Zayden Vale leaned back in his chair like he owned the air in the room.
Which, Elara decided, he probably thought he did.
"So," he said, swirling the glass of water in front of him like it was fine whiskey. "You're the Blake family's... surprise."
"Excuse me?" she blinked.
He smiled, that damn fox smile again. "They didn't mention you much. I was expecting someone... older. Maybe colder. Less..." He waved his fingers vaguely in her direction. "Fiery."
"Ah," she said flatly. "And I was expecting someone on time."
"Touché," he grinned.
The waiter arrived with the menu. Elara barely glanced at hers.
Zayden didn't even open it.
"I'll have the chef's special. No onions," he said smoothly.
The waiter nodded, then looked at Elara.
"I'll have whatever he's not having," she said without looking up. "And extra onions."
Zayden turned to her with raised brows. "Is this about the twenty-two minutes?"
"No," she said sweetly. "It's about the twenty-three minutes. You were late and smug about it."
He laughed. "You're delightful."
"And you're insufferable."
"I get that a lot."
She narrowed her eyes. "Do they also tell you your smile is the most punchable thing they've ever seen?"
"Oh, frequently." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "It's my second-best feature."
"Dare I ask what the first is?"
He grinned. "Modesty."
Elara blinked slowly. "You're worse than I thought."
"Oh, Miss Blake," he said, folding his hands with exaggerated grace. "If you thought this meeting would be anything but entertaining, I'm afraid you're tragically underprepared."
"Entertaining?" she echoed, leaning forward. "You think this is a game?"
"Everything's a game," he said, and that smile—the one everyone warned her about—tilted wider. "I just happen to be very, very good at winning."
Elara let out a short laugh and picked up her glass of water. "You really are a narcissist."
"And yet here you are, having lunch with me. Imagine that."
"It wasn't voluntary."
"Sure it was. You could've stormed out twenty-four minutes ago."
She lifted her glass and took a long sip, eyes locked on his. "I was too busy imagining flipping this table over."
"I support that idea," he said, not missing a beat. "But if you're going to flip it, give me a two-second warning. I want to look dramatically betrayed when it happens."
She nearly choked on her water.
"Wow," she said, wiping her mouth. "You rehearse your own reactions, don't you?"
"Of course. Spontaneity is far too messy."
The food arrived then—hers covered in a glorious heap of caramelized onions.
Zayden looked at it, then at her. "You weren't kidding."
"I never kid about onions."
"Dangerous woman."
"Only when provoked."
He chuckled and began to eat with the elegance of someone raised in boardrooms and billion-dollar deals.
"You're not what I expected," he said after a moment.
"And what exactly did you expect?" Elara asked, cutting into her steak.
"A trembling little heiress. Quiet. Obedient. Dead behind the eyes."
"Oh, so your type."
He smiled without shame. "Guilty."
"Well," she said with a slow smirk, "looks like your streak of luck just ended."
His eyes glittered. "You think I need luck, Elara?"
She met his gaze, unflinching. "No. I think you need therapy."
Zayden burst out laughing.
A real laugh. Sharp, rich, and completely unbothered.
"You know," he said, wiping his mouth with the edge of his napkin, "this marriage might not be so boring after all."
"Oh, I can promise you one thing," Elara said, leaning forward with a wicked smile of her own. "If you go through with this, boring will be the last problem you have."