There were worse things than being single at twenty-eight.
Like sitting in a candlelit restaurant wearing a silk blouse she couldn't afford anymore, waiting for a man her mother swore was "perfect marriage material."
Sophia Dawson resisted the urge to check her phone for the fourth time in two minutes. She knew better. If her parents' matchmaking history was any indication, this mystery man was probably allergic to sarcasm, emotionally stunted, or—her personal favorite—a forty-year-old real estate agent who still lived with his mom.
She'd sworn she was done doing things out of guilt. And yet, here she was.
The waiter cleared his throat beside her, eyes darting toward the empty seat across from her. "Would you like to order while you wait?"
Sophia forced a polite smile. "I'll give it a few more minutes. Thanks."
Her gaze flicked to the polished glass doors again. If he stood her up, she could at least say she tried. That would get her parents off her back for a few weeks.
"You'll love him, honey," her mom had said, shoving a velvet dress into her arms that morning. "He's handsome, smart, and from a great family. Ambitious, like you used to be."
Used to be. The words had cut sharper than her mother intended. Sophia's jaw tightened at the memory.
No one said it outright, but the message was clear: since leaving her high-pressure job in finance and walking away from Ryan—the golden boy ex who'd cheated on her with his assistant—Sophia had become the family disappointment.
She reached for her wine. Screw the blind date. She'd finish her drink, text Jazz the code word ("bail"), and Uber home to a bath and zero judgment.
She'd just taken a sip when she noticed him.
Tall. Dark suit. Broad shoulders. Expensive watch. A touch of five-o'clock scruff that made her skin tighten.
He was scanning the room like he hated being there.
Her stomach dropped as he moved toward her.
No. Way.
He didn't look like a "Daniel" or "Brad," or whatever name her mom had given. He looked like trouble. Like he belonged in a courtroom or a luxury boardroom—somewhere ruthless.
He stopped in front of her table. "Sophia?"
Her brows lifted. "That depends. Are you my date or just really confident about stealing my wine?"
He smirked. Not a smile—more like a flicker of amusement he didn't let fully form. "I'm your date."
She blinked. "Seriously?"
He sat without asking, legs crossing effortlessly, like this was his table and she was the intruder. "Nathan Sterling. My mother set this up with yours, apparently."
Sterling. The name triggered something in the back of her mind. Something familiar.
He extended a hand.
Sophia hesitated before shaking it. Firm. Warm. Dangerous.
"Nathan," she repeated slowly. "Fancy."
He didn't flinch. "My friends call me Nate."
"Do you have many?"
That earned her the full smile—brief, sharp, like he wasn't used to anyone talking back.
Sophia mentally kicked herself. Why was she flirting?
Focus. Reset.
She picked up her menu. "So, Nate. What is it you do?"
His lips twitched. "Corporate law. Mergers. Acquisitions."
Sophia narrowed her eyes. "Exciting stuff."
He shrugged. "It pays the bills."
"And how many of your bill-paying hobbies have you discussed with your therapist?"
He chuckled under his breath. "So this is how tonight's going to go."
"I'm just trying to get through this with minimal small talk," she said. "Nothing personal."
"None taken." He leaned back, watching her with a quiet intensity that made her shift in her seat. "I didn't want to be here either."
"Charming."
"Just honest."
Something about the way he said it—low, steady—made her pause. She should've hated his smugness, but it didn't feel like arrogance. It felt like armor.
Like hers.
Their food came, and the conversation moved in reluctant starts. Nate was quick-witted and maddeningly observant. He didn't ask the usual shallow questions. Instead, he commented on things most men ignored.
"You keep checking the exits," he noted.
"Habit," she said. "From all the bad dates."
"And you stir your wine before drinking it. Like you're bracing yourself."
She arched a brow. "And you always analyze your dates like a case file?"
He smiled, barely. "Only when they're interesting."
The nerve. The audacity. The slight thrum in her chest.
Damn it.
Halfway through the entrée, she leaned forward. "Can I ask something blunt?"
"Please."
"Why are you still single?"
He looked at her like he'd been waiting for the question. "Because relationships in my world are transactional. I'm not interested in performance. Or obligations."
She nodded slowly. "So naturally, you agreed to a blind date."
He smirked. "Because saying no to my mother is harder than facing a courtroom of sharks."
"Relatable," she muttered.
They fell into a silence that felt… less awkward than it should've.
Until he said, "So, you worked in finance?"
Sophia froze. "How did you know that?"
He took a sip of his drink. "It came up in conversation."
"Conversation with who?"
His jaw ticked. Subtle. Controlled. But it was there.
Sophia stared. "Wait. Sterling. You said your name was Nathan Sterling."
He didn't answer.
Suddenly the dots connected. Her ex-boyfriend, Ryan Carter—smug, selfish, and full of himself—used to work under a senior partner named Sterling.
Her blood ran cold. "You're Ryan's boss."
He didn't blink. "Former boss. He left the firm."
"Unbelievable," she whispered, pushing back her chair. "My mother set me up with my ex's boss?"
"Technically," Nate said, calm as ever, "you sat down before you asked my last name."
"Oh, don't put this on me." She was standing now, heart hammering. "You knew exactly who I was."
"I did."
"And you didn't think that was worth mentioning?"
His eyes darkened, and when he spoke, his voice was low. "If I had, would you have stayed?"
Sophia hesitated.
He gave a small nod. "Exactly."
There was a beat of silence thick enough to drown in.
Sophia's lips parted, ready to argue—but nothing came out.
She hated that he was right. Hated it more that he knew he was right.
And most of all, she hated the flutter in her stomach that hadn't shut up since he sat down.
Nate leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on her with the kind of focus that made it feel like the room had shrunk around them. "If I'd told you who I was, you would've walked out before the appetizers. You never would've let this…," his gaze flicked down to her lips and back, "conversation happen."
"You mean this charming little ego showcase?" she said sweetly.
His mouth twitched. "You're enjoying it."
Sophia crossed her arms. "What makes you think that?"
"Because you're still here."
She blinked, caught. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Maybe I was just stunned by your audacity."
"I've been told it's part of my charm."
She leaned back in her seat, slow and deliberate, like she was deciding whether to throw her wine in his face or sip it like a queen.
"Tell me something, Nate," she said, voice silk-wrapped steel. "Did you plan this little ambush? Show up, let me embarrass myself, all so you could get a front-row seat to the chaos that is your former employee's ex-girlfriend?"
"If that was the plan, I clearly underestimated you." He folded his hands on the table. "You're far more entertaining than Ryan ever made you sound."
Sophia's eyebrows shot up. "He talked about me at work?"
Nate tilted his head, unapologetic. "Only when he thought he was winning."
A beat. "Wow. That's… profoundly gross."
"Agreed."
Their eyes met. Mutual understanding—or mutual disdain—passed between them. Maybe both.
"You really didn't like him, did you?" she asked, curious despite herself.
He exhaled, like he didn't plan to say more. But then, "He was arrogant without the skill to back it up. Sloppy. Entitled. Always looking for shortcuts."
Sophia blinked. That wasn't the version of Ryan she'd dated. But maybe that was the point.
"Then why keep him around?"
"I didn't," Nate said simply. "He quit before I could fire him."
"Let me guess," she drawled. "He didn't take that well either."
Nate chuckled. "He stormed out, said he was too good to be someone's 'corporate lapdog.' Quoted Kanye. It was… a moment."
Sophia laughed before she could stop herself—sharp, genuine.
Nate watched her with an expression she couldn't quite read. Like he'd just found something unexpected and wasn't sure whether to touch it or protect it.
She caught the look and straightened in her seat, clearing her throat. "So. Let's recap. You knew who I was, didn't tell me, and then sat here like the world's most smug courtroom villain."
"I said I'm a lawyer," he said mildly. "Not a saint."
She rolled her eyes. "Well, thank you for clarifying. I was about to mistake you for a Hallmark prince."
He leaned in, his voice dropping. "Don't worry, I'm not here to sweep you off your feet."
Something wicked and warm fluttered in her chest.
"Good," she said tightly. "Because I'm not the type who needs saving."
His eyes glinted. "I know. That's why you're still interesting."
Sophia stared at him, unsure whether to be flattered or offended—or both. "You keep using that word like I'm a puzzle you want to solve."
"Maybe I like puzzles."
"Maybe I bite."
He smirked. "Maybe I'm into that."
The silence that followed was charged. More dangerous than the last.
Sophia exhaled, picking up her glass and swirling the wine inside. "So what happens now? You win the banter battle and I… what? Finish my risotto and fall in love with my ex's boss?"
"I'd settle for dessert," he said smoothly. "But I'm open to negotiation."
She gave him a look, full of bite and disbelief. "You're unbelievable."
"And yet," he murmured, "you haven't walked away."
She hated that he kept pointing that out. Hated more that he wasn't wrong.
Sophia stood—slowly, this time—not to flee, but to test him.
He watched her rise, completely unbothered. "Running away, Dawson?"
"You really think I run?"
"I think you hate not being in control."
That hit a little too close.
Sophia grabbed her clutch. "I'm going to the bar," she said coolly. "If you're still amusing in five minutes, maybe I'll come back."
His smile was pure trouble. "I'll buy you the good whiskey. Neat, right?"
She paused. "How do you—?"
"I remember things," he said, shrugging. "Even the ones I'm not supposed to."
Damn it.
She turned without answering, heels clicking confidently toward the bar. But her heart was thudding in her chest, adrenaline humming like electricity through her limbs.
She wasn't supposed to like this.
She wasn't supposed to want to like this.
When she slid onto the barstool, she peeked over her shoulder.
Nate was still at the table, watching her. Not predatory—just… interested. Steady.
When the bartender approached, she didn't even have to speak. A glass of top-shelf whiskey appeared in front of her a moment later.
She took a sip. Warmth. Burn. Clarity.
And when she looked back again—
He was gone.
No. Wait. There he was. Approaching.
With his own drink and a look that said he was just getting started.
"Miss me already?" she asked, eyebrow raised.
"I figured if you were going to walk out, you would've done it by now."
She smirked. "You're awfully confident for a man who just admitted to manipulation."
Nate leaned against the bar, elbow brushing hers. "I didn't manipulate. I omitted."
"Oh, semantics. How legal of you."
He clinked his glass to hers. "Wouldn't want to disappoint the stereotype."
Sophia hesitated, then said, "Tell me something real."
He blinked. "What?"
"You're all polish and strategy. But if we're doing this—whatever this is—I want something real."
A pause. Something flickered behind his eyes.
Then he said, quietly, "I haven't been in a real relationship in five years. Not since law school. Everything after that's been… convenient."
Sophia frowned. "Why?"
He looked at her, then said, "Because if you don't let anyone in, they can't use you to climb."
Her breath caught.
Okay. That, she hadn't expected.
Before she could reply, he added, "Your turn."
She swallowed. "Fine. Real? I didn't leave finance because I was 'burnt out.' I left because I caught Ryan in our apartment with someone else, and I didn't want to feel that small ever again."
He stared at her. Not shocked. Just… quiet.
"You're not small," he said, voice low. "Not even close."
Sophia blinked, caught off guard. A flush crept up her neck.
The air between them changed. Heavier. Softer.
And for once, she didn't rush to fill it with words.
Eventually, she looked up at him and said, "You know, this doesn't make you any less infuriating."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
She smirked. "Good. I don't like easy."
Nate raised his glass again. "Then we're going to get along just fine."
She stared at him—at the man she'd started to enjoy talking to. The man who somehow felt more real in an hour than Ryan ever did in a year.
"Good night, Nathan," she said tightly, turning toward the door.
He didn't try to stop her.
But as she pushed open the restaurant door, she heard him say quietly behind her—
"I wasn't lying when I said I didn't want to be here. But I don't regret it now."