Grayson, mid-stride, stopped walking. Under the harsh neon glow, backlighting carved his features into something sharp, deliberate, unyielding. He looked down at her with cool, unhurried authority.
Isla shrank back, meeting that piercing stare, and stammered, "I I genuinely don't have any money."
Her eyes stayed timid, damp lashes still clumped from crying.
She held his gaze bottomless, unreadable, impossibly deep.
Isla's hands clenched, pulse hammering in her throat.
This is a bad look, I know. But one meal with this man could run me nearly ten million dollars.
Even that brief silent standoff felt suffocating the sheer weight of him just staring, saying nothing, was terrifying on its own.
Just as Isla's resolve started to c***k, Grayson's low, even voice cut through. "If I recall c
