The night was young, the doors were officially open for the first time and already the place was bustling with life spilling from the lounge into the dining room. Wait staff in black, carting trays laden with drinks, or food, or both, whirled on by with all the grace and elegant poise of dancers working a stage, gliding in and out to some unheard melody, finding a rhythm and meeting a demanded pace he could only admired.

Browsing the menu, offerings ranged from butter-braised lobster and a decadent wagyu burger, to roasted duck and hand-made pastas. The extensive wine list, he noted with appreciation, expertly matched the tone of the menu, carefully selected to compliment any meal or occasion. And for those who preferred the casual intimacy of the lounge and bar offered a variety of delicious, contemporary creations to please even the most discerning of palettes.

He saw her, standing by a table of women, smiling and laughing, in a chef's jacket of brilliant white. Sipping on rye and ginger, he took advantage of a moment to just sit, admire and enjoy the shapes and angles of her face.

Then, with all the canniness of a feline, sensing his gaze, her eyes shifted, found his. Well, he mused, no sense in pretending he wasn't enjoying the view, so he kept his attention trained on her and raised his glass with a smile.

She spent another couple of minutes doting on the table before she excused herself to swing over towards him.

"Hello," she smiled, leaning against the bar.

"Hello," he echoed. "First night in business and you're rammed. You must be thrilled and exhausted already."

"I am," she laughed, "and thankful I had the foresight to curb our hours from Thursday to Monday for the first few weeks while we find our feet before the Sphinx's September launch."

"A stroke of genius," he agreed with a nod. "Most wouldn't have been able to look past the loss of revenue to see the logic behind the plan. And as a result, would have found themselves, likely overwhelmed and overworked before the end of their first month."

"That was my rational." Taking a moment to enjoy herself and the casual conversation before she had to rush back into the kitchen for the heat of the next dinner rush, she leaned against the bar, smiled. "This is a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect to see you here."

"It's opening night," he replied, and almost laughed at her blank expression. "You promised me the best seat in the house, remember?"

"Oh god!" Sudden shock and dismay flashed across her face, her hands pressed to her cheeks, "Oh god, I completely forgot."

"I thought as much." Amused and enjoying her embarrassed flush, Gage took her hand and delighted himself in a brush of his lips against the curve of her knuckles. "You can make it up to me with a later dinner on Tuesday."

"We've gone out twice this week already."

"I need to see you again." He held the silence for one long, steamy beat. "I want to take you on a real date this time. Not a late breakfast, early lunch or an evening with a couple of drinks. I'll even let you decide where we go, if that's what it takes for you to say yes."

"I wish I could, but I've got...wedding stuff." Not an entire lie, she thought. Niobe likely had something planned that she'd forgotten. "Can I take a rain check?"

"Alright," Finished with his drink, he rose from his seat and fished out his wallet. "Why don't you let me know when is good for you? You pick the time, the place—I'll show up."

Stunned, she blinked. "You want me to ask you out on a date?"

"Sure. The sexes are equal these days, or so I heard." Gage winked and forked out a couple of twenties to cover his tab and still leave a considerable tip, returned the billfold to the bartender. "I promise to blush when you call. Ciao, Victory."

He brushed his lips over her cheek before turning to leave, and she watched him go, guilt and doubt snarled in her belly, but a replay of Derek flashed behind her eyes and kept her rooted.

No point in chasing after him. Not when her past was back to nip at her heels.

#

The next day, Victory immersed herself in prep to keep her hands busy and her mind on anything other than picking up the phone and calling Gage. This was the right thing to do. Though she knew he wasn't going to be dropped easily, Victory had plenty of practice with brushing off men. A couple of weeks of dodging and deflecting and Gage would forget all about Victory Clarke.

Hearing the slap of the backdoor and Jacqueline's lilting whistle, Victory glanced over her shoulder as she strolled in, setting down a box of chocolates with SOMA stamped on a gold label.

"Thanks, Jackie." Victory smiled, separating a yoke from whites. "I owe you."

"After seeing this bill, I'd say so." Jacqueline shook her head, handing over the receipt. "And thanks to you I'll be scarfing down decadent truffles for weeks. How did you find that place?"

For the millionth time that morning, Gage's face popped into her mind. "Oh, just...with a friend."

"Friend, huh? Wouldn't happen to be that handsome beefcake I saw you cozying up with at the bar last night?"

"Beefcake?" Victory snorted, cracking the final egg into the divot she formed in the flour. "Are we in high school?"

"Don't try and evade the question by lecturing me on word choices." Jacqueline rounded the prep counter, wiggling pencil drawn red brows. "I've got a daughter, that move ain't going to fly by me."

Right, Victory thought with a laugh, Jacqueline had the carefully honed instincts of a mother, making her radar and defenses impenetrable. "His name is Gage. Well, actually, Ryder Donovan."

Jacqueline's brows, red as her brilliant mop of thick hair, winged up with a stunned gasp. "Oh, Jesus, I thought I'd recognized him, but at the distance it was hard to get a clean look at the face. Isn't he the one in the papers?"

Fingers swirling the egg into the flour, she could only sigh. "Yes, unfortunately we've had the paparazzi on our trail. Sniffing us out." And not just the press, she almost added, but reigned in the words before they flew out of her.

Derek...flushed out by the glowing reviews, spotlighting her, her restaurant and the fact that she was the object of the infamous Ryder Donovan's attention.

The thought almost made her sick.

"So it's getting serious, eh?" Intrigued and oblivious to Victory's internal struggles, Jacqueline planted her forearms to the stainless steel counters and watched as she kneaded and worked the egg mixture through the dough.

Not anymore..."We only just started seeing each other," she answered the question with a causal—or what she hoped was a casual—shrug. "And it's not like it's—oh, hold that thought."

Elbow deep in pasta dough, Victory struggled with getting her phone out of her pocket, saw Isabel's name on screen for a moment before she'd flipped it open to answer. "Hey," she said, angling her head towards the counter where her phone was resting, "kind of busy, can I call you—?"

"This is your appointment reminder." Isabel cut in, the whoosh of cars whizzing in the background followed by the clattering of a streetcar. "About the dress hunting appointment Niobe asked me to squeeze in for today."

"I thought that was at two?"

"Rescheduled last night to twelve-thirty."

Groaning, Victory closed her eyes, muttered a silent oath. "Right. Dammit. Totally forgot."

"Thought you might. Hence the call."

"Okay. College and Clinton, right?"

"Yes, just west of Bathurst."

Crap. Victory wiggled sticky dough covered fingers. "Okay. Leaving in ten minutes. Should be there in fifteen and make it with a full minute to spare."

"You of all people should know that by Niobe's standards you're already late." Isabel laughed. "But do your best. I've got your mother on distraction duty."

"Bel, you're a Saint." Hanging up, Victory stood for a moment, staring at the scattering of flour and half-formed pasta dough, and let out a strangled groan.

Looking at the mess, then at Victory, Jacqueline cocked a hip, shook her head. "Ten minutes my ass! Not on your life. Move your butt, girl. Get out of here. I'll take over."

"Are you sure? I can't leave you to—"

"Go, go, your friend needs you." Hearing none of it, Jacqueline waved her away before Victory could open her mouth to form words, rolling up her sleeves with determination in her eyes. "This isn't the first time I've made pasta, won't be the last. I'll call Belinda and Matthew, let them know they need to swing by early to finish prep for tonight's service."

Leaning forward, Victory gave her a noisy kiss on her powder soft cheek. "I owe you. Huge. Seriously."

"I like imported chocolate and Swedish massages," she sang out as Victory snatched a hand towel and dashed towards the back door, fingers working the dough with swift and practiced movements. "And if you find a handsome man named Sven, I'll take two."