Page 60 of Villainous Rise

“Your hands are perfect,” Cipher said immediately. He paused, and I felt the weight of his assessment, tracing the curves the red fabric hugged.

“Valor wouldn’t know beauty if it slapped him across his photogenic face.”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. “You haven’t even touched your food.”

“I’m enjoying something far more appetizing.”

I rolled my eyes to cover my flustered reaction. “That line actually work on women?”

“I don’t use lines.” The certainty in his voice was infuriating. “And I’m not trying to seduce you with empty flattery. The dress is stunning. You’re stunning in it. End of observation.”

I stabbed another mushroom. “You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.” He finally cut into his steak, the knife slicing through with minimal resistance. “Repeatedly. Usually by you.”

I took another sip of wine to hide my smile. Despite everything, the fake date, Valor’s wandering hands, the absolute inappropriateness of dining with my ex who was also my boss’s Nemesis, I felt myself relaxing.

“I’m surprised you didn’t hack the kitchen too,” I said, gesturing toward his steak. “Make sure they prepared it to your exacting specifications.”

“Bold of you to assume I didn’t.” Cipher cut another perfect slice but didn’t bring it to his mouth. “The chef received very specific instructions regarding temperature and seasoning.”

“Of course he did. Heaven forbid anything in your life isn’t precisely controlled.”

“Not everything. You’ve always been wonderfully unpredictable.”

“Is that what we’re calling my disastrous decision-making these days? Unpredictable?”

“I find it refreshing. Most people are tediously predictable.”

Without warning, Cipher reached across the table and took my wine glass. The movement was casual. He turned the glass slowly, examining the rim where my red lipstick had left a perfect imprint.

My breath caught as he raised the glass to his lips, deliberately placing his mouth exactly where mine had been. He took a slow sip, his throat working as he swallowed.

It shouldn’t be hot. Why was that hot?

“Do you like it?” he asked, his voice lower than before.

I blinked. “What?”

“The wine.” He set the glass back in front of me, his fingers lingering on the stem. “Do you like it?”

“Oh. Yes.” My voice came out embarrassingly breathless. “It’s good.”

I stared at the lipstick mark on the glass, now joined by the invisible imprint of his mouth. Something about that shared point of contact felt absurdly intimate.

I took another sip, hyperaware of placing my lips exactly where his had been moments before. The wine tasted different somehow, richer, more complex.

God, get it together, Bishop. It’s just a glass of wine.

I scraped the last bits of risotto from my plate, savoring the final bite. Despite the astronomical price tag, the portion had been roughly the size of a hockey puck. My stomach rumbled in quiet protest.

Cipher pushed his plate across the tablecloth until it rested directly in front of me.

“Eat,” he said.

I eyed the perfectly seared wagyu. The meat glistened, pink in the center and crusted with herbs along the edges. “You ordered a two-hundred-dollar steak and you aren’t going to touch it?”

“I ordered it because your Hero spent forty-five minutes feeding his own ego while ignoring your basic needs.” Cipher leaned forward. “Your breathing hitched at the twenty-minute mark. You started doing that subtle tapping motion against your chair leg, a clear indicator your blood sugar was dropping. When your appetizer finally arrived, you chewed those pathetic pieces of burrata far longer than necessary just to trick your stomach into feeling full.”