Chapter 8 - THEIR FIRST DATE ENDED WITH CLARA WALKING AWAY FROM HIM
Dominic chose a restaurant in Andersonville.
Small.
Italian.
No private dining room.
No visible security.
Clara arrived ten minutes early.
Dominic was already there.
Of course.
He stood when she approached.
She immediately said:
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She laughed.
“I’m nervous.”
“So am I.”
Clara stared.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You negotiate port acquisitions.”
“Those have models.”
She smiled.
“And I don’t?”
“You have too many variables.”
“That sounded insulting.”
“It was admiration.”
They sat.
Dominic was terrible at small talk.
Clara told him.
“You ask questions like deposition.”
“What do normal people ask?”
“Movies.”
“I don’t watch them.”
“Music.”
“Mostly opera.”
“Of course.”
“What does that mean?”
“You have villain hobbies.”
Dominic stared.
Then laughed.
The waiter looked startled.
Apparently laughter rare publicly too.
Clara ordered pasta.
Not salad.
She noticed herself noticing.
Years earlier, dates were performances.
Eat small.
Take little space.
Order what proved discipline.
Tonight she wanted pasta.
Dominic did not comment.
Good.
Conversation moved.
Childhood.
Clara grew up outside Des Moines.
Father mechanic.
Mother school secretary.
Fiona younger by two years.
Clara had been “smart one.”
Then “big one.”
Then “quiet one.”
Labels became walls.
Dominic listened.
No reassurance speeches.
He did not say:
You’re beautiful anyway.
Clara would have hated “anyway.”
He said:
“Richard counted on those labels.”
“Yes.”
“What labels did people give you?”
Dominic paused.
“That’s not how people talk to me.”
“Tonight it is.”
He thought.
“Dangerous.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
Honest.
“Cold.”
“Sometimes.”
“Criminal.”
Silence.
Clara raised eyebrow.
He said:
“Rumors exceed facts.”
“That is politician answer.”
“I’m not politician.”
“Worse.”
He almost smiled.
Clara leaned back.
“Do you want to tell me?”
“No.”
Good.
She accepted.
“No obligation.”
Dominic’s expression shifted.
Most people around him wanted access.
Secrets.
Proof.
Clara wanted boundaries.
He liked that.
Perhaps too much.
Dinner went well until dessert.
A man approached table.
Late forties.
Expensive coat.
He greeted Dominic in Italian.
Dominic’s face hardened.
The man glanced at Clara.
“New accountant?”
Clara froze.
Dominic said:
“This is Clara Bennett.”
The man smiled.
Recognition.
“Ah.”
That sound.
Clara hated it.
“You’re famous.”
“No.”
“Richard Hayes’ girl.”
Clara’s body went cold.
Dominic stood.
Too fast.
The man’s smile disappeared.
Clara stood too.
“Dominic.”
He looked at her.
“Sit.”
His eyes flashed.
Wrong direction.
“Not him.”
Clara’s voice sharpened.
“You.”
Silence.
Dominic sat.
The man stared.
Clara looked at him.
“I’m nobody’s girl.”
He raised hands.
“I meant employee.”
“I’m not Richard’s employee.”
“I apologize.”
“Good.”
He left.
Dominic’s jaw tight.
Clara sat.
“What were you going to do?”
“Ask him to leave.”
“That is not what your face said.”
“My face has reputation.”
“Your face needs governance.”
He laughed unwillingly.
Then Clara noticed her hands shaking.
Dominic noticed too.
He leaned forward.
Stopped himself.
“Do you want to leave?”
“Yes.”
His expression fell.
Not because she rejected him.
Concern.
Clara stood.
Outside, cold air.
Dominic remained several feet away.
“My car can—”
“No.”
“Right.”
Clara opened rideshare app.
Hands still shaking.
Dominic said:
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t invite him.”
“No.”
“But?”
“You shouldn’t have to manage my reaction when someone insults you.”
She looked at him.
“That’s good.”
“I wanted to protect you.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“That can become control fast.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
The car arrived.
Clara opened door.
Dominic did not touch.
Then she turned.
“Dinner wasn’t bad.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Before?”
“Before your face tried to commit felony.”
“I did nothing.”
“Progress.”
She smiled.
He smiled back.
“Second date?”
Clara thought.
“Maybe.”
Good.
Not yes because he wanted.
Not no because fear demanded.
Maybe.
The second date happened three weeks later.
Museum.
Public.
No dinner.
No man approached.
Dominic knew nothing about modern art.
Clara knew less.
They mocked one sculpture until security guard glared.
Third date:
Bookstore café.
Dominic bought three books.
Clara bought romance novel and dared him comment.
He did not.
Fourth:
Walk by lake.
No security nearby.
Or none she could detect.
She asked.
“No.”
“Truth?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then he said:
“Marco followed us once during second date.”
Clara stopped.
“What?”
“I didn’t authorize.”
“But?”
“He thought necessary.”
“What did you do?”
“Suspended him from personal security detail for week.”
Clara stared.
“That seems excessive.”
“Boundary mattered.”
Her anger softened.
“You told him?”
“Yes.”
“Why tell me?”
“Because hiding it to preserve your comfort would repeat problem.”
Clara exhaled.
“Good.”
Then:
“Marco hates me.”
“He fears you.”
“Excellent.”
Months passed.
Work remained separate.
Board knew relationship.
Dominic recused.
Clara’s salary review handled by committee.
Once she received raise.
Dominic learned after she did.
Perfect.
Their first kiss happened after almost seven months.
Outside Clara’s apartment.
Biscuit yelling through door.
Dominic asked:
“Can I kiss you?”
Clara’s heart pounded.
The warehouse flashed briefly.
His face close.
Hands on chair.
Command.
Then present returned.
He stood still.
Waiting.
Clara said:
“No.”
Dominic nodded.
“Okay.”
No disappointment performance.
No persuasion.
She entered apartment.
Closed door.
Cried.
Not because she did not want kiss.
Because she did.
And fear arrived first.
Therapy.
Time.
Another month.
Dominic never asked again.
That mattered.
Finally Clara invited him up for dinner.
Biscuit attacked shoelace.
Dominic looked personally offended.
After dishes, Clara stood.
“Dominic.”
“Yes?”
“Kiss me.”
He froze.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He stepped closer slowly.
Clara did not retreat.
When he kissed her, it was gentle enough that she almost laughed.
“This is not you,” she whispered.
“What?”
“You act like I’m explosive.”
“You told me bodies remember.”
Clara’s eyes filled.
He remembered.
“I’m okay.”
He kissed again.
This time she leaned in.
The kiss did not erase warehouse.
Nothing would.
But it gave her body another memory of his closeness.
One she chose.
Later, Dominic left.
No pressure to stay.
Clara sat with Biscuit.
Touched lips.
Then laughed.
“Terrible idea.”
Biscuit blinked.
No opinion.
Clara realized something.
Richard had built entire scheme on idea she would never be central in anyone’s story.
Now the dangerous part was not becoming central to Dominic’s.
May you like
It was making sure she remained central to her own.
That rule would guide everything that followed.
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