Rebate King: Every Beauty I Spoil Makes Me a Billionaire

He came in. She saw him the moment he crossed the threshold.

The restaurant’s warm lamplight caught along his shoulders as he moved through the low-lit room. She watched him scan the space in the small unhurried way a man scanned a room he had been given directions to. His eyes found her almost immediately.

He started toward her.

And Amelia, Amelia Don, who had spent the past several years being the most collected person in every room she walked into, who could hold a boardroom to attention with a raised eyebrow, who had, only around a week ago, been the woman who had authorized a Vanguard maritime team on a hunch, sat in her corner table and watched him walk across the restaurant, and did not, in any honest sense, look away.

She took him in. The easy confident line of the way he moved. The small calm quality of his expression.

The subtle sharpening that had, in the several days since she’d last seen him in person, settled somewhere along his features, his skin cleaner, his shoulders squarer, the small quiet gravity of him more pronounced.

He looked, she thought, like a man who had recently done something serious and come back on the other side of it.

Her heart gave another involuntary thump. ’He’s even more handsome than I remember.’

She caught herself. ’Stop staring.’

She could not, entirely, stop staring. She watched him reach the table. Watched him pull out the chair opposite hers. Watched him sit down with the small easy grace of a man arriving at an ordinary dinner.

Only then did she realize that she had, in fact, been staring for slightly longer than was consistent with the small careful dignity she had been intending to project.

She looked down. Stan noticed the small shift in her expression.

He did not comment.

He smiled, the small easy relaxed smile that had, on more than one occasion in the past several weeks, done unfair things to her cardiac rhythm.

”How are you doing?”

”I’m doing well.”

He studied her for a beat. ”You look tired.”

”I just flew here.”

”That explains it.”

A small smile lifted the corner of her mouth despite herself.

”You’re the one who made me come all this way.”

Stan raised an eyebrow. ”I only told you I was back.”

”You knew I’d come.”

”I didn’t.”

She gave him a look. ”...Really.”

He laughed, a small warm laugh that undid the last of her professional composure by a small unhelpful degree.

”Alright. Maybe I suspected.”

That made her smile.

The small nervous tightness she had been carrying since he had walked in eased, one shade.

They did not, at first, discuss any of what she had come to discuss.

Stan asked about her work. She asked about his time away. They circled through the small pleasant ordinary topics. After all they’ve not seen one another in person for sometime and because they like one another’s company, they ended up the long way into the actual business.

She lightly complained about how much had accumulated on her desk over the past ten days.

He teased her about working too much.

She countered that someone had to keep track of the small ongoing catastrophes he apparently could not stop generating.

He laughed. She, quietly, noticed that she was enjoying herself.

Not the meeting. Not the intelligence. Not the small serious business she had flown across the country to raise with him.

Just, this. Being across from him. Talking to him without any of the small careful choreography of a scheduled encounter. Watching his hands rest lightly on the table. Watching his face when he listened to her. Watching the small unhurried focus he gave to whatever she happened to be saying at the moment she was saying it.

’I missed this.’

She subtly watched him whenever he was not looking at her.

His hands. His mouth. The small easy grace with which he lifted his water glass. The small crease at the corner of his eye when she said something that amused him.

Every small ordinary observation made the thing she had been quietly not-saying to herself, for weeks now, harder to keep unsaid.

Eventually, the conversation slowed.

Amelia took a small careful sip of her drink. Her expression settled into the more professional line she wore in boardrooms.

”Well apart from the Streak case, there was another reason I wanted to meet you.”

Stan looked at her. ”Yes, what’s that?”

She set her glass down. ”My network picked up something unusual over the past several days.”

He became attentive. ”Go on.”

She gave it to him plainly. Tremors in international intelligence traffic. Several governments quietly redirecting personnel and material toward polar research. A notable spike in encrypted communications. Research groups that ordinarily operated independently suddenly beginning to communicate with one another. Fragments of intercepted traffic that made repeated reference to an ”Antarctic incident.”

She watched him as she spoke. Not as a briefer.

After all she suspected the small serious thing she was reporting on and the man sitting across from her were more closely connected than either of them was going to admit at this table.

”I thought you might be interested.” Her tone was careful. ”You were in Antarctica recently.”

Stan’s expression did not change. ”Governments investigate strange things all the time.”

She studied his face. ”You don’t think it’s connected.”

He gave a small, mild shrug. ”Maybe. Maybe not.” A beat. ”I wouldn’t worry about it yet.”

She did not, entirely, believe him.

But she had learned, over the small careful time of getting to know him, that when Stan did not want to discuss something, pressure accomplished nothing.

He simply, quietly, moved around it, and the person doing the pressuring ended up talking to the outside of a very polite wall.

She nodded. ”Alright.”

Internally, she thought: ’He’s hiding something.’

She did not know what. Strangely, she found that she was, increasingly, over time, one of the things she liked about him.