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“Okay, thanks, Lydia,” I said as I grabbed my handbag.
I rushed out of my apartment, my heels clicking on the floor as I hurried to the elevator. When the doors opened, I was greeted by the sight of Colton and Jaxon leaning casually against that sleek red thirty-million-dollar Rolls-Royce parked at the curb.
Both men looked impossibly handsome in tailored suits, Colton in charcoal gray and Jaxon in navy. Their strong alpha presence engulfed me, and I had to take a steadying breath, the woodsy scent of their pheromones already making me feel lightheaded.
I felt their piercing gazes as I strode closer, the intensity in their eyes scorching my skin. Jaxon's deep blue eyes seemed particularly entranced by the hem of my short skirt, lingering there with an appreciative glint. And Colton—his gaze was like a caress, sweeping over the contours of my body, pausing at the daring neckline of my dress. I could see the smoldering heat darken his stormy eyes.
Drawing a deep breath, I found myself before them, the pounding of my heart a stark contrast to my soft greeting.
“Hello,” I managed to utter, my voice laced with a hint of nervousness.
Jaxon's response was immediate and effusive, his warm smile reaching his eyes.
“Good evening, Delcy. You look breathtaking,” he said, his tone rich with admiration as his eyes roamed over me, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
Feeling a rush of warmth flood my face, I murmured a shy, “Thanks,” my voice barely above a whisper. His words had the power to unnerve me, yet I couldn't help adding, “You look great too.” His attire spoke of elegance and ease, a testament to the effortless charm he carried.
Colton's strong hand was on the car door, holding it open as he gestured for me to step inside. With a grace I didn't feel, I slid into the back seat, the luxurious leather cool against my skin. I took care to arrange the fabric of my dress, ensuring modesty as I settled in.
The brothers took their places in the car, the atmosphere charged with unspoken tension. As the engine purred to life, we glided away from the curb, the city lights blurring past as we wove through the night.
We arrived at a lavish hotel downtown that housed a Michelin-starred French restaurant on the top floor. I gaped in awe at the opulent lobby with its soaring ceilings, massive chandeliers, and floors of polished marble.
We were swiftly escorted by the maître d' to a window-side table overlooking the glittering cityscape at night. The view was breathtaking, but I could hardly focus on it with Colton and Jaxon sitting on either side of me. Their thighs occasionally brushed mine, sending little thrills up my spine.
I fiddled nervously with the hem of the tablecloth as the impeccably dressed waiter approached our table. He had an air of effortless elegance that I found intimidating.
“Bonsoir, Monsieur Sterling, Monsieur Sterling, Mademoiselle,” he greeted us formally. “Are you ready to order?”
Colton responded first in flawless French that I couldn't understand, his voice a low rumble. The waiter nodded approvingly, jotting down notes on his pad. Then Jaxon ordered in French as well, his accent as smooth and natural as if he'd been speaking the language his whole life. I felt a flush creep up my neck as I realized it would soon be my turn.
When the waiter turned to me expectantly, I stammered, “I'll have the roasted chicken, please.”
My voice sounded embarrassingly small and unsophisticated after hearing Colton and Jaxon's refined French. I felt utterly out of my depth in this luxurious setting.
“Parfait choix, Mademoiselle,” the waiter replied with an approving nod.
I stared at him blankly, not understanding his words. Beside me, Jaxon chuckled under his breath, a smile playing on his lips.
“What did he say?” I asked nervously.
“He said you made an excellent choice,” Jaxon translated, amusement sparkling in his eyes.
“Oh,” I murmured, feeling my cheeks grow warm.
He leaned in closer. “I think you're adorable,” he said, his voice a low caress. “Your innocence is captivating.”
My blush deepened at his words. I wasn't used to compliments, especially not from stunningly handsome billionaires like Jaxon and especially not when I was so unrefined and unworldly.
I lowered my gaze and busied myself sipping water from my crystal goblet as Jaxon and Colton carried on a conversation in rapid French. I didn't understand a word, but there was an unmistakable intimacy in their banter.
Watching them converse so effortlessly in their luxurious surroundings, I was struck again by how out of place I felt. Everything about this date felt foreign to me—the fancy restaurant, the lavish food, the fluent French. I was a simple coffee shop girl, more comfortable in my stained Brewed Dreams apron than an elegant cocktail dress.
What could these powerful, cultured men possibly see in someone as ordinary as me? I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, acutely aware of the differences in our stations.
A few moments later, the waiter returned with our meals, serving us with quiet efficiency. I stared down at my plate, which held an elegantly arranged roasted chicken drizzled in a fragrant sauce. Roasted potatoes and vegetable medley completed the artistic presentation.
I glanced over at Colton's plate—a juicy steak smothered in a rich, buttery sauce. Jaxon was served a delicate-looking fish, flaky and white, garnished with lemon and fresh herbs.
