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"Mr. Kade asked me to inform you that he's running late for your dinner meeting. He suggests you meet him at Maris at 7:30 instead."
She delivers this message with the enthusiasm of someone announcing a tax audit.
"Thank you for letting me know," I say, matching her formal tone.
Zara lingers in the doorway, her perfectly shaped eyebrows arched in what might be curiosity or might be disdain. It's hard to tell with her.
"Mr. Kade doesn't usually take such a... hands-on approach with brand directors," she observes. "You must be very impressive."
Suspicion? Jealousy? Simple curiosity? I can't tell, but alarm bells ring.
"Lumière is a priority," I say carefully. "Its performance affects the entire Elysian portfolio."
"Mmm," Zara hums noncommittally. "Well, enjoy your dinner. Maris has excellent... oysters."
The way she says "oysters" makes it sound like "midnight trysts in the supply closet." I maintain my professional smile until she leaves, then slump back in my chair.
Great. Now Roman's assistant thinks we're having an affair. Just perfect.
The extra time gives me time to stop by Olivia’s apartment to change, swapping my work dress for something slightly more sophisticated but still professional—a black jumpsuit with architectural detailing that says "I understand design" without screaming "I'm trying to seduce you."
Maris is exactly the type of restaurant you'd expect Roman Kade to frequent—exclusive without being ostentatious, popular with business elite rather than celebrities.
I give his name to the maître d', who leads me to a private booth in the back with the reverence usually reserved for royalty.
"Mr. Kade called to say he's running slightly behind," the maître d' informs me. "May I bring you something while you wait?"
"Sparkling water, please," I say, resisting the urge to order liquid courage in the form of expensive wine.
Ten minutes later, I'm still alone, scrolling through emails on my phone and trying not to look like I've been stood up, when a commotion at the front of the restaurant catches my attention.
Roman has arrived, and the entire staff seems to be falling over themselves to greet him. He moves through the restaurant with that effortless confidence that seems to part crowds like the Red Sea. Several diners actually turn to watch him pass, whispering behind menus.
And then he's at our table, all six-foot-something of expensive suit and subtle cologne and devastating good looks.
"Ms. Monroe." His tone is formal, though his eyes hold warmth absent from his voice. "Apologies for the delay."
"Mr. Kade," I reply with equal formality. "No problem at all."
He slides into the booth across from me, and immediately the air between us feels charged with the electricity of our text conversations—conversations that don't match the professional personas we're currently inhabiting.
"I've taken the liberty of pre-ordering," he says as a waiter appears with wine. "I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all." I accept a glass of what is undoubtedly ridiculously expensive wine. "Though I should warn you I'm more of a taco truck than tasting menu person."
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Noted for future reference."
The meal progresses with discussion of the Lumière relaunch—genuine, productive conversation about brand positioning and market strategy. Roman is brilliant, insightful, and surprisingly willing to be challenged on his assumptions. I find myself forgetting about our text relationship as we dive deep into the creative vision.
"You've impressed the team." Roman speaks as dessert arrives—something artistic involving chocolate and gold leaf. "They weren't sure what to expect from someone without Creative Director experience."
"And now?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Now they're converts to the Church of Cassandra," he says with a slight smile. "Especially after you stood up to Jenkins in the budget meeting. I believe his exact words were 'thank god someone finally has balls around here.'"
I laugh, relaxing a bit as the wine and good food work their magic. "Jenkins needed to understand that cutting corners on materials undermines the entire luxury positioning. You can't claim premium quality while using subpar components."
"I agree completely." Roman studies me with those intense blue eyes. "You're exactly what Lumière needed. What Elysian needed."