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"Amara," Grayson says, his eyes drinking me in. "Forgive me, I haven’t said anything yet, but you look absolutely stunning."
My cheeks heat, and I smooth my hands over my sparkling ruby gown. "Thank you, sir. This place is incredible, just wow."
He grins, pulling out my chair for me. "I thought tonight should be special."
As we take our seats, a waiter appears, presenting us with menus bound in rich leather. "Good evening, Mr. Winthrop," he greets Grayson warmly. "Chef Russo has prepared a special tasting menu for you and your lovely companion tonight."
Grayson nods, his eyes never leaving mine. "Perfect. Please extend my compliments."
"Of course, sir. And if I may, Chef Russo has personally selected a bottle of champagne to complement your first course. It's a rare vintage from his private collection - a 2002 Bollinger R.D. Extra Brut. He thought you and your guest might enjoy its unique flavor profile."
Intrigued, I glance at Grayson, who looks equally pleased by the recommendation. "That sounds exquisite," he replies, nodding his approval. "We'd be delighted to sample Chef Russo's selection."
He’s so easy and confident with every person who works here. It chills me to see him so comfortable in a restaurant this nice. My gown glitters appropriately with the patrons who sit here, but I feel like a fish out of water. Is it even possible to imagine that I could learn to breathe this air?
“Relax,” he says, fidgeting with the plateware on the table. “You’re the most striking woman in the room.”
My cheeks burn hot, but it occurs to me watching the sweat bead on his forehead, that I might just be giving him the same jitters he’s giving me.
The waiter returns moments later with a gleaming silver ice bucket cradling the champagne bottle. With practiced flair, he pops the cork and pours two generous servings of the pale golden liquid into elegant flutes.
As he sets the glasses before us, I can't resist leaning in to examine the champagne more closely. The bubbles are impossibly fine, streaming in delicate rivulets to form a perfect, persistent mousse. Breathing in, I detect notes of toasted brioche, roasted almonds, and a faint whiff of honey.
"This looks and smells divine," I murmur appreciatively. Grayson reaches for his glass, holding it aloft in a toast.
"To Chef Russo's impeccable taste...and to the woman who could rival any vintage with her complexity and allure."
I feel heat rise to my cheeks at the compliment, clinking my glass gently against his as I half-scold him. “Mr. Winthrop."
He grins boyishly, taking a sip of the effervescent nectar. "Only stating the facts, Miss Jeffries. But I must say, Alessandro has outdone himself this time. This champagne is truly remarkable."
Following suit, I let the crisp, full-bodied champagne dance across my tongue. It's an incredible balance of richness and freshness, with a long, luxurious finish that leaves me craving more. "He certainly has," I agree, savoring another decadent sip. "You must know him quite well, to warrant such special treatment."
Grayson's expression turns nostalgic, his eyes sparkling with memories. "Alessandro and I go way back. We met in Italy during a business trip, and bonded over our shared love of food, wine...and the occasional game of high-stakes poker. But that's a story for another time."
He takes my hand, rubbing his thumb gently over my knuckles. "The point is, when you find someone who shares your passions, who pushes you to explore and appreciate the finer things in life...you hold on tight. Whether it's a world-class chef who becomes a lifelong friend...or a brilliant, captivating woman."
I lean in, drawn to his warmth and sincerity like a moth to a flame. "Well then, here's to holding on tight...and never letting go."
The first course arrives, a delicate arrangement of oysters on the half-shell. As we savor each bite, Grayson regales me with stories of his travels, painting vivid pictures of the places he's seen and the people he's met.
"I've always been drawn to new experiences," he confesses, his eyes sparkling. "To pushing myself out of my comfort zone and discovering what the world has to offer."
I nod, taking a sip of my champagne. "I can relate to that. It's part of what drew me to Winthrop Industries – the chance to learn and grow, to be a part of something bigger than myself."
Grayson's gaze softens, his hand reaching across the table, almost touching mine. "And you've done just that, Amara. You've made an incredible impact on the company, and on me."
I feel a flutter in my chest at his words, at the warmth of his touch. "I couldn't have done it without your guidance and support, sir. You've been riding me in the best way possible."
He shakes his head, his forefinger reaching out. I feel an electric surge when the tip of his finger collides with mine. "It's more than that, Amara. Your passion, your intelligence, your compassion – they've all left an indelible mark on me."
As the courses continue to arrive – a silky lobster bisque, a perfectly seared filet mignon, a decadent chocolate soufflé – our conversation deepens, moving from the professional to the personal.
Grayson shares stories of his childhood, of the challenges he faced growing up and the lessons he learned along the way. "I've always been driven," he admits, his gaze distant. "Driven to succeed, to prove myself worthy. But that drive has come at a cost."
I squeeze his hand, my heart aching for the pain he's endured. "We all carry our scars, sir. But they don't define us. They make us stronger, more resilient."
He looks at me then, his eyes shining with an emotion I can't quite name. "You're an extraordinary woman. You know that?"
