Across the other side of the restaurant, the polished clack of leather soles cut through the low murmur of voices and the faint click of cutlery. Alex Ford strode quickly to a private room. Opening the door, he stepped inside and stood respectfully aside, his gaze lingered on Aidan Wilson, signaling he had something to report.
Aidan sat at the table, relaxed, his lips curving into a charming smile, a wine glass hanging loosely in one hand.
Seated opposite him were two women, their laughter echoing into the room. Monica Francis, elegant and composed, raised her glass. "Mr Wilson, thank you for your hospitality. We had a wonderful trip here."
"I'm glad to hear that, Miss Monica," Aidan replied smoothly, tilting the bottle to pour more wine into both their glasses. "The first time I saw you two beautiful, I knew we clicked instantly."
"Yeah," Natasha giggled. "You are the complete opposite of our older cousin. He is always so uninterested in everything… boring even."
