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Crystal chandeliers hung from the restaurant’s ceiling, causing the gold-threaded wallpaper to shimmer under the soft light. I gazed around the room at the elegantly dressed patrons chattering at their small, square tables.

Miles and I sat together on one side of the table, with our backs to the entrance, while Damen took the open seat across from us. While they spoke in low voices that I couldn’t follow, I tried to come to terms with my luck.

Was it okay for me to patronize such a place?

I was completely out of my comfort zone, and not only because I wasn’t dressed appropriately. A quick perusal of the menu indicated that each dish was ridiculously priced, too.

Damen, however, had brushed off my whispered concerns. My debt was going to grow alarmingly at this rate, and I would have to keep an accurate account of what I owed. Yet, no matter what I ordered from this restaurant, my meal was going to be extremely pricey.

My focus drifted as time trickled by. A growing crowd was gathering for a late lunch rush, yet there were still a number of open tables in the spacious dining area. Even with only a few patrons seated at our closest tables, being around others made my heart pound.

Was it my imagination, or were people looking at us?

Neither Miles nor Damen appeared to notice. In fact, Damen was the picture of relaxed sophistication. The V-neck of his burgundy shirt stretched over his chest as he lounged back in his seat, and as he reached across the table to pick up a recently filled glass of wine, a gold chain peeked out from behind the open collar of his jacket.

Miles, in the meantime, was a force of rough sexiness beside me. He managed to remain mannerly even as he savagely ripped a breadstick in half and savored it with great enthusiasm. It was obvious that his weakness was food—something I mentally filed away for later.

Their avoidance of informing me as to whom our lunch date might be made me suspicious.

And so, I brazenly stared at Damen while we waited—hoping that the power of my gaze would make him talk. In response, however, he merely glanced up from his glass.

This time when he smiled, it was obviously meant to disarm me.

“What’s wrong, baby girl?” he asked, holding his almost empty glass toward me. “Would you like some?”

My spine straightened as my hackles rose. Who offered someone their used glass? I was no germaphobe—or maybe I was only a little—but that was basically kissing.

“N-no, thanks…” I choked out the words. I didn’t want mono, or whatever other college kissing diseases existed these days. Lord only knew where his mouth had been. “I can’t drink. I’m not twenty-one yet. ”

“It’s all right.” Miles snatched the glass from Damen’s hand and took a sip. “I’m not either—at least not for another two months. This isn’t bad, but a Riesling would be better,” he stated matter-of-factly before finishing the rest of the glass.

“You’re such a snob.” Damen glared at Miles, but he wasn’t surprised by his behavior. “Don’t tell me this was why you picked this place?”

I stared between them. How could Damen condone public underage drinking? Didn’t he work for the police? Plus, as a university representative and almost-professor, he was also supposed to uphold a certain standard of conduct.

“I was giving it to Bianca,” Damen chided Miles. “If there’s something you want, order it yourself.” He accepted his emptied glass with a sigh as Miles handed it back to him.

“I can’t,” Miles responded, tone dejected, as he tore apart another buttery breadstick.

Of course he couldn’t! He was too young to order alcohol!

The two of them were so reckless—so blind. With all these people staring at them, they’d be discovered. Were they not thinking? We could be imprisoned or kicked out of school. Our futures would be in shambles. Not only was I in big trouble with Finn, but now I had this to worry about.

If they wanted to do bad-boy things, they could at least put some proper thought into it.

“My sister is here today. You might be able to do what you want. She doesn’t care what you do. But you know she believes wine is only acceptable to drink after five.” Miles sighed, staring at the now-empty breadstick basket with a look of longing. “She’d kill me.”

I had been sipping water as he spoke, and I choked at his words. Both men turned their attention to me, concerned, and while I coughed, Miles awkwardly patted my back. Damen, meanwhile, uselessly held up a napkin in my face.

I shot Miles an incredulous look the second I caught my breath. “Seriously?”

Miles nodded, his expression grave. “Colette has certain beliefs about proper food etiquette, like the way food and drinks should be paired. When it’s her turn in the kitchen—”

“That’s not what I meant!” I poked his chest. “Who cares about etiquette? You shouldn’t be ordering alcohol, anyway! You aren’t old enough, and Damen is practically a policeman!”

Damen raised an eyebrow, a tiny grin lifting at the corner of his mouth, but didn’t respond.

However, Miles smirked and leaned toward me—his brown eyes mischievous. “ J’ai vécu en France pendant trois ans. ”

I pulled back my hand. His accent had been noticeable from the beginning, but this was the first time I’d heard him speak French. “What did you say?”

“I’m half-French.” Miles grabbed my retreating hand and kissed my fingertip. “I lived in France for three years.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re French,” Damen pointed out, but Miles pretended not to hear him. “Only your mother is French.”

“My sister was there longer than me, though,” Miles continued, ignoring Damen. “Then she studied culinary arts in Italy before moving here. She’s the head chef—this is her restaurant.”

My eyes had to be huge as I stared at him. I didn’t get it. What did that have to do with anything?

I tried to get back on topic, away from this circular reasoning. “But that doesn’t make it right. You’re in America now. You can’t legally drink until you’re twenty-one.”

“Relax.” Miles released my hand and draped his arm over my shoulders. “It’s not the end of the world. Who’s going to tell?”

Could he be that naive? Visions of imprisonment and justice swarmed through my mind, and I couldn’t talk. Instead, I pointed toward Damen with a shaking finger.

He’d sworn an oath to law enforcement and the board of directors—maybe. Was he a man of his word, or not?

Damen shrugged nonchalantly as he accepted a refill from the sommelier, who apparently had heard enough to find this very funny. As the man walked away, I was left wondering what was wrong with these people.

“Bianca, relax. It’s not good to be so anxious all the time.” Damen lifted his glass, swirling it gently. “There is absolutely nothing to get upset about.”

Miles pulled me close, trying to reassure me. “What are you worried about anyway? First of all, having a sip of wine is not going to make me ineligible for law school.”

I wanted to point out that he’d actually downed half the glass, which was equivalent to a rather large ‘sip,’ but Miles moved on before I found my voice. “And no one is going to tell. No one here is going to bother us.”

I narrowed my eyes on him. Really?

That certainly sounded suspicious. That sounded like something a super-rich, pretentious person would say. I knew they were peculiar, but I didn’t think they were that influential.

I was about to call him out on his lies when a familiar silky voice cut into our conversation.

“Sorry I’m late.” Titus’s smooth baritone shot a shiver down my spine. A fraction of a second later, he stepped into my view, unbuttoning the top of his shirt as he slid into the empty seat beside Damen. “I had to ditch Maria.”

Damen nodded as if that made perfect sense and greeted Titus in return.

Meanwhile, panic rose inside me. Even though I’d suspected Titus was the missing guest, seeing him physically present brought an entirely different level of fear.

Titus. Lumberjack, Mafia Titus was here . And why was he late exactly? Was it business? There was a subdued violence to his aura that hadn’t quite quieted yet, and a curl or two still out of place. Still, he wasn’t covered in blood—so obviously, he’d won the battle.

And who was Maria—his girlfriend from a rival gang? That sounded so cliché.

I stared at him with mixed emotions, but Titus barely spared me a glance before he greeted Miles with a grin.

I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved by his lack of attention or offended that he was basically ignoring me.

Yet, I couldn’t blame him for being mad at me. I should apologize.

However, before I had a chance to make a fool of myself, the waitress returned—engaging the long-haired newcomer in small talk. So, he was a familiar face here too.

Titus gracefully waved his hands in the air as he spoke, and I couldn’t tear my eyes from him. Today, his hair was half up, allowing his curls to fall around his shoulders in a wave. He was clean-shaven, unlike the first time I had seen him, which made the masculine angles of his face stand out more.

And today, he did look like a businessman. Yet his pinstriped suit only served to make him appear even more dangerous and refined. It was difficult to decide, though, which theme worked better for him.

Either way, now that I didn’t fear for my life, I could see why he’d been called by Forbes .

I felt inadequate beside the three of them.

Miles had perfected his wholesome, boy-next-door vibe. He was devilishly handsome. Plus, he had spent some years in France, so he had that romantic, foreign aspect going for him, too.

Damen was somehow seductive, with a gaze that threatened to consume your soul. There were… well, a lot of other things that could be said about Damen, too, but probably better off left unexplored.

Then there was Titus—angelic with a dash of wildness. He probably could kill someone.

The three of them compared to me, a frumpy blob at my best… What could I do? And right now, I looked far from my best. I hadn’t even brushed my hair this morning.

But I was wearing my Burberrys—my one vice and love—which put me closer to their level, at least a little. I just adored good shoes. They were the one possession that would have to be pried out of my cold, dead hands. I didn’t even care if Finn had gotten them for me—they were mine.

But even so—being unable to provide for myself sucked. I’d never been more determined to reach my financial goals ever before in my entire life.

It was then I realized the table had descended into silence. The waitress had left, and I was still staring at my placement. Miles was eating a fresh breadstick, while Damen swirled his refilled wine thoughtfully. Meanwhile, Titus was frowning at the table. His shoulders were squared in discomfort, and a petulant look etched his face. No one seemed to want to break the mood.

My mouth went dry.

I had no choice. I was going to have to apologize to Titus. This was my fault, after all.

“Sorry about your face and balls,” I blurted out—feeling so ashamed I’d have to speak such words in my lifetime. “I hope they’re okay now.”

Miles choked, and Damen’s hand jerked so sharply that a splash of wine stained the white tablecloth. But it was Titus who had the most extreme reaction. Instead of graciously accepting my apology, he stared at me as if I’d said the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard in his life. Which was quite offensive, actually, because I was only trying to make things right.

I shifted my focus to the stained tablecloth—I had screwed this up too much. How could I work with someone who hated me? “I guess you’re still mad…”

Titus burst into laughter, followed quickly by Damen and Miles. I frowned at my place setting. This was terrible. I was awful at making amends, and this was proof.

After a moment, the laughter finally died down, and Titus wiped his eyes with the napkin. “I’m not angry,” he said. “Why would I be angry?”

“But…” I blinked at him, unsure. “You wouldn’t talk to me when you sat down.”

“You’re afraid of me.” He rested his arm on the table and held my gaze. “I wanted to make you feel comfortable.”

It didn’t work. I was still scared of him. But if the others thought he was fine, then he must be. However, his explanation made no sense. “How does ignoring someone make them feel comfortable? That only makes you seem angrier.”

Titus’s brows lowered. “I was trying to be cool.”

“Well, you failed.” Damen touched his head. “Now that that is cleared up, did you bring it?”

Titus reached into his jacket and revealed a pink phone. “Of course! It’s the latest release. I installed some apps and wallpapers to get started.”

“Why would you do that?” Miles lowered his water. “What if she doesn’t like what you picked out?”

I eyed the device. “Don’t tell me that’s for me. ”

Titus slid the phone across the table to me. “I have a sixth sense about these things.”

“Are you sure it has nothing to do with you ?” Miles responded.

I had no idea what Miles meant, but Titus’s confidence was rather assuming. Yet, who was I to argue? I was getting a pretty phone—and pink was my second favorite color.

I picked it up—it was already on—and gasped as the home page pulled up. Titus had discovered my weakness.

I grinned at the cartoon kitten wallpaper. “Kutsushita Nyanko!” I sounded pathetically happy. And as he said, he’d also installed some games and other cute things. Finn had never allowed me to put personal stuff on my phone. “Thank you so much, Titus. I love it.”

There was no response, and I glanced up to see the three of them watching me. But I was too excited to care as I opened my contacts. Titus had already pre-loaded all of their information—including Julian’s.

And he’d assigned each of them a character photo.

“Why is Damen ‘Beer-chan’?” I asked. It seemed like an odd choice to be represented by a drunk bear. But then again, he’d hit the alcohol early today.

“You ass!” Damen glowered at Titus, offended. His cheeks dusted as he pushed away his wine glass. “I don’t even drink that much.”

Titus didn’t seem to hear Damen. Instead, he stared at me. It was different now, as if he were seeing me for the first time. It was extremely disquieting.

“You know San-x ?” he asked, his voice filled with wonder. “What about Sanrio ?”

Oh no, I’d made an idiot of myself again. I put the phone back on the table and hid my face behind my turtleneck once more. Could I just disappear before dying of embarrassment?

“Don’t hide.” Miles pulled at my hands and returned the neck back to its rightful place. His fingers brushed against my wrist, and the contact made my skin heat. “It’s perfect that you do,” he continued. “It’ll give Titus a better reason to buy stuff, and he can stop getting weird looks at the store. Spoiling you is the perfect excuse.”