Chapter 14
Cozy? Yeah right. Aaron Sinclair doesn’t do cozy. He does cold, dramatic, and expensive.
I didn’t press. Just watched the city blur past as he drove like he owned every streetlight.
Until we pulled up.
I blinked.
Élan Noir.
10 vouchers
This wasn’t just not cozy. This was the restaurant people spent months on waiting lists just to breathe inside. Black marble exterior. Gold accents. Velvet ropes. The kind of place you only saw on the cover of GQ or whispered about in overpriced hair salons.
“This is not a cozy restaurant,” I muttered under my breath.
He came around, opened the door for me, and handed the keys to the valet, who greeted him like they were on a first–name basis. Of course. This was probably his regular Tuesday night spot.
We walked in, and immediately, a hostess led us to our table, tucked away in a corner, secluded from the rest. Intimate. Intentional.
The waiter poured wine without being
I opened the menu… and nearly choked.
Five minutes later, another came by to take our order.
Was this food or gold? Every item had
price
that could pay off part of my rent.
“Do you know what to order,” Aaron asked, glancing at me casually, “or should I order for you?”
I looked up from the menu, wide-
eyed.
“Please. You order.”
Because if I had to pronounce one more French dish or calculate whether my dignity was worth a thousand–dollar salad, I might cry.
9
