “Good boy. I told you I’d have you swearing in no time.”

The room suddenly felt stifling. My cock twitched at his words—at his confidence—and I shifted in my seat, willing my mind to focus on the present moment instead of future possibilities.

Rowen’s eyes tracked the blush creeping up from beneath my collar, but he blessedly didn’t comment on it as our food arrived. Even once we were left alone again, we ate in surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes until the conversation shifted to more typical “first date” topics.

“So… what do you do for work?” Rowen asked, picking at his salad, removing every single cranberry before taking a bite. “Is it mostly jet-setting around, buying up property on private islands for the next Luxford Hotel?”

Fuck.

I quickly made a mental note about having the cranberries eliminated from the Luxford salad altogether, then paused, debating how to answer his incredibly astute question.

Since the information he’s after is… proprietary…

“I am usually involved in acquisitions, yes,” I carefully replied. “Sometimes an on-site visit is necessary, but more so it’s simply that my signature is needed to finalize the deals.”

And sometimes not at all.

He lifted his gaze. “And you hate it.”

I set aside my fork, carbonara forgotten. “It’s not the sort of work I would choose if given the option, no.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could take them back, not because I didn’t want Rowen to know me but because I knew exactly what his next question would be.

“If given the option… what would you choose?”

I don't know.

“It doesn’t matter,” I curtly replied, because it didn’t. Even with both my parents dead, this was my life—my legacy—and even I could acknowledge it would be foolish to throw it all away.

Yet, here I am… self-destructively skirting the edge of ruin.

Unsurprisingly, he pressed on. “It does matter, because it will tell me what kind of man you are.”

He doesn’t play fair.

I wanted to be the kind of man Rowen was interested in, more than anything, but I had the sense my privileged upbringing made that a hard sell from his perspective.