The Mondrian's rooftop was a place built for seduction. Strings of golden lights hung above private cabanas, and the pool gleamed like liquid sapphire. The city stretched below, alive and glittering, but up here the air felt rarified, as if power itself had booked every table.
Claire stepped out of the elevator, heels clicking against the polished floor. The dress she wore was sleek, black, simple, chosen deliberately. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of mistaking her for another socialite on his arm. This was business, nothing more.
At least, that's what she kept telling herself.
A man in a dark suit approached, bowing slightly. "Ms. Sullivan. Mr. Westbrook is expecting you."
Of course he was. He probably expected her every move.
She followed the man across the rooftop until she spotted Leo. He sat at a secluded table on the terrace's edge, the skyline behind him, jacket draped carelessly over his chair. A glass of wine glowed ruby in the candlelight, untouched. His gaze was fixed on her the moment she stepped into view.
Claire's stomach tightened, but she forced herself to meet his stare head-on. She would not blink first.
"Ms. Sullivan," he said as she approached, rising to his feet. "Punctual. I admire that."
"Mr. Westbrook," she replied coolly, sliding into the chair opposite. "I had half a mind not to come."
"And yet, here you are." He sat, the faintest curve to his mouth. "Curiosity always wins."
She arched a brow. "You assume I'm curious about you."
"Aren't you?"
The waiter arrived before she could answer, setting down menus. Leo waved them away. "We'll take the chef's selection. And a bottle of the '09 Bordeaux."
Claire bristled. "You might at least ask what I want."
Leo's eyes gleamed. "You want answers. You'll get them. Dinner is just a distraction."
Her pulse skipped. He spoke like he already knew her, like he'd peeled back layers she hadn't offered. She tightened her grip on her napkin. "I came for information, not for theatrics."
"Then let's skip the pretense," Leo said smoothly. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze intent. "Why do you really want me on record, Claire?"
She hesitated, thrown by the intimacy of her first name on his lips. "You're powerful, controversial, and secretive. My readers deserve to know what kind of man sits behind the empire."
"That's the professional answer."
"It's the truth."
He smiled faintly, shaking his head. "It's part of the truth. But you're not here only as a journalist. You're here as a woman who wants to know what's real beneath the façade."
Her throat tightened. She forced a laugh. "You sound very sure of yourself."
"I am."
The waiter poured their wine, retreating silently. Claire took a sip, steadying herself. She couldn't afford to let him dominate the conversation.
"Tell me about Dominic," she said suddenly.
The flicker in his eyes was almost imperceptible, but she saw it.
"Why bring him up?" Leo asked.
"Because he's your shadow," she countered. "Every empire has one. From what I gather, Dominic wants to tear yours down."
His gaze sharpened. "Careful, Ms. Sullivan. My brother is not your subject. He is mine."
Claire met his warning with steel. "Then you admit there's tension."
"I admit nothing." His voice was cool now, distant. "Dominic and I disagree on philosophy."
"That's a diplomatic way to describe blood-deep rivalry."
Leo's smile returned, colder this time. "And what do you gain by probing it?"
"Perspective." She held his gaze. "Stories aren't built on numbers. They're built on people. And people break."
"Not all of them."
"You included?"
"Yes," he said without hesitation.
The certainty in his tone unsettled her. Most men would have deflected, bragged, or dodged. He simply declared himself unbreakable, as if it were fact.
Their food arrived, artfully plated dishes neither of them touched. The tension had become the real meal, and both knew it.
Claire set her fork down. "Tell me something true, Leo. Something you don't tell the papers or your board."
He tilted his head, studying her. "You first."
Her pulse raced. She hadn't expected him to turn the demand back on her.
"I asked you," she said carefully.
"And I answered with a condition." His voice dropped lower, intimate. "You want my truth? Then give me yours."
She hesitated, then said, "Fine. I've broken more engagements than I can count. Not because I'm cruel. Because I never trusted any of them enough to stay."
For the first time, surprise flickered across his face.
Leo sat back, considering her. "So the rumors are true."
"Mostly," she admitted. "But the papers never asked why. You did."
"And the why matters."
"It does."
He nodded slowly. "Then here's mine: I don't believe in love. Not anymore."
Claire blinked. She hadn't expected such bluntness. "Why not?"
"Because love is a weakness men exploit. And I don't tolerate weakness."
The silence between them thickened, charged. Claire felt her heart hammering, but she masked it with a cool smile. "Then I suppose I should thank you for saving me the trouble of falling."
Leo's lips curved. "Who said you wouldn't?"
Her cheeks heated, and she cursed herself for the flush.
The waiter returned, clearing untouched plates. Leo rose, extending a hand. "Walk with me."
Claire considered refusing, but curiosity, and something sharper won. She slipped her hand into his. His grip was warm, steady, confident without force.
They walked to the railing, the city sprawling beneath them like a kingdom of lights. Leo leaned close enough that she caught the faint scent of his cologne.
"You asked me for something true," he murmured. "Here's another: you intrigue me, Claire. And that makes you dangerous."
She forced herself to meet his gaze. "Then maybe you should stay away."
"Maybe." His voice brushed like velvet against steel. "But I won't."
The night wrapped around them, thick with unspoken challenges. Claire knew then that the
game had begun in earnest, and neither of them intended to lose.