Page 17 of Daddy's Dirty Little Secret

The waiter nodded and disappeared. I brought my glass to my lips again, but didn’t drink. Just held it there. Something about the way Smith kept watching me like I was the presentation made me want to step outside of myself for a second and recalibrate.

“You mind if I hit the restroom?” I asked, already pushing my chair back.

“Of course,” he said, barely moving.

I stood and walked off without saying more. The hallway to the back was dimmer than the rest of the place. Clean, quiet, and just far enough from the dining room that I could exhale. I wasn’t rattled exactly, but I needed a moment to clear my head. I splashed water on my face, took a deep breath, and stared at myself in the mirror for a beat longer than necessary.

When I came back into the dining room, Smith was exactly where I left him, except now his posture was just a touch too casual. Elbow on the table, fingers still resting near my wine glass. My phone, which I’d left beside it, was sitting half an inch closer to him than before. Screen on.

He didn’t look up right away.

I crossed the space between us slow, deliberate. Slid back into my seat and glanced down at the phone. No notifications. No shift in the angle. But I knew. There wasn’t anything overly sensitive on the phone, everything that was needed a passwordto access, but the idea that he felt comfortable enough to peruse my personal information irked me.

He met my eyes then, as if nothing had happened. “Everything all right?” he asked, voice smooth.

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a slight smile. “Clean mirror. Good lighting. Got a second opinion on the tie.”

He smirked, but didn’t comment. Just lifted his glass again, sipped.

I let the moment sit. Let the silence stretch long enough to make it clear I noticed the shift. He didn’t flinch. That told me what I needed to know—he wasn’t sorry. If anything, he wanted me to notice.

I picked up my glass, gave it a slow turn between my fingers. If he wanted me to react, he’d be disappointed. I wasn’t going to hand him that much power, but chances were, I would not be doing business with this gentleman.

“So,” I said, voice even, “you said you like to know what you’re walking into. What exactly are you looking for from a firm like mine?”

Smith relaxed back into his chair, like we’d hit a checkpoint he was waiting for.

“Consistency,” he said. “Clarity. I’ve dealt with enough flash-in-the-pan companies to know how easy it is to get distracted by the next big thing. But I’m interested in something sustainable. Scalable.”

I nodded. “We don’t chase trends. We set our own direction. That’s why we’re still here.”

That earned the faintest raise of his brows, like he approved but didn’t want to make a show of it.

The conversation moved from there, threading through expected checkpoints—project lifespans, internal teams, client retention, our cloud architecture. All the stuff he probably already knew but needed to hear me say out loud. I gave himstraight answers, kept my voice level, didn’t oversell. The wine helped smooth the edges.

By the time we wrapped up, the bottle was mostly gone and the sky outside the restaurant had deepened into that post-sunset blue that blurred the city lights. Smith stood first, offering his hand.

“Pleasure,” he said, voice as unreadable as ever.

“Likewise.”

He walked out without looking back. I watched him go, waited until he was halfway down the block before I pulled my phone back in front of me and woke the screen.

A single text waited.

Amelia 6:28 PM:M4S?

The corner of my mouth pulled into a crooked smile. I didn’t need to think twice.

I knew exactly what it meant. And it was just what I needed after such a strange interaction.

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