The older man’s face reddened. "An actor like Noah Hart shouldn’t overstep. This is a business matter between and CEO Sumrs. Your personal relationship with her doesn’t give you the right to—"
He looked at Arianne, clearly expecting her to put her lover in his place. She didn’t. She took a sip of water and watched him with an expression of mild curiosity.
The younger actor leaned forward. His voice was gentle, reasonable. "Mr. Hart, maybe you should let Ms. Sumrs make her own decisions. This is a business matter. I’m sure she can speak for herself."
He was good, Arianne thought. The false concern. The subtle undermining. He’d practiced this. He looked at Franz the way a younger competitor looks at soone whose position he intends to take. If Noah Hart could catch Arianne Sumrs’ attention—could benefit from her power, her connections, her na—why couldn’t he? If a washed-up actor in his thirties could secure a patron like her, surely a younger, fresher face could do better.
Franz saw it. The ambition. The calculation. The way the younger man’s eyes flicked to Arianne with barely concealed intent. He felt sothing cold settle in his chest.
He smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.
"I have every right to express my opinion on this matter." He paused. Let the silence stretch. "After all—I’m Franz Rochefort. And I have the final say in Rochefort Group."
The silence that followed was absolute.
The older man’s face went slack. The younger actor’s practiced composure cracked like cheap plaster. They stared at Noah Hart—the actor, the celebrity, the man they’d dismissed as Arianne Sumrs’ boy toy—and watched him transform into soone else entirely. Soone with a different na. A different claim. A different kind of power.
"Franz Rochefort," the older man repeated. His voice was faint. "You’re—the younger brother. Alexander’s brother."
"Yes."
"You’re married to—"
"My wife. Yes." Franz’s smile didn’t waver. "The rumors got part of it right. She is involved with soone from the Rochefort family. They just got the na wrong."
He leaned forward. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. Deadly. "If any of you reveal what transpired here tonight—if this leaves this room—I won’t hesitate to retaliate. And don’t bla for being vicious. I’ve learned from the best."
His eyes flicked to Arianne for the briefest mont.
She set her glass down. "We should go." She looked at Franz. "I’m starving."
He rose. Still furious. Still containing it. His hand found the small of her back as she stood, a gesture that was both protective and possessive. She didn’t pull away.
Behind them, Gio collected the folder from the table with two fingers, as if it were contaminated. "I’ll make sure this is shredded."
Mira watched the younger actor, who was staring at the door with an expression that hadn’t quite recovered. "Do you think they’ll talk?"
"No." Gio stood. "Mr. Rochefort made himself very clear. And if they do talk, they’ll have to explain why they were offering Ms. Sumrs a young actor as a side deal. That’s not a story anyone wants told."
Mira nodded once. She followed Gio out of the bar. By the ti they reached the street, Arianne and Franz were already walking toward the waiting car.
Gio glanced at the car. Then at Mira. "I’ll take a separate car back to the estate. Follow them to the restaurant."
"Understood."
Gio walked toward the waiting sedan. Mira slid into the vehicle behind Arianne and Franz’s car. The small convoy pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the city traffic.
The door swung shut behind them. The evening air was cool against their faces. The city lights were bright against the dark sky. The car was waiting at the curb.
Franz’s jaw was still tight. His hand hadn’t left her back.
"He did look handso," Arianne said mildly.
He stopped walking. Turned to look at her.
"But not as handso as you," she added. "Don’t worry."
He stared at her. The controlled fury in his expression flickered—cracked—and sothing else crept through. Exasperation. Amusent. The particular warmth she could still surprise out of him. "You’re enjoying this."
"A little."
"I just threatened a man with professional destruction. For you."
"I know. It was very attractive." She tilted her head. "You should do it more often."
"I’m not going to make a habit of it."
"Pity."
He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth was twitching. His hand slid from her back to her waist, pulling her slightly closer. "You’re impossible."
"And yet you married ."
"I did." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Against all better judgnt."
"Your judgnt has always been questionable. You fell in love with when you were eight."
"I was a very smart eight-year-old."
She laughed—a quiet sound, low and warm—and his expression softened completely. The anger from the bar was gone now, replaced by sothing quieter. Sothing that was just for her.
"Co on," she said. "I really am starving."
He opened the car door for her. She slid inside. He followed, and the door closed, and the car pulled away from the curb.
"He really wasn’t that handso," Arianne said as the city lights slid past the window.
"Stop talking about him."
"His jawline was weak."
"Aria."
"And his smile was crooked. Not in a charming way. In a dental way."
Franz stared at her. Then he laughed—a real laugh, surprised and unguarded. The kind of laugh she didn’t hear often enough. "You’re still doing this."
"I’m making observations."
"You’re tornting ."
"Also true." She glanced at him. "You’re very easy to tornt."
"I just threatened a man for you. I used my real na. I revealed my identity to a stranger. And you’re tornting ."
"You used your real na very effectively. It was impressive." She paused. "The younger actor’s face went pale. I thought he might faint."
"He didn’t faint."
"He ca close." She turned toward him in the seat. "You know none of them can compare to you. You’ve always known that."
Franz was quiet for a mont. Then his hand found hers on the seat between them. "It’s still nice to hear you say it."
"Don’t get used to it."
"I never do." He lifted her hand to his lips. Pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Every ti still feels like the first ti."
She didn’t pull her hand away. Outside, the city was bright and dark in turns, the streets carrying them toward the restaurant and the dinner that was waiting. Inside the car, the silence was comfortable. Full of things that didn’t need saying.
"Weak jawline," Arianne murmured.
Franz groaned. "I’m never letting you go to another business eting alone."
"That seems impractical."
"I don’t care."
"You’re being possessive."
"I’m being protective. There’s a difference."
"Is there?"
He looked at her. "You know there is."
She held his gaze. Then the corner of her mouth curved upward. "I know."
The car moved through the city. The lights blurred past the windows. The restaurant was still ahead. The night was still young. And Franz’s hand stayed in hers, warm and steady, all the way there.
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