Page 6 of Sly Like a Fox (Romance Expected Dating Service #3)

Still, Coastal has its own appeal, as I discover when I step through the door that evening.

The dining room overlooks the harbor with string lights overhead and a menu featuring fresh seafood alongside classic Italian dishes.

It’s romantic without being overwhelming and sophisticated without being pretentious.

It’s perfect for a second date.

I choose a navy-blue dress this time, one I actually own rather than borrowed from Chloe, and keep my makeup slightly more subtle.

The goal tonight is to build on the connection we established, to see if the chemistry was real or just the product of expensive wine and thoughtfully orchestrated ambiance.

Fenton is already waiting when I arrive, standing as I approach the table with that same understated charm that caught my attention yesterday. He’s wearing a different suit—navy instead of charcoal gray—but the effect is the same. He’s elegant, confident, and quietly powerful.

“You look beautiful,” he says, pulling out my chair.

“Thank you. You look dashing as well.” I look around for a moment. “This place is lovely.”

He nods. “I thought you might prefer something a little more intimate.”

The way he says it sends warmth curling through me. Intimate suggests he’s thinking about this as more than just dinner between two people testing compatibility. He wants privacy for deeper conversation. Or maybe he has something else in mind, but that’s not happening on the second date.

“You thought correctly. I appreciate a place where we can more easily talk.”

We settle into easy conversation over a Pinot Grigio that pairs perfectly with the ocean view. Tonight feels more relaxed than our first date, like we’ve moved past the initial interview phase and into something more natural.

“I kept thinking about what you said last night,” he says as we wait for our appetizers, “about wanting to see the unguarded version of me.”

“And?”

“I’m not sure I remember how to be unguarded. It’s been a while.”

I sense the admission is more honest than anything he shared yesterday. “Bad experiences?”

“Something like that.” He takes a sip of wine, and I catch another glimpse of something raw beneath the cultured surface. “What about you? You seem pretty guarded yourself, despite calling me out on it.”

I shrug. “Fox shifter survival instinct. People either want to use us or they’re afraid of us. Either way, showing too much of yourself too quickly is usually a mistake.”

“Usually?”

I meet his gaze across the table. “Sometimes, you meet someone who makes you want to take the risk anyway.”

The moment stretches between us, charged with possibility and honesty. This is the most direct either of us has been about our growing attraction, and something about the acknowledgment makes the air feel electric.

Our appetizers arrive, with calamari for me and bruschetta for him. We’re just settling into discussing his latest consulting project when a familiar voice cuts through the restaurant’s ambient chatter.

“Jenna Johnson, is that you? You look very comfortable in another expensive restaurant.”

I shudder at the familiar voice, recognizing the particular blend of charm and malice that made my life hell for a short time during a foolish relationship. Slowly, I turn to see Doran McKnight approaching our table with a petite brunette in tow.

He’s one of my exes. This one couldn’t handle dating a fox shifter but was perfectly happy to use my abilities when it benefited him. He asked me to help him cheat at poker games and then called me a “manipulative bitch” when I refused.

“Doran.” I keep my voice level, though every instinct is screaming at me to either flee or shift into fox form and bite him. I’m sure he’d taste foul, so I resist the temptation. “What a...surprise.”

“I bet it is.” His smile is all teeth. He’s clearly been drinking. He’s not drunk but loosened up enough to act on impulses he’d normally keep in check. “And who’s this? Your latest mark?”

The brunette tugs on his arm. “Doran, maybe we should—”

“No, Stephanie. You should meet Jenna. She’s fascinating.

” He turns his attention to Fenton, who’s been watching the interaction quietly.

“You seem like a nice guy, so let me give you some free advice. Jenna here is what we call a gold-digging fox. She’ll charm you, make you feel like the most interesting man in the world, and then clean out your bank account while you’re distracted by her. ..assets.”

Heat floods my face. Every head within three tables has turned our way, and I feel their curious stares. Part of me wants to sink into the floor and disappear.

Another part wants to stand up and deliver the scathing comeback I’m already formulating about his performance issues and his tendency to cry after sex, along with a passionate defense that I never touched his bank account.

He bought me things, but I never had access and never stole a penny from him.

Before I can open my mouth, Fenton stands. Not dramatically or aggressively. He simply rises from his chair with fluid grace and approaches Doran like he’s about to shake hands with an old friend.

“Doran, is it?” His voice is pleasant and almost conversational. “I’m Fenton. Mind if I have a word?”

“Actually, I think I’ve said everything I needed to—”

“I insist.”

Something in those two words makes Doran’s protest die in his throat as Stephanie takes a small step backward. Fenton’s smile never falters, but the air around him feels different. Charged. Dangerous.

What happens next is impossible to follow from my seat.

Fenton leans in close to Doran, speaking in tones too low for me to hear.

Whatever he says makes Doran’s face go progressively paler, his cocky smirk melting into something approaching panic.

Within two minutes, Doran is standing and clearing his throat loudly.

“I, uh...” He looks around the restaurant, taking in all the faces still watching our little drama.

“I want to apologize to everyone for the disruption. And especially to...” His gaze darts to Fenton nervously.

“To the lady and gentleman at table twelve. I was completely out of line, and I’m sorry. ”

“Doran, what—” Stephanie starts.

“We’re leaving. Now.” He practically drags her toward the exit, moving with the urgency of someone who’s just been given a very compelling reason to be somewhere else.

The restaurant slowly returns to normal as conversations resume and attention shifts away from our table. Fenton settles back into his chair like nothing happened, taking a sip of wine with perfect composure.

I stare at him. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing particularly interesting. We just had a brief discussion about appropriate public behavior.”

“Fenton.” I lean forward, studying his face. “What did you really say to him?”

A smile tugs at the corner of Fenton’s mouth that’s measured and more assessment than amusement. He sets down his wine glass like he’s settling into a debate he already knows how to win. “Doran’s the kind of guy who folds when you so much as breathe confidence at him.”

I tilt my head. “You figured that out in, what, under a minute?”

He cuts into his bruschetta without looking up. “Men like that always show their hand early. He opened with swagger but flinched the second I stood up. I didn’t need intel. Just pressure.”

“Pretty sure threatening my ex wasn’t part of Red’s matchmaker questionnaire.” I’m smiling as I say it, though.

He finally looks at me, resting his knife against the side of his plate. “I didn’t threaten him. I asked questions. Calm ones.”

I cross my arms, not entirely convinced. “Like what?”

“Like whether his last failed tech launch ever paid back the investors he conned. Or how long Stephanie’s willing to put up with the ego before she finds the door.”

That lands with a little thud behind my ribs. I blink at him. “You knew about his startup?”

He nods. “I recognized him. He pitched to one of my clients. He had a bad product and worse ethics. He walked out mid-meeting when she started asking real questions.” He says it like he’s talking about a minor inconvenience, not a grenade he just lobbed at my dinner plans.

I fork a piece of calamari but don’t bring it to my mouth yet. “So you threw his past in his face?”

“I just reminded him it existed.”

I exhale slowly. “Okay, but why?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows briefly on the edge of the table, keeping his voice low. “Because he called you out loudly in public. That’s not a difference of opinion. That’s disrespect.”

A flicker of heat flashes through my chest, but it’s not the romantic kind. “I could’ve handled it.”

“I know.” His tone isn’t dismissive but steady, like the fact is obvious and not up for debate. “You didn’t need me to step in. I wanted to.”

My breathing settles somewhere between indignation and something dangerously close to touched. “So you...what? Scared him off for fun?”

“I gave him a reality check. He made a scene. I ended it.” He laughs. “And it was fun.”

I almost laugh too until I imagine them coming to blows in the restaurant. “What if he hadn’t backed down?”

Fenton shrugs. “Then we’d still be having dinner, just with worse lighting and more witnesses. Maybe a few bars and a bail bondsperson involved. I’m sure they’d let us take our order to go…”

The mental image makes a short laugh slip out before I can catch it. “You’re absurd.”

His brows lift. “Effective, though.”

That part I can’t argue. I pick up my wineglass and swirl it more for something to do than out of any sommelier instinct. “You like pressure. Applying it, reading it, and using it?”

“I like solutions.” He pauses, gaze flicking toward mine. “I don’t like seeing people I care about treated like garbage.”

The wine goes down a little sideways, and I breathe deeply to avoid choking. “That was fast.”

He doesn’t blink. “What was?”

“You just met me.”

Fenton holds my gaze. “And I’m still here.”

It’s not romantic or poetic. It’s just...certain, like he isn’t interested in pretending otherwise.

I should push back harder and maybe pick apart how weird it is that he stepped in like a well-tailored bodyguard and dismantled a man’s confidence without breaking a sweat.

I should probably be a little alarmed that he knows Doran’s entire reputation offhand.

Instead, I press the back of my hand to my cheek to cool the flush spreading there.

“You always run this hot when it comes to second dates?”

He smiles again, slower this time. “Only when someone throws their whole personality at my dinner companion.”

“Not a fan of scene-stealers, huh?”

“Only the charming ones.”

That gets another laugh out of me. “You could’ve let me handle it.”

“Yes, and it would’ve been fun to watch.”

“Yet…”

“I had a better angle.”

I look at him for a long moment. “You’re not just some tech consultant. Are you?”

He lifts his wine, but his tone doesn’t change. “Does it matter?”

I want to say yes. I want to be the kind of woman who demands total transparency before letting a man like this anywhere near my life, but I’m not.

I’m the kind of woman who’s already wondering what it would be like to wake up next to that calm, dangerous certainty and hear him say my name like he means it.

I pick up my fork again and stab a piece of calamari like it insulted me. “I haven’t decided.”

“I’ll try not to influence the outcome too aggressively.”

“Appreciated.”

We eat in silence for a minute, the air between us stretched tight with all the things we’re not saying. This was supposed to be a second date and safer than the first. Standard. Predictable. Instead, it’s proof Fenton Nielsen might be even more complicated, and more interesting, than I thought.

I can’t stop thinking about the interaction with Doran.

The protective instinct behind his actions should probably scare me.

Instead, it makes something warm unfurl in my chest. When was the last time someone stepped in to defend me or considered my reputation worth protecting?

“Thank you,” I say quietly, breaking the silence.

“You don’t need to thank me. You could have handled him yourself.”

“I could have, but you didn’t give me the chance to.”

“Would you have preferred to handle it yourself?”

I consider the question seriously. “Honestly? No. I’m tired of fighting my own battles. It was nice to have someone else take care of it for once.”

We finish dinner without further interruption, but the atmosphere of the evening has changed. It’s not ruined but improved because now I’ve seen a glimpse of who Fenton really is beneath the cautious veneer.

He’s capable of making problems disappear with a few quiet words and the right leverage. Everything about his handling of Doran suggests resources and influence that go far beyond technology consulting. I should be concerned. Instead, I’m intrigued.

As we walk to the parking garage after our meal, I study him surreptitiously. The deliberate way he moves, the subtle awareness of our surroundings, and the way he positions himself between me and potential threats all seem off for a tech guy. “Can I ask you something?” I say as we reach my car.

He touches my face, brushing his thumb across my cheekbone. “I had a wonderful time, and I meant what I said earlier. You’re someone I care about. I’d like the chance to care even more about you.”

I would answer, but his lips touch mine before I can. When he kisses me, it’s nothing like the polite goodnight kiss I expected. It’s hungry and claiming, full of promise and barely contained desire. When we break apart, I’m winded and more than a little unsteady.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says against my lips.

“You better.”

I drive home with the taste of him still on my mouth and my mind spinning with questions I’m not sure I want answered. Fenton Nielsen might not be what he seems, but I’ve never been more attracted to anyone in my life.