The flickering candle in the middle of the table creates dancing shadows across Holden’s handsome face. It’s distracting, seeing him in this environment, away from his apartment and office and all the things that remind me of who he is. Distracting, and difficult.

How can he be so callous one minute, so oblivious the next? Is this some kind of Jekyll and Hyde thing?

I shake loose the beginnings of another “date” fantasy and clear my throat, determined to keep things professional. “Where does the name Daylight Holdings come from?”

Holden dabs the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin, and takes a sip of iced water. His tongue runs across his top teeth, as if cleansing his palette for this discussion. “Wasting no time, I see.”

I hold his gaze. “I learned my lesson yesterday. As was your intent.”

In fact, I’m so conscious of time, I haven’t tasted the bannock with whipped maple butter the waiter assured us was worth the hefty price tag.

Holden nods stiffly. “The more straight forward the rules, the easier this arrangement will be,” he says. “Don’t you agree?”

No.

Yes.

Hell, I don’t know. If Holden really wanted to make things simple, he wouldn’t have brought me to The Gotham Bar and Grill, the kind of restaurant I couldn’t afford if I saved up for an entire month.

Of the three partners, Holden is the most forward about the company’s success. While I have no idea what toys I might find in Lucas or Mason’s garages, Holden likes to brag a little. Normally that would annoy me—but it’s tough to argue when he has the life “journey” to back up that cockiness.

And that emotional path is what I’m trying to dig out tonight, without succumbing to my own feelings about the situation.

Or him.

I smile thinly. “Maybe I should back up. Let’s go back to the beginning—why did you start the company?”

Holden takes a bite of his calamari. “After Roger Moorehouse…” Holden pauses, and clears his throat.

I focus on keeping a blank face. After last night, I sense he’s gauging how to phrase the words, but I don’t want him to hold back. Not this time

“Go on. I’m listening.”

He takes a deep breath and continues. “After that monster killed himself, Lucas, Mason and I forged a bond. We vowed we’d always stay close…be there for each other. Like brothers.”

There’s a hint of bitterness behind the words that doesn’t quite mesh with the story, but I resist the urge to press him on it. It’s common knowledge that Lucas left the company to start a newspaper with his girlfriend, but I heard the split was amicable. Is it possible there’s more to it?

Does it matter? It shouldn’t—not for me.

“Surviving that ordeal would certainly stir up some intense feelings,” I say, struggling to say something that doesn’t sound pacifying or lame. Showing too much concern would be suspicious, not enough and I’m heartless. A tricky balance.

Holden nods curtly, and then flags down our server, who is quick to attend to our needs. My gaze flickers to my watch. Ten minutes have already passed, and I’ve barely scratched the surface of my question. Every tick of the clock is like a bomb, counting down. My nerves are like livewires.

“We’ll have the Muscovy Duck for our first course,” Holden says, confidently.

My stomach twists. “Actually, I’d prefer the tuna.” I smile sweetly. “Sorry, I’m not a fan of…bird dishes.”

Holden’s eyes twinkle. “Not even chicken?”

I shrug. “Nope. I know it’s weird.”

Sort of. We used to keep chickens when I was a kid. Dad would take me out to the barn to collect eggs and feathers. I’d watch the birds through the thin bars of the coup, pecking at insects and whatever grain my father tossed at them. Sometimes, he would come in from the barns covered in blood, and the stench of it clings to me even now, so many years later. Maybe that was a hint into my father’s penchant for violence—he slaughtered those birds without remorse, while I can’t step on a stupid spider without the gut-wrenching stab of guilt. My mother whispers over my shoulder: See, sweetheart, you are nothing like him.

I want to believe that. Damn it, I do.

Holden’s sigh draws me back to the moment. “In answer to your question, our brotherhood held through college, as one might expect. By the time we graduated, we knew—or maybe it was just assumed—that we’d find a way to work together. Stay together.”

He leans back in his chair and runs his finger along the edge of his plate.

“Forgive my ignorance, but what skills are required to run a hedge fund company?”

“Finance, for starters,” Holden says. He dips the last piece of calamari in the peach colored sauce and holds it out, as if in offering. I quickly shake my head. He lifts an eyebrow and laughs. “Not a seafood fan either?”

“Nothing with former tentacles.”

“Your loss,” he says, and pops the deep-fried thing in his mouth. Despite being grossed out by the food, I am strangely mesmerized by the way Holden chews, swallows, and then licks his lips in clear satisfaction. I’m so caught up in staring that I actually flinch when the waiter arrives with our “first course.”

The aroma of tuna is overwhelming, but not fishy—an exotic mix of ginger and other spices I can’t begin to guess. I breathe it all in, unable to contain the smile that spreads across my cheeks. My gaze wanders to Holden’s plate and I have to admit, the duck looks exquisite.

He lifts his wine glass in a toast. “To our agreement, then?”

I hesitate. Why not? What the hell do I have to lose? I abandon my reservations, vowing to enjoy the rest of this evening, and lift my glass to clink against his. We sip, swallow, and set our drinks down in unison. I try really hard not to read into that, the fact that we’re so in sync.

I unwrap my utensils from the black linen napkin and spread it across my lap. Light glints off the silverware like glittering diamonds.

Holden waits for me to take a bite from my meal, staring at me like an expectant parent. And damn it, that small but perfect act of chivalry reels me back to my fantasy. I imagine that I’m just a girl, on a first date with the love of her life.

Who just happens to be the most eligible bachelor in the city.

My throat goes dry.

It’s a silly dream, because these kinds of things don’t happen to girls like me. Girls whose fathers have murdered innocent children…

“Obviously we each had some kind of business sense,” Holden says, oblivious to my deepening internal struggle. “I’ve always had an interest in the stock markets,” he says. “Mason too. Lucas…” Holden chuckles. “I think he just came along for the ride. Anyway, we made a couple of good deals right off the bat and…”

“The rest is history?”

He half smiles, half frowns. “Something like that. But you know how it is—tough to leave the past fully where it belongs. There’s always a reminder, sometimes painful, always enlightening.”

I swallow a bite of tuna, allowing it to awkwardly slide down my throat. It’s delicious, but the taste is tainted by the bitter reality of my situation. Holden’s assessment speaks to my heart, and I’m concerned that he somehow knows the secret I’m carrying. I don’t want to deceive him, but how can I tell him the truth without him running away?

Isn’t that what I’d do? What I’ve always done?

We continue eating in reflective silence until the waiter returns with side dishes for us to share— an asparagus risotto, a yellow and red beet salad, and roasted carrots sprinkled with feta cheese. He tops up our wine glasses, bows, and then leaves us to our private conversation.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I register we’re not the only two people in the restaurant, but I love how intimate this table is. Tucked away in a corner, with the view of Manhattan pulsing in the background. The conversation around us turns to white noise, and I focus on finishing my “hour” with something concrete.

“How did you come up with the company name?” I finally ask.

“Ah that.” Holden grins. “Daylight symbolizes the dawn of a new day—a fresh start. Which we all needed, of course. And the ‘Holdings’ part is symbolic of our vow to hold onto this fresh start and protect it with everything in our power. That was our commitment to each other. It binds us even now.”

In reality, the three of them built a fortress around themselves, allowing few people within their inner circle. Mason and Lucas have been found love, let people in. Holden remains closed off though, a stoic guard of that binding vow. What—or who—can pierce that armor?

Is it completely stupid to wonder if I can?

“And did it work?” I whisper, heart pounding.

His answer means so much. As though, his ability to move forward can somehow be the catalyst for me to let go too. If I’m ever to move on from this, I need to shake the fear, the sadness…the guilt.

“Sometimes…”

Holden glances at his watch. I expect him to say that time is up, but instead he puts down his fork and stares at me with such curiosity, my heart opens like a book. I’m sure he will read into all of my secrets and fears, my innermost desires.

“Your turn,” he says.

I assume he’s talking about sex, and my heart leaps into my chest. “Here?”

He chuckles. “Possibly yes, but that’s not what I meant. Tell me something about you…” His voice drops to a whisper. “Other than how sweet your pussy tastes, because I figured that out all by myself.”

My eyes widen so fast I’m sure they’ll pop right out of my head. “Holden!” I cup my hand over my mouth. It’s the first time since he told me to call him Mr. Quinn that I’ve used his first name in public. Was I out of line?

Surely no more than him!

“I enjoy getting a rise out of you, Chelsea.”

His teasing tone makes it easy for me to start talking about myself, and before I know it, I start telling him about my childhood.

“My mom isn’t much of a cook,” I say, truthfully. “So, when we moved from Maine, it became the ultimate foodie adventure. On a budget, of course, because we never had a lot of money.”

It’s an understatement, but I’m not interested in Holden’s sympathy. Sure, we ate boxed macaroni and tuna out of the can, but Mom and I made it work. Built a life on the run, even with the nightmare of the past always just one step behind us. If Mom had her way, we’d have kept moving…

“So you travelled the country in search of the best hot dog?”

“That’s not even wrong,” I say, laughing. “Chicago, in case you’re wondering. They top the wieners with mustard, fresh onions and tomato, and then sprinkle it with seasoning salt.”

“Sounds decadent,” Holden says. “I’ll have my cook make it immediately.”

I grin the cheesiest grin of my life. “I’ll have to test it to make sure it compares.”

“So in addition to finding the world’s greatest hot dog, what else did you find on your travels?”

“Books,” I say, almost wistfully. “And cute bookstores.”

The adventures of others became my escape. I read voraciously as a young girl, burying my nightmares in other people’s dreams and imaginations. Their stories became mine, until suddenly, I wasn’t me anymore. I was Alice down the rabbit hole, or Charlie on a mission to find that magical chocolate bar. Anyone who wasn’t Chelsea Moorehouse, daughter of a mass murderer.

Damn it. I’m such a fraud.

“It sounds wonderful.”

“At times,” I say, though my voice goes soft with regret. “But I also longed for stability. A place to call home.”

“And your father…?”

I swallow hard, and glance away. “Not in the picture.”

My breath catches, and I pray that Holden won’t press. I can’t answer questions about my father honestly, not without giving up who I am, and I’m so damn tired of lying.

Holden appears to take the hint and shifts to another, perhaps even more complicated question. “What drew you to the subject of your dissertation?”

I take a sip of wine, stalling. “I guess I was looking for a reason…” I pause, not sure how to continue without completely blowing my cover. “An explanation as to why people sometimes do horrible things.”

“That’s simple,” Holden says, his voice suddenly hard. “Some people are just evil.”

I recoil. “Is it that simple?” I fold my hands on my lap, and thread my fingers together to pick at my nails. This kind of debate is far too advanced for first dates—but then I remind myself that this isn’t a date at all—and I don’t subscribe to the notion of pure evil. No matter whose daughter I am. “Consider history.” At this, his eyes lift. “Even some Nazi war criminals were very good and loving fathers,” I say. “Contributing members of their communities.”

Holden bristles. “And that should excuse their crimes?”

My voice rises. “Not excuse, but show a different side of them, maybe. No one is perfect, Holden.”

His jaw tenses. “I refuse to offer forgiveness to someone based on the fact that they show affection to their family,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “Those people are evil. It’s not a debate, Chelsea. It’s fact.”

I blink back tears, stunned by his cool demeanor. How can he be so absolute in this? A response lingers on the tip of my tongue, a defense that will only make sense if I confess my secret. I can’t. Not even if it will help him understand why I have such strong feelings about this topic. Now just isn’t the time.

“I’m afraid I don’t agree with you.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Holden stands and tosses his napkin on the table. “Your hour is up and I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”

I blink, again shocked by the abrupt shift in conversation. “But we’ve ordered desert.”

“Have them put it in a box and take it home.” Holden shrugs into his jacket and fastens the top button, all business. “If you’ll excuse me…”

I open my mouth to protest, to practically beg him to stay—but Holden is already walking away. And somehow, I think it might be for good this time.