She shouldn’t be here.

Cognitively, Ivory knows this. Her mind was screaming about the red flags in your invitation since she got it. If she were smart, she would have stayed home. Never even considered letting you take her out to dinner, for “market discussions” or for whatever damn excuse you decided to pour out of your mouth. You were a slow-acting poison, belladonna’s child incarnate. Agreeing was just one more step before you try to pull her into a deal with the devil. You were a CEO, just as she was- she knew just as well as you did how much went into these little decisions. No invitation like this was made in good faith.

Yet here she was. Shoulders back and posture straight, in a dress that she would have sworn two months ago that you would never see her in, at a high-end restaurant with too-small portions and a bottle of expensive wine between the two of you. You were there, looking far too good for your own good as she plays with her food, pretending not to notice. You had yet to say a word to her after greeting her and pouring her a glass, eyes down on your food as you eat in polite bites. Yet to really tell her why she was really here. What game were you playing? Was this some ploy to make her sweet to you? She will never surrender. You won’t get her company, no matter how often you offer. No matter if you pled, if you begged on your knees for her-

She wrinkles her face at the thought, trying to cancel the end of that line before she gets… distracted.

Damnit all… just what have you done to her? You’ve been after her for months, now, with your sweet voice and your little promises that had no real meaning behind them, and your contracts with just enough plausible deniability to insist you wanted a collaboration instead of full control. Tried to lure her in with gentle words and backhanded compliments. Brought smiles and warmth and gentle spring to her winter-cold office more often than she wanted to admit. You’ve infected her. She should have shut you out once and for all once she realized she had started to look forward to the next time you came to her office with those tired, soft eyes. Instead, she let you in. Over, and over, and over again, like the smoke invading a smoker’s lungs. Let you drip into her veins and into her heart and mind, let you invade her dreams.

Instead, she was here. Pretending that she doesn’t recognize a date when she sees one. Pretending that she felt nothing but disgust for you still. Pretending she didn’t walk into your snare intentionally. Cognizantly.

“... So.” She finally breaks the silence.