The setting makes me hyper-aware of him—the way he leans in, the deliberate slowness of his movements, the weight of his gaze like he’s already peeling back my clothes. I square my shoulders and reach for the menu, putting it up as a shield between us.

I’m here for business. And that’s all.

But the intimacy of the atmosphere says otherwise, like this meeting isn’t about interior design and hotel renovations. There’s an undercurrent of something else—something personal. And that’s dangerous.

I need this deal. I have no choice but to entertain it, even if it feels like playing with fire.

Tyson's eyes flick to mine over the top of his menu and I force another smile, ignoring the unease twisting in my stomach. Deep down, I know nothing about tonight is going to be business as usual if he has anything to say about it.

Tyson orders a bottle of red. Expensive. Very expensive. I wouldn’t have known that six months ago, but one becomes acquainted with the finer things in life when you date a billionaire for three months.

“Only the best for this beautiful woman,” he tells the server, handing him the wine list.

I press my lips together, swallowing the irritation rising in my throat. Flashing his wealth, his dominance—it’s his way of setting the tone. But I won’t let him steer this evening off course.

“I appreciate the gesture, but I’m fine with water.”

Tyson waves a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. You’ll love this one.”

His gaze lingers, dark and assessing. “I love a woman who knows what she wants, but tonight, let me spoil you.”

Behind my tight smile, frustration simmers, but I bury it deep. “I’d prefer to talk specifics about the hotel.”

I reach into my bag for my notepad, flipping it open to my prepared list of questions.

He leans back in his chair, watching me. Amused. “Always straight to business with you, huh?”

“That’s what this dinner is about––business.”

He shakes his head, a low chuckle escaping him. “No wonder your work is so bold. Unforgettable… just like you.”

My spine stiffens.

Compliments from clients aren’t unusual, but the way he says it—like it’s not my designs he’s talking about—makes unease creep under my skin.

I meet his gaze head-on, offering a polite smile. “Thank you. I take a lot of pride in what I do.”

“Pride. Focus. Dedication. You leave little room for distraction.”

I keep my grip firm on the pen in my hand. Stay cautious, Magnolia.

Alex’s warning echoes in my head—his gritted words about Tyson’s reputation, his games. He doesn’t play fair. He’ll come at you from every angle. I know that much.

My guts say I should run far and fast from Tyson McRae, but I need this job.