Chapter 13:
Jessica was slipping her second earring into place when her phone rang. She picked it up without checking the caller ID, carefully balancing her perfume bottle in one hand.
"Jess, I can't make it," Cecilia's voice rushed through the speaker like a guilty confession. "Don't get mad—I swear, my boss just dumped a stack of reports on my desk like I'm some magical octopus."
Jessica froze. "What do you mean you can't make it?" Her voice climbed an octave, sharp and cold. "You're the one who insisted on this dinner!"
"I know, I know," Cecilia said quickly, "but I honestly can't leave the office. It's just dinner, right? You'll be fine. You're already dressed anyway—just go, say thank you, eat, and come back. Simple!"
"Simple?" Jessica hissed, turning away from the mirror. "You ambushed me with this dinner in the first place! I didn't even want to go—"
"I owe him! You owe him! He saved our butts, Jessica. The police station, the bar—he didn't have to get involved, but he did. It's just one night."
"Cecilia—!"
"I gotta go! My manager's walking by. Good luck, and don't forget the gift!"
The line went dead.
Jessica stared at her screen, furious. "Unbelievable." She grabbed her bag, the two neatly wrapped gift boxes inside—one from her, the other prepared earlier by Cecilia—and marched to the door.
The Canton Sea Grand Hotel shimmered beneath the warm glow of city lights. Its marble floor gleamed like still water, and the private dining room Cecilia had booked in advance was tucked away behind heavy wood-paneled doors, exuding luxury and exclusivity.
Jessica arrived precisely on time. Not a minute late, not a second early.
Spencer King was already there, seated by the window, exuding effortless elegance in a charcoal-gray suit, one hand resting on a glass of water, the other flicking through something on his phone.
He looked up as she entered. His eyes—sharp, dark, unreadable—tracked her silently.
Jessica approached with slow, measured steps, her heels making soft taps against the polished floor. "Mr. King," she greeted coolly, her voice smooth and professional.
He studied her expression. Her features were calm, but her eyes were distant.
"Miss Cooper," he returned, standing to pull out her chair.
She nodded politely, setting her purse down before reaching into it. "Before we eat, I wanted to give you something. It's not much—just a token of appreciation."
She handed him a modestly sized box wrapped in navy paper with a silver ribbon.
"This one's from Cecilia," she added, placing a second, smaller gift next to it. "She couldn't make it."
Spencer took the box but said nothing, his fingers brushing briefly against hers—searching, testing. There was no tremble. No hesitation. No guilt.
He narrowed his eyes slightly. "I see," he said, setting the gifts aside.
The waiter arrived shortly after to take their orders. Jessica chose something light—seafood risotto and lemon tea—praying the food wouldn't make her nauseous. Thankfully, her stomach remained calm.
Throughout the meal, she kept the conversation strictly surface-level.
"Thank you again for helping us the other night. I know you were under no obligation to intervene at the bar."
Spencer's expression remained unreadable. "You're welcome," he replied smoothly, taking a sip of wine. "It was… memorable."
Jessica smiled politely, her posture perfect, her voice detached. "I'm glad things were resolved without too much drama. Gabriel's doing better now."
"Is that why you invited me to dinner?" Spencer asked, setting down his fork. "To thank me?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"No other reason?"
She lifted her teacup, hiding her face momentarily. "No. Just that."
Silence settled between them, thick and stretching.
Spencer's jaw tensed. He leaned back, folding his arms. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Miss Cooper?"
Jessica set her cup down gently. "I believe I've said everything that needed to be said. Thank you again, Mr. King. It means a lot."
His gaze pierced through her like a blade.
She didn't flinch.
Not once.
After dessert, the waiter returned with the bill—already settled, courtesy of Mr. King.
As they stepped out of the private room and into the hotel corridor, Spencer gestured toward the valet. "I'll drive you home."
Jessica shook her head immediately. "Thank you, but I've already called a cab."
His lips tightened into a thin line. "You're not feeling well. I can see it."
"I'm fine." Her voice was firm but polite. "Really."
A silver cab pulled up at the curb.
She gave him a nod. "Good night, Mr. King. And thank you again."
Without another word, she opened the door and slipped inside, vanishing behind the glass and taillights.
Spencer stood there in silence, hands in his pockets, watching the cab disappear into the city.
The wind tugged at his coat, but he didn't move.
She wasn't going to tell him.
She had no intention of telling him.
His eyes darkened. So that's how she wants to play it…
But if she thought he was going to let this go—
She was very, very mistaken.