The car pulled to a stop in front of a restaurant that didn't have a name.
The restaurant was closed to the public.
On paper, it sounded reasonable: security, privacy, and all the usual requirements. But Lucas stood in front of the glass-paneled entrance with one eyebrow raised and a suspicion that Trevor had misunderstood reasonable for obscene.
A velvet rope cordoned off the entrance. Staff bowed low. Candles flickered in artful sconces. The marble floors were polished to the point of narcissism, and the long corridor leading into the dining room reminded him uncomfortably of that runway at Fitzgeralt Manor.
Trevor was already waiting.
Of course, he was.
He stood at the base of the steps, dressed in a dark navy suit that hugged his frame like it had been sewn onto him, hair swept back in a way that looked criminally deliberate. His cufflinks matched Lucas's, obsidian, silver, house crest, and the moment their eyes met, something heavy settled into the air between them.
