Page 27 of The One-Night Heist

The waiter appeared to take our drink order and, after confirming Rowen drank wine, I ordered a bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild Pauillac from the private cellar.

An expense approved by the trust, naturally.

I was hoping this wouldn’t be my last “date” with Rowen, not only because I wanted to soak in his company as much as possible, but because I’d decided on my way to The Andervelt that I would circumvent the trust fund restrictions by spending as much money on him as humanly possible.

Another tiny rebellion.

“How much did that bottle just set you back?” he asked—a question I’d normally find incredibly tactless, but not from him. “Because you’re buying, by the way.”

“It would be incredibly rude of me to invite you to dinner and not pay,” I replied, stifling a laugh as I imagined Mother rolling in her grave at the prospect. “But that was a 2016 bottle of Lafite, so it only set me back a thousand dollars.”

“Good GOD!” Rowen exclaimed, drawing the attention of our fellow diners below. “Listen. Just FYI… when I return the favor of buying you dinner, we’ll be brown-bagging it and getting slices at Original Ray’s.”

I had no idea what “brown bagging it” meant, but was delighted he intended to see me again. “Which Ray’s? The original on Prince Street closed in 2011.”

He arched an eyebrow and sat back as the sommelier arrived with the wine. “Okay, Moneybags, I see you. There’s a new pizza place at the same location that’s not half bad, and I just call it Ray’s out of habit since I’m there at least three times a week.”

Is that so?

“You live near Little Italy?” I asked before testing the Lafite and nodding at the sommelier to pour, hoping my eagerness for intel wasn’t overly apparent.

Rowen smirked, grabbing his glass by the bowl and taking a large, loud swig.

Mother would have hated him.

I love it.

“Why do you wanna know?” he teased, after we were left alone again. “Planning on stalking me or something?”

Yes.

“I’m attempting to get to know you, Rowen,” I replied, drinking him in with the same relish he was giving the wine. “Isn’t that what one does on a date?”

As expected, he became guarded. “I wouldn’t know. Casual hookups are more my speed and those aren’t the same as dating.”

“No, they aren’t,” I confirmed, treading carefully for both our sakes.

Since I don’t have much experience dating either.

“I also don’t usually fuck anyone I’m in business with,” he added, just as the waiter appeared to take our order.

And overhear.

“The usual, Mr. Luxford?” the waiter—Travis, I believed—smoothly asked, politely ignoring our inappropriate conversation.

“What’s the usual?” Rowen placed his elbows on the table again and rested his chin on his hands.

“Authentic carbonara,” I replied. “It’s exquisite.”

“But is it heavy?” Rowen gave me a meaningful look I couldn’t decipher. “Because, if it is, I’m gonna need something that won’t cause issues with the next phase of this date we’re on…”

What?

“If the gentleman is looking for lighter fare, might I suggest the gazpacho and Luxford salad?” Travis blessedly intervened. “It’s our chef’s interpretation of the Waldorf, using locally sourced ingredients and topped with a homemade vinaigrette.”

“Sounds perfect.” Rowen smiled so brightly at the waiter, white-hot jealousy hissed through me.

“Yes, thank you, Travis,” I cut in. “That will be all.”