Page 17 of Glass Spinner

Kathleen flushed a little deeper. “Thank you. Mom picked out the dress. She loves shopping.”

“I take it you don’t.”

“Heavens, no. I take after my father. He thinks shopping is Chinese water torture.”

Marise chuckled. “Shall we go in.”

The waiter led them down to an intimate alcove, an arched space partially enclosed by a carved walnut partition. It housed a single table dressed in white linen, flanked by comfortable chairs and a flickering candle in a wine bottle holder.

They sat, the waiter coming in to pour water and offer menus. Marise asked if Kathleen liked wine, recommending a bottle that would pair with almost anything. Kathleen let her order, apparently content to observe.

The conversation started with a little awkward small talk—restaurant lighting, the weather—but Kathleen soon thawed out.

“So,” Marise said, “tell me something about your research. I’ve read a few of your abstracts, but I’m not sure I understood them.”

Kathleen tilted her head, amused. “That’s because they weren’t written to be understood.”

Marise smiled. “Then explain it to me like I’m an intelligent woman with no patience for jargon.”

Kathleen paused, then gave a small shrug. “Not tonight.”

“No?”

“I’m off duty. Besides…” Her gaze was steady. “I’d rather hear about you.”

“Me?” she asked, cocking her head. “I’m hardly interesting.”

“That’s not true. You pretend, but it’s not true.”

Marise blinked, the comment slipping under her defences.

Kathleen leaned forward slightly. “Why did you start doing this?”

“This?”

“The escort work. What made you choose it?”

Marise took a slow sip of wine. “That’s a rather direct question.”

Kathleen didn’t apologize. “I think you’re used to people talkingatyou. I want to talktoyou.”

Marise found herself smiling. Genuinely. “Well,” she said, swirling her glass, “I suppose I’ve always been good at being what other people need. That’s a marketable skill. And sometimes… it lets me be something I wish I were.”

Kathleen studied her. “Do you remember who you were before you started?”

Marise wasn’t playing anymore, she was thinking of her real job when she answered, “I think I do, but she’s quieter now.”

Three courses passed like a dream. Roasted duck, a delicate mushroom risotto, a chocolate tart that neither of them had room for but ordered anyway. Conversation drifted between them easily. Kathleen asked about her childhood, her favourite cities, the worst date she'd ever endured. Marise soon realized that under her reserved demeanour, was a woman with quick instincts and intelligent insights.

She made Marise laugh. That alone was a rarity.

And yet—nothing about her work. Not a hint, not a sliver. Every time Marise tried to nudge the conversation toward the Atlantic Foundation and her current project, Kathleen gently rerouted them, never defensive, never obvious. It frustrated Marise no end, but she had all night. As they talked, Marise flirted lightly with her, making it clear that the date wasn’t overonce they left the restaurant. One thing she had learned over the years was how to seduce. To get near to someone—to learn their secrets. That was why she was the highest paid operative in the business.

When the bill came, Kathleen reached for it. Marise let her, for it was expected that the client paid, though for once she wished she could have waved her away and said it was hers.

Outside, the air had cooled, the city quiet beneath a night sky. They slid into the back of a cab together. The silence between them wasn’t awkward, but it seemed heavy with something unsaid. Kathleen’s building came into view all too soon and Marise stepped out with her.

She handed cash to the driver and said quietly, “Wait for a minute.” If all went well, she would be able to wave him off.