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He walks around the table to claim his seat, running a hand over his tie. He’s brought us to Palate, a trendy restaurant on the upper west side of the city known for its celebrity and influencer clientele and artistic, if not a little small, plates of food.

I can hardly concentrate as the female server waltzes over with a flirty smile and pours us sparkling water. She stares at only Rafael as she speaks, ignoring my existence altogether. I’d care if I weren’t still thinking about what happened at the station.

“We’re fine for now, thank you,” he says dismissively to the server.

Her face dims but she nods and murmurs something about returning in a few minutes.

Rafael raises a brow at me. “Everything okay,dolcezza? If this restaurant’s not up to your tastes, we can go elsewhere.”

“Twenty-seven dollars for a beet salad. And that’s an appetizer.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “In case it were not obvious, lunch is my treat.”

I hadn’t wondered. Rafael is the opposite of Lincoln in that way. With Lincoln, I not only had to carry the emotional load of our relationship, but the financial load as well.

But it doesn’t change the fact that it feels awkward accepting anything from Rafael. Even a lunch.

I focus on the glass of sparkling water in front of me, taking a sip. “You didn’t have to interfere at the station.”

“Why wouldn’t I interfere? You were right.”

“Agreeing with me won’t win you any points.”

“Dolcezza, how many times do I have to tell you I’m a man who tells no lies? When I say I agree with you, I mean it. Baron Strong may be great as a field producer, but he’s a bootlicker. He’s perfectly willing to go along with the status quo even if it’s wrong.”

I’m thrown by how accurate his assessment is.

Baron has been a great producer to work with in some regards. When we do roll out in the field we make for pretty good partners. His producing skills and my reporting skills blend well, but Rafael’s right that Baron’s always seeking to follow the rules. He’s always kissing ass of the higher ups, even if it’s detrimental to our integrity as journalists.

Brows knitted, I say, “He frustrates me sometimes. He’s had my back before, but there’s other times like today where he’s so determined to play it safe it drives me crazy. He wants me to drop my investigation into the Bellucci and Tuco crime families.”

“Is that right?” Rafael asks calmly. “Why would that be?”

“Captain Poveri—or someone from the NPPD—called Finkle on me. They feel I’m sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. So Finkle went to Baron.”

“And Baron went to you.”

I sigh. “I’m not telling you this because I want you to do anything about it. In fact… please don’t. I don’t want any perceived special treatment. Even this lunch feels like that.”

“Why?” He picks up his glass of sparkling water, wholly unconcerned by the possibility. “I am the new owner. This is a work lunch.”

“Because I’ve worked hard to get where I am today. It’s taken meyears. I’m the first primetime Black female news reporter in Newport City. The first ever for Newport Metro News. I’d prefer to keep any questions about my qualifications out of the equation… and that tends to happen when special treatment is perceived.”

“That kind of speculation won’t be allowed,” he says plainly. “You’re the best reporter the station has. Anyone who tries to say differently is jealous or stupid—perhaps both—and considering I do not employ jealous or stupid people, their time with Metro News will come to an end.”

The server returns to take our orders.

I’m still processing how matter-of-fact Rafael’s addressed my concerns. He hands both of our menus to the server and says, “We’ll have the rack of lamb with the herbed parmesan polenta. Another bottle of Acqua Frizzante as well. Thank you.”

I wait until the server is gone before a stunned laugh leaves me. Rafael cants his head to the side.

“What’s so funny,dolcezza?”

“Nothing about you makes sense to me,” I say slowly. “I’m still so confused about…”

“Yes?”

…what you want with me.