Page 12 of Sly Like a Fox
He finally looks at me, resting his knife against the side of his plate.“I didn’t threaten him.I asked questions.Calm ones.”
I cross my arms, not entirely convinced.“Like what?”
“Like whether his last failed tech launch ever paid back the investors he conned.Or how long Stephanie’s willing to put up with the ego before she finds the door.”
That lands with a little thud behind my ribs.I blink at him.“You knew about his startup?”
He nods.“I recognized him.He pitched to one of my clients.He had a bad product and worse ethics.He walked out mid-meeting when she started asking real questions.”He says it like he’s talking about a minor inconvenience, not a grenade he just lobbed at my dinner plans.
I fork a piece of calamari but don’t bring it to my mouth yet.“So you threw his past in his face?”
“I just reminded him it existed.”
I exhale slowly.“Okay, but why?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows briefly on the edge of the table, keeping his voice low.“Because he called you out loudly in public.That’s not a difference of opinion.That’s disrespect.”
A flicker of heat flashes through my chest, but it’s not the romantic kind.“I could’ve handled it.”
“I know.”His tone isn’t dismissive but steady, like the fact is obvious and not up for debate.“You didn’t need me to step in.I wanted to.”
My breathing settles somewhere between indignation and something dangerously close to touched.“So you...what?Scared him off for fun?”
“I gave him a reality check.He made a scene.I ended it.”He laughs.“And it was fun.”
I almost laugh too until I imagine them coming to blows in the restaurant.“What if he hadn’t backed down?”
Fenton shrugs.“Then we’d still be having dinner, just with worse lighting and more witnesses.Maybe a few bars and a bail bondsperson involved.I’m sure they’d let us take our order to go…”
The mental image makes a short laugh slip out before I can catch it.“You’re absurd.”
His brows lift.“Effective, though.”
That part I can’t argue.I pick up my wineglass and swirl it more for something to do than out of any sommelier instinct.“You like pressure.Applying it, reading it, and using it?”
“I like solutions.”He pauses, gaze flicking toward mine.“I don’t like seeing people I care about treated like garbage.”
The wine goes down a little sideways, and I breathe deeply to avoid choking.“That was fast.”
He doesn’t blink.“What was?”
“You just met me.”
Fenton holds my gaze.“And I’m still here.”
It’s not romantic or poetic.It’s just...certain, like he isn’t interested in pretending otherwise.
I should push back harder and maybe pick apart how weird it is that he stepped in like a well-tailored bodyguard and dismantled a man’s confidence without breaking a sweat.I should probably be a little alarmed that he knows Doran’s entire reputation offhand.Instead, I press the back of my hand to my cheek to cool the flush spreading there.“You always run this hot when it comes to second dates?”
He smiles again, slower this time.“Only when someone throws their whole personality at my dinner companion.”
“Not a fan of scene-stealers, huh?”
“Only the charming ones.”
That gets another laugh out of me.“You could’ve let me handle it.”
“Yes, and it would’ve been fun to watch.”
