Bea ordered for herself.
For her father.
Then her eyes flicked toward me—quick, precise, professional.
“What do you want?” Like I was another line item she needed to process before moving on.
“I’ll take the steak,” I grumbled finally. “Rare.”
The server nodded, jotting it down, collecting the menus, stepping away.
The second the server was gone, the space changed.
Rafael leaned back again, one hand wrapping loosely around his glass, his attention settling back where it had been since the beginning.
On me.
“You’ve been with the team how long now?” he asked.
“Long enough.”
“Not long enough to be… permanent.”
Bea’s head turned sharply. “That’s not?—”
“It’s not what?” he asked mildly, not looking at her. “A fact?”
“It’s not relevant,” she groaned, less polished around the edges.
“It’s always relevant,” he replied.
Bea exhaled slowly, her fingers curling slightly against the edge of the table before she forced them flat again.
“He’s here for the his contract,” she explained, rebuildingcontrol in real time. “We have a strategy in place. It’s working.”
“Strategy,” Rafael repeated, considering it. “Interesting word.”
“It’s accurate,” she replied.
“And what happens when the strategy ends?” he asked.
Her jaw tightened. “We adjust.”
I leaned back slightly in my chair, the movement slow, deliberate, my gaze fixed on her the entire time. “And what am I in that?” I asked.
Her eyes flicked to mine—sharp, immediate.
“Alois—”
“No,” I bit, cutting her off without raising my voice. “Answer the question.”
Bea held my gaze for a second—just a second—before something in it hardened.
“You’re a client,” she hissed.
My hand curled slightly against the table, the movement small, controlled, my thumb pressing once against the side of my finger like I needed the contact to anchor it.
“You’re going to keep saying that,” I said.