Chapter 2

Nova's POV

I reached the table and pulled out the chair, offering him a smile that I hoped looked innocent and a little shy. "I hope I'm not late," I said, my voice smooth and cute.

He didn't look away. Instead, a slow, deliberate smile spread across his face. When he spoke, his voice was a stupidly sexy deep rumble that I felt in my chest more than I heard in my ears. "No, you’re not. I just got here early. Punctuality is my thing."

"Ah, I see," I replied, taking my seat.

Up close, the man was a problem. It was one thing to see a photo pinned to a wall, it was another to be sitting three feet away from him. He was large and imposing in a way that made the expensive chair look small. I’ve dealt with big men before, but there was a weight to his presence that felt different. And on top of everything, he was objectively good-looking. It was seriously unfair. Most targets are greasy or aging or look like they haven’t slept in a decade. Cairos looked like he was carved out of granite.

He leaned back, his dark eyes trailing over my leather jacket and the collar of my shirt. "Weird choice of clothing for a date," he remarked. His tone wasn't insulting though, just observant.

I didn't miss a beat. "I know, right? But I like to be true to my character. This is me. I’m not really a Barbie girl."

"Hmm. Interesting." He lifted a hand, slowly rubbing his lower lip with his thumb while he stared at me. It was an intense gaze that made my skin prickle. He wasn't looking at me like a man looks at a pretty girl, he was looking at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "So, what's your name?"

"Gina," I lied. It was the name on the fake ID I had in my pocket. "Yours?"

"Davis."

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snorting. Davis? What kind of name was that? If you're going to lie, at least pick something that sounds like it fits. He looked like a 'Cairos,' not a 'Davis.' But I kept the gentle smile on and smiled. "Nice name."

"Thank you," he said, though he looked like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

"So," he continued, "why are you out here on a blind date? Surely a beautiful lady like you isn't short of admirers."

I looked down at my lap, acting a bit shy. It was a role I’d played a dozen times. "I just wanted to try something new. A friend of mine suggested this and arranged it through her connections. I figured, why not?" I looked back up at him. "What about you?"

"I think at this point, I need a blind date," he said, his voice dropping an octave like he is sad. Pftt. "I’m over thirty, but women don't seem to want to stay with me."

I kept my expression sympathetic, but in my head, I was rolling my eyes. Gee, I wonder why. A man who looks like a mercenary and gives off danger vibes for a living probably isn't great at long-term commitments or Sunday brunches. It just confirmed what I already thought, which was that he wasn't a good person. That was fine. It made him much easier to kill.

But as I studied him, I felt a flicker of genuine curiosity. He was being casual, leaning back and making small talk but he was also incredibly alert. His eyes never stayed on one spot for too long. He was tracking the waiters, the couple at the next table, and the door. He was supposed to be a businessman, but he had the focus of a soldier. I didn't know what to make of it.

"Let’s order," he said, passing me the menu.

I took it and scanned the items, but I wasn't seeing the words. I was calculating. I needed him to drink. I needed him to relax. I needed to find the right moment to get him out of this public room.

"Your hair isn't naturally straight, is it?"

The question hit me unexpectedly. I jumped a bit, my fingers tightening on the edge of the menu. Panic flared in my chest for a split second before I shoved it down and schooled my expression into one of mild interest.

"Oh?" I asked, tilting my head. "Why do you think so?"

He gave me a lazy, lopsided smile. "Call it intuition."

"Hmm." I looked back at the menu. Intuition my foot. He knew something. Or maybe I just hadn't done as good a job with the flat iron as I thought. My heart started to beat a little faster against my ribs.

"What do you do for a living, Davis?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation back to him.

"You know, just this and that," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I sell my services."

I wanted to glare at him. He had managed to tell me everything and nothing at the same time. It was getting annoying. In less than ten minutes, this man had managed to draw out emotions and expressions I usually kept locked behind a tight door.

The waiter came over and I quickly ordered a pasta dish because it was my favourite. I should at least enjoy my meal. Cairos ordered a steak, calling it something simple and bloody. Then he says Merci.

When the waiter left, the silence between us stretched out. I shifted in my chair, adjusting my position to make sure my back wasn't exposed to the rest of the room. From the corner of my eye, I saw Cairos stiffen. It was a subtle movement, just a tensing of his shoulders, but I caught it. He was waiting for me to spring something on him.

Alarm bells started screaming in my head. Why was a businessman on a blind date reacting to a simple chair adjustment like I was pulling a gun?

Our food arrived a few minutes later. My pasta was covered in a rich red sauce, and his steak was seared perfectly. The steam rose between us, carrying the scent of garlic and rosemary. It should have been a nice dinner.

Cairos picked up the steak knife from his side of the table, diced up his steak and then slid it across the table toward me, placing it right next to my hand.

"Just in case you need it," he said.

I stared at the knife. The polished steel caught the overhead light, reflecting a sharp bloody glint.

He was taunting me and it was starting to annoy the fuck out of me.