Page 33 of Deadmen's Queen

“You know the owners?”

“Tristan, Nate and I are the owners, Paige,” I grinned.

Her jaw dropped slightly. “You're what?”

“Own it,” I repeated.

“Wow, that’s amazing.”

“We decided at quite a young age that we didn’t want to be dependent on our fathers’ wealth,” I explained. “We got regular jobs at seventeen and eighteen outside of working at our families’ companies, and we invested all of it into our own company at eighteen, which we’ve been building up ever since. Knights Ltd now owns four restaurants and two hotels, and we’re currently working on buying a nightclub chain we want to upgrade.”

“How do you find the time to do all of this and your PhDs?”

“We make the time,” I replied, my gaze never leaving hers. “We also run the club’s businesses, and work for our fathers when they need us. It’s intense, and it’s a lot of work, but it will be worth it.”

“You like having something of your own,” Paige said slowly, and I nodded.

“Yes, we all do. And Tristan always wanted a restaurant. He might not get to cook in it, but he gets to hire the chefs and say how they’re run, chat about the menu, that kind of thing. It’s not perfect, but it’s something.”

“Can’t he just quit and say he wants to be a chef?” she asked.

“It doesn't work like that. The Syndicate is for life.”

I was saved from having to say anything more as a waiter set our drinks down in front of us and handed us each a menu.

Paige perused the menu in front of her, her eyes wide as she scanned the list of expensive dishes.

“Is there something you fancy?” I asked, my eyes never leaving her.

“It's all a bit overwhelming,” she confessed, her fingers lightly tracing over the descriptions on the menu.

I took the menu from her, our fingers brushing for a moment. “Leave it to me.”

Her eyes widened slightly, but she nodded, sitting back in her seat.

I ordered a selection of dishes for us to share - caviar blinis, beef tartare, truffle risotto, and baked lemon sole.

Once we gave our orders to the waiter and he had moved away, I turned back to face her again. Her gaze was fixed on her glass as she ran her finger over the rim nervously. I reached out to cover her hand with mine, a soft smile on my lips.

“Hey,” I whispered softly, “relax. It's just dinner.” She smiled at me.

“What happened back there in the pub, Paige?”

“I was just worried that I’d lost my phone.”

“And so what if you had?”

“I…”

“Were you worried about telling your parents?” I asked, trying to approach it gently.

Paige nodded, not looking at me.

“Paige, I don’t want to come across like I’m being critical, but your reaction to losing your phone was very much like the one from when you were sick in my car. Can I ask, do you get panic attacks a lot?”

“Not so much now, but I used to get them a lot,” she confessed, her blue eyes darting up to mine, then dropping away again.

“Is it because your father used to beat you?” I asked softly. This time, her eyes shot up to mine, wide with alarm.

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