Chapter 131
Chapter 131:
Let them talk. Let the photo go viral.
He didn’t care.
“Race you to the bridge,” he challenged.
“You’re on!” Aurora yelled, speeding off.
Elias chased after her, chasing the only thing that mattered.
Three days had passed since the infamous Citi Bike Incident, but for Xander, the world still felt slightly tilted on its axis. The photo he had snapped was burning a hole in his digital gallery, a secret weapon he hadn’t yet decided how to deploy. Tonight, he was back in his natural habitat—Le Coucou, a restaurant where the ambient noise was a carefully curated symphony of clinking crystal and hushed negotiations.
The air conditioning smelled like old money and fresh linen.
Xander adjusted his tie, checking his reflection in the darkened glass of the entrance. He was here to meet a potential investor for his new venture capital fund, a man who allegedly ate nails for breakfast and drank crude oil for lunch. Xander needed to be on his game.
The hostess, a woman whose cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut glass, glided toward him.
“Right this way, sir,” she murmured.
Xander followed her through the labyrinth of tables. He scanned the room out of habit. Information was currency in their circle. Knowing who was dining with whom could be worth millions if leveraged correctly.
He spotted a familiar silhouette near the floor-to-ceiling windows. The posture was unmistakable. Rigid spine, shoulders that looked like they were carrying the weight of the global economy, and a suit that fit so perfectly it had to be bespoke Italian.
Elias Thorne.
Xander froze mid-step. Seeing Elias in the wild was rare. Seeing him at a restaurant that wasn’t a private club or a boardroom was like spotting a snow leopard in Central Park. But after the fiasco with the Citi Bikes earlier this week—the photo Leo had vehemently dismissed as a trick of perspective or a deepfake—Xander’s radar was pinging wildly.
𝙉𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙖𝙩
Xander squinted. He expected to see a gray-haired CEO sitting opposite Elias. Or perhaps a terrifying lawyer.
Instead, he saw a woman.
She was turned slightly away from him, her profile illuminated by the soft candlelight. She was laughing. It wasn’t a polite, socialite titter. It was a real laugh, one that made her shoulders shake.
Elias wasn’t looking at his phone. He wasn’t looking at a portfolio. He was looking at her.
Xander ducked behind a large, decorative fern. It was a ridiculous move, something out of a bad spy movie, but his brain had short-circuited.
A waiter approached Elias’s table, carrying a massive silver platter of seafood on ice. The steam from the dry ice curled around the table like fog.
Xander watched, fascinated. Elias Thorne was a germaphobe. Everyone knew it. He didn’t shake hands. He didn’t touch door handles. He certainly didn’t eat finger food.
Elias reached out.
His hand, usually gloved or sanitized to within an inch of its life, hovered over a large, unpeeled shrimp.
He picked it up.