Rachel's POV
I had a feeling that Vincent wanted this dinner to be somewhat private. The second we got to his building, he sent the driver home.
The penthouse was warm and something smelled good from the kitchen.
"You cooked," I said.
"I said I would." He took my coat and hung it in the entrance closet. "Everything's ready. Come in."
The dining table had been set for two, properly set — linen, the right glasses, candles that were already lit. The city was spread out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows the way it always was up here, the kind of view that looked exactly the same as the night sky in every expensive apartment in this city and never stopped being effective.
"Sit down," he said. "We can talk after."
"You said you wanted to talk," I said, pulling out my chair. "I'd like to
