Lunch with Lucian

The restaurant was sleek and glassy, perched above Bryant Park with just enough privacy to feel exclusive, but not so secluded that it seemed like a date. That was important, Kieran thought bitterly as he walked—no, glided—across the marble floor to where Lucian Devereaux was already seated.

He spotted her instantly.

Lucian rose as she approached, tall and impeccably tailored in a graphite suit, his dark hair styled back in an effortless sweep. His shirt was crisp white, collar undone just enough to suggest casual power, the top button left artfully open. He smiled as she drew near, and it wasn’t just polite—it was interested.

Kieran wanted to roll his eyes.

But Kiara?

She smiled back. Sweetly. Smoothly. One hand touched the charm at her collarbone, the other smoothed the side of her skirt as she took her seat with perfect posture—knees together, ankles tucked, spine long. Her handbag rested beside her, perfectly aligned.

“Kiara Laurent,” Lucian said, sitting back down. “The infamous enigma.”

She tilted her head ever so slightly. “Infamous? I hope not.”

“Not in a bad way,” he replied, voice rich, his gaze shamelessly appreciative. “Just… rare. Mysterious. Beautiful. All the things the media loves.”

Kieran internally flinched. Oh, great. Here it comes.

“Well,” Kiara said lightly, keeping her voice airy, “if mystery and good lighting sell skincare, I’m happy to oblige.”

Lucian smiled like he knew she was playing. And he liked it.

They moved into business quickly—thankfully. Lucian had come prepared. His tablet displayed early-stage market analytics, consumer sentiment charts, and brand affinity data from the European pilot run of the Maison de Lune crossover line. He was sharp, confident, and clearly used to being the smartest man in the room.

Which only made Kieran hate him more.

Kiara, however, played it perfectly. She nodded when appropriate, asked precise, thoughtful questions, and held her gaze steady when she challenged one of his figures. There was a moment—maybe two—when he looked genuinely surprised by how well she understood the numbers.

“I heard you were more of a face than a strategist,” he said at one point, eyes glinting. “Guess I should’ve come more prepared.”

She smiled, teeth barely showing. “I find it’s always wise to be prepared around women who run empires.”

The stimulator inside her gave a low, slow twist just as she finished speaking, and she shifted in her seat almost imperceptibly, keeping her smile intact even as heat bloomed in her abdomen. The vibrator wasn’t even active—just the plug now, its steady presence keeping her constantly aware of her body in ways she hated to admit.

Lucian didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe he did.

He leaned back slightly, his arm stretching along the edge of the booth’s seat.

“So,” he said, voice shifting subtly, “what do you think of this partnership? Really. The buzz is good, sure. But I want to know how _you _feel.”

Kiara tilted her head, running her tongue lightly over the inside of her lip before answering—an ****, trained gesture. “I think it’s an opportunity to solidify Euphorica’s evolution,” she said. “We’ve mastered aspiration. Maison de Lune helps us root it in tradition and expand the myth globally. The right narrative, the right visuals, and the right pacing... it’s a power move.”

Lucian chuckled. “You speak like a campaign manager.”

Kieran folded his arms—mentally, at least.

Not flirting. Not engaging. Not even a little.

But Lucian wasn’t letting up.

“And what about you?” he asked. “This can’t be easy. You basically walked into the spotlight and took control of the family empire, just like that.”

Kiara blinked slowly, gracefully. “I wouldn’t say it was just like that.”

“Still,” he said, tilting his head toward her. “No formal interviews. No public history. You just appeared. Confident. Gorgeous. Unshakable.”

That word. Gorgeous.

Kieran bristled. But Kiara didn’t let it show.

Instead, she smiled. “If I’d known I’d get so many compliments just for doing my job, I would’ve taken the seat sooner.”

Lucian laughed, low and smooth. “Forgive me. I just think it’s rare. You don’t flinch. Most people—most men—fold under this kind of pressure.”

A flicker passed through Kieran then, sharp and bitter.

He wanted to snap back, to remind this arrogant bastard that he was doing more than any of those so-called men ever could. Wearing this outfit. With this cage. With this plug. With this voice and this smile and this goddamn act.

But instead, the mantra surfaced. Soft. Rehearsed. Drilled in.

My name is Kiara Laurent. I am confident, graceful, and poised. I speak with kindness, move with purpose, and dress with elegance. I know what I want. And I know how to get it.

She straightened her spine. Smiled again. “Pressure is a gift. It reveals who you are.”

Lucian stared at her a moment too long. Then nodded.

“Spoken like a CEO.”

The waiter arrived with their drinks—sparkling water for her, neat whiskey for him. As Lucian took a sip, his gaze lingered again, just for a moment, before he leaned forward slightly.

“So, Kiara,” he said, lowering his voice as if inviting her into something private. “Just out of curiosity... is there anyone in your life? Or do you belong entirely to the company?”

Kieran clenched his jaw behind her smile.

But Kiara tilted her head, lashes lowering. “I’ve learned to keep business and pleasure separate,” she said. “And I don’t mix either with gossip.”

It was perfectly delivered. Not flirtatious. Not cold. Just firm.

Lucian’s lips curved, like he appreciated the game. Or the challenge.

Either way, Kieran wanted to punch something.

And the plug inside her?

It pulsed again—almost like it was laughing.

The waiter set their entrées down with practiced efficiency—pan-seared salmon for Kiara, steak au poivre for Lucian—and retreated with the kind of silence exclusive to elite restaurants where discretion was just as important as seasoning.

Lucian didn’t even glance at his food. His eyes were still on her.

“Tell me,” he said, voice velvet smooth, “what’s your perfect day off look like?”

Kiara reached for her fork with a soft, graceful motion—elbows close, wrist bent with that natural delicacy that had become instinct now, not affectation. Her voice remained light. “That’s assuming I take days off.”

Lucian smirked. “Come on. No girl’s that devoted. You’re too... balanced. You must have a secret.”

She gave him the tiniest shrug, lifting one bare shoulder just enough to make the silk blouse shift against the curve of her chest. The breast forms underneath responded the way real ones might have—bouncing faintly under her bra, the illusion seamless.

Kieran hated that it worked. That even he was starting to forget where Kiara ended and he began.

“I read,” she said, slicing delicately into her salmon. “A lot of biographies. Historical memoirs. Women in politics. Anyone who managed to wield power with a smile.”

Lucian tilted his head, watching her.

“Fitting.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re one of them.”

She looked up. Made eye contact. Held it. Inside, Kieran winced.

Outwardly, Kiara smiled politely. “That’s generous of you.”

“I mean it,” he said. “There’s something about you. You don’t posture. You just... command. It’s rare.”

She didn’t respond. Took another bite. Chewed slowly. The stimulator inside her shifted slightly again—just enough to make her thighs flex around it without thought. The movement made her calves tighten beneath the pencil skirt, the garter brushing lightly along her skin.

Composure held. Barely.

Lucian leaned in slightly, elbows on the table now, posture just casual enough to be calculated.

“Honestly,” he continued, “I’m surprised you’re single. I don’t believe it.”

She looked at him, lashes lowering, and tilted her head in a slow, almost robotic elegance. Kieran wanted to slap the smirk off his face.

“I’m not really the type to be... pursued,” Kiara said, voice cool and smooth. “I intimidate too many men.”

Lucian’s eyes flickered with something that might’ve been challenge. “Or maybe they just know they have to bring their A-game.”

Kieran internally rolled his eyes so hard it was dizzying.

Jesus. Could this guy be more obvious?

But Kiara didn’t let any of that show. She just took another slow sip of her sparkling water, lips barely touching the rim. She swallowed. Let the silence stretch.

“Well,” she said, finally, “fortunately for me, I’ve never been particularly interested in impressing men.”

Lucian chuckled, low and appreciative. “Noted.”

And still, he didn’t stop.

“It’s just… rare to see someone look like you and still have this much control. It’s kind of mesmerizing.”

Kieran nearly choked on air.

But Kiara tilted her head again, her tone still soft, still charming—but firmer now. “And I find it rare for men in power to focus on performance instead of appearance.”

Lucian raised an eyebrow, then smiled. “Touché.”

The stimulator chose that moment to buzz just slightly deeper. She shifted in her seat subtly—legs still crossed at the ankle, posture perfect—but her eyes flickered down for half a second.

Lucian noticed.

She could tell.

But he didn’t say a word.

“I have to ask,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “when did you know this would be your life? CEO. Face of a global brand. Feminine icon.”

Kieran screamed internally.

But Kiara answered, as always, calm and practiced. “I didn’t ‘know.’ I just felt like Euphorica is my future, my home. The circumstances to get here were...unfortunate. But I'm glad the board decided to trust my pretty face to lead them after such a tragedy.”

Lucian smiled. “That’s...hot, Kiara. Sorry for your loss, but it is very admirable how you've picked yourself up.”

And that was it. The final straw.

Kieran wanted to scream, to snap something venomous and definitive across the table—but Kiara just took another slow breath. Smiled.

“Well,” she said with syrupy finality, “as long as someone finds corporate ambition attractive.”

Lucian chuckled, brushing a hand back through his perfectly styled hair. “You’re tough to crack.”

“That’s intentional.”

“I like it.”

Her smile remained. Glacial. Controlled.

But Kieran was boiling underneath.

Because the worst part wasn’t Lucian’s charm.

It wasn’t even the flirting.

It was the fact that Kiara was winning.

She was keeping up. Outplaying him. Keeping her dignity while letting him squirm in curiosity.

And somewhere in the back of Kieran’s mind, a thought crept in that chilled him to his bones:

You’re good at this.