Table Eleven

“This is a private club, miss.” The burly doorman scowled, his brows knitted together in a way that suggested he hadn’t smiled since the Lloyd administration.

Elnora shifted her weight, glancing down at her phone to double-check the address. Maybe Marcy had screwed up. But then again, Marcy was annoyingly precise. The Forked Restaurant building matched her Google search—a nondescript, dingy block with a black steel door that practically screamed “stay away.” Classy.

“I have a reservation,” Elnora said, as if it should be obvious, trying to infuse her voice with more confidence than she felt. Her hand found her hip, striking what she hoped was a convincing pose.

The doorman didn’t even blink. “You’re not on tonight’s guest list, ma’am. Even if it were a last-minute arrangement, I’d be informed.”

Ma’am? Seriously? She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She was hardly that ancient. Did she forget to check for gray hairs? Twenty eight wasn’t that old.

Everything about Forked was a red flag. The shady location, tucked away in some forgotten corner of the city, was sketchy enough. The building looked like it hadn’t seen a renovation since the Cold War. She hadn’t noticed it before, but that wasn’t surprising—She was an introvert who rarely socialized. The door was one-way traffic only; nobody left, and that alone felt like a horror movie waiting to happen. The only thing that piqued her interest was the overkill security setup—a fingerprint sensor by the door and surveillance cameras monitoring the perimeter. She could sense the camera right above the door, zooming in on her every move.

After dragging herself out of her warm, cosy bed, actually bothering to put on makeup, and driving all the way across town to meet some guy—what was his name again? She had the perfect excuse to bail. But, no, she had something to prove; she wasn’t letting a stubborn gatekeeper tell her where she could and couldn’t go.

“Sir, I assure you, there must be some mistake,” she insisted, leaning into the word sir with as much respect as she could fake. “If you could just check the guest list again, I’m sure we could sort this out.”

The doorman’s frown deepened but he grudgingly nodded. Keeping his eyes fixed on her, he snapped his fingers at another bouncer standing a few feet away, who looked just as thrilled to be there.

As the second bouncer approached with a tablet in hand, Elnora took another glance around the deserted street. The silence was almost too perfect, the kind that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Every building looked abandoned, adding to the overall vibe that screamed, “Run, don’t walk.”

She watched as the bouncer swiped through the tablet with the speed of someone who probably did this all day. His finger moved swiftly over the screen, scrolling through what appeared to be headshots instead of names. Great. She toyed with the idea of hacking into their system just to see what they were hiding, but decided to stick with a smirk. If the guest list was images, not names, there was a good chance she was in the wrong place. Marcy would’ve definitely mentioned something that bizarre. Right?

After what felt like an eternity, the bouncer glanced up at her, his face still impassive, offering no clue as to what he’d found. The two men exchanged whispers, too low for Elnora to catch, which only added to her growing irritation. After their little tête-à-tête, the second man finally returned to his post by the curb, and Elnora was once again left staring at the human wall blocking the door.

“What’s your name?” the doorman asked, his voice still gruff but tinged with something that almost resembled tolerance. Almost.

“Elnora Watton,” she replied, quietly. The name felt strange, like it belonged to someone else, someone who should’ve stayed home tonight.

The man nodded slowly but did nothing. The earpiece tucked into his right ear made it clear that he wasn’t the one in charge here. This was starting to cross the line from mildly intriguing to downright creepy, and Elnora found herself wondering if this was really worth it. Did she need a date so badly that she’d risk getting roped into something shady? Probably not. One more attempt, and she’d call it quits.

“I don’t know if this helps, but I’m supposed to mention I’m here for a blind date,” Elnora said, hoping this wouldn’t backfire.

The doorman’s eyes snapped up to hers, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of recognition—or maybe it was just judgment. Either way, he sighed and motioned for her to step forward.

“Why didn’t you say that before?” the doorman grumbled, shooting her a look that suggested she’d just made his job unnecessarily complicated. He turned to his colleague, who gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. “She’s the blind date,” he confirmed, then lumbered over to the door, pressing his thumb against the keypad to unlock it. “You may enter. Enjoy your evening, Signoria.”

Elnora hesitated, wondering why it hadn’t occurred to her to mention the blind date earlier. Maybe because this whole situation felt like a setup for something much worse than an awkward dinner. With a dismissive shake of her head, she let it go. Her mysterious date had apparently pulled all the right strings, so why not see where it led? With a final glance back at the desolate street, she stepped through the heavy black door.

The first thing that hit her was the music—sultry, smooth, and unexpected. A saxophone solo wove through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation. She had prepared herself for something far grittier, maybe a dark, smoky room full of unsavoury characters, but this…this was almost classy.

The scent of cigars and aged whiskey assaulted her senses next, a mix that was both nauseating and strangely nostalgic. It was the kind of smell that clung to her father’s study, wrapping around him like a second skin on the nights he would lock himself away with a Cuban in one hand and a glass of something strong in the other. Before he vanished, that is. Elnora closed her eyes for a second, letting the memories wash over her, before she forced them aside and opened her eyes.

Conversations murmured around her, the voices a blend of suits and leather jackets. From the group of businessmen in suits dining with tattooed bikers in leather jackets. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she’d walked into some kind of underground syndicate gathering. The paranoid security measures suddenly made a whole lot more sense.

Her curiosity about the place momentarily overshadowed the anxiety about finding her blind date. The concierge’s dais caught her eye, but so did the soft, melodic singing. She followed the sound, her gaze landing on a grand piano nestled in a corner. A striking blonde, oozing eighties glamour, was belting out a song that blending perfectly with the saxophone.

Maybe this night wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Elnora found herself mesmerized by the music, her eyes glued to the performance. The singer’s voice was captivating, weaving effortlessly through the notes. Funny how no one else seemed nearly as impressed. Marcy had described her date as ‘a bit of an oddball,’ and now she wondered if that was why he’d chosen such an unusual venue for their evening.

“Are you the blind date?” a voice interrupted her thoughts, pulling her attention away from the stage. The host had appeared from behind his podium, his expression hovering somewhere between curious and condescending. She turned to face him, tossing her caramel ombre hair over her shoulder and raising a brow.

“A touch heavy on the ‘condescension’ there, mate,” she said. “I caught that sneer, just so you know. And for the record, ‘blind date’ doesn’t mean I’m actually blind.”

The host blinked, clearly thrown off by her sharp reply. A faint blush crept up his cheeks and he quickly tried to recover.

“Oh, no, not at all!” he stammered, slightly flustered.“I apologize if it came across that way. It’s just… well, I wasn’t expecting someone as… refined as you to be the guest at Table Eleven tonight. It’s a pleasant surprise, that’s all.”

“Ah flattery, can’t say I mind that,” she replied.

The host let out an awkward laugh, the kind that made it clear he had no idea how to handle her. He motioned for her to follow him. “You’ll be amazed by the festivities tonight.”

Elnora strutted after him, her red, low-back body-con dress hugging her figure perfectly. She’d paired it with crimson stilettos and diamond earrings that caught the light just right, making them sparkle like tiny stars. As they walked deeper into the restaurant, she realized the low lighting wasn’t just for ambience; it hid the numerous security cameras discreetly watching everything. She counted at least five so far, and the more she noticed, the more the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. It wasn’t paranoia if they were really watching, right?

They stopped at a table right in the centre of the restaurant, and Elnora took a moment to assess her surroundings. From this vantage point, she could see everything, including a tall gentleman at the bar, looking like he’d stepped out of a OG magazine in his impeccably tailored three-piece suit. He was nursing a Martini and had no qualms about letting his gaze linger on her. But he wasn’t the only one. It felt like she was on display, the main attraction at some exclusive show.

The host gave her a practised smile. “Table eleven,” he announced, with a flourish toward the immaculately set table. “Your server will be with you shortly. Best of luck tonight.”

“Thanks,” Elnora muttered as she slid into her seat, her fingers absently tracing the intricate patterns of the table setting. The linen napkins were folded into delicate blossoms, the silverware practically gleamed with smug self-importance, and the crystal glasses sparkled in the low, moody lighting. It all felt like overkill, especially considering that, aside from the platinum-blonde singer, she was the only other woman in the entire place.

Her eyes drifted to the menu resting on the table. The cover was black and luxurious, the kind of leather that probably cost more than her entire outfit, with the name embossed in gold: l’Éclipse.

“l’Éclipse,” she whispered to herself, a frown creasing her brow.

Forked? No, this wasn’t Forked. Either they’d rebranded, or she was in the wrong place entirely. She bit her lip in frustration, her eyes scanning the room again. Near the entrance, she spotted a small sign she hadn’t noticed before, reading, ‘Les affaires avant tout!’.

Had she somehow bungled this? Marcy would never let her hear the end of it if she had. But the guards seemed to expect her, and the host had definitely shown her to this table. Could she have accidentally hijacked someone else’s date? She needed to know for sure, so she fished her phone out of her purse, ready to call Marcy and confirm.

Marcy’s relentless campaign to find her a match was getting out of hand, all thanks to Joe. Ever since they’d become an item, Marcy was convinced that Elnora needed a significant other too, so they could partake in the joyous world of couple activities. Because, apparently, the world of singlehood was just too dreary to handle alone.

Even though Elnora wasn’t exactly on the hunt for a romantic relationship, she knew Marcy’s relentless matchmaking came from a place of love. Still, when the alternative was another evening of scrolling through the dark corners of the internet or binge-watching a show she’d already seen twice, this date seemed like the lesser evil. What could possibly go wrong?

“Mace, pick up your damn phone,” she muttered under her breath as the call rang on, unanswered.

“I have a DB4,” a voice, smooth as honey and just as sweet, broke through her thoughts.

Elnora looked up and found herself momentarily disarmed by the man standing before her. Chestnut brown hair perfectly framed a face that could have been sculpted by some annoyingly talented artist. But it was his eyes—vibrant green, like summer grass after a fresh rain—that really held her. They sparkled with a kind of naughty fire, and for a split second, she was thrown off her game.

His smile was subtle, almost too subtle, but it still sent a jolt through her that she didn’t entirely appreciate. Calm down, Elnora, she told herself. He’s just a guy. A ridiculously attractive guy, sure, but still just a guy.

Her gaze flicked over him, taking in the way his hair was meticulously styled, the effortless elegance of his posture, and—the danger in his eyes. Her cheeks warmed slightly, and she glanced away, trying to steady her racing heart.

When she dared to meet his eyes again, she wondered if this tuxedoed mystery man was her blind date.

He pulled out a chair and sat down, the movement smooth, like a predator closing in on its prey. Elnora swallowed hard, her mind scrambling to place him. Had they met before? Was he really the date Marcy had set up? Because if he was, she might just owe Marcy a thank-you kiss.

The way he moved, with the confidence of someone who owned the room, made her skin prickle with anticipation. And those eyes—the steady, intense green gaze.

“I’m sorry?” she managed, slipping her phone back into her purse, trying to gather her thoughts. “DB4?”

“Oh, you should see it,” he continued, with a trace of nostalgia in his voice as if recalling an old flame. “The Aston Martin DB4 is a true classic. And once I restored it, it became a glorious trophy.”

As he spoke, he crossed his legs and adjusted his sleeves with such effortless grace that it made Elnora’s mouth dry. Annoyingly smooth.

It was his next words, however, that caused Elnora’s cheeks to burn and left her speechless for a moment.

“But it will never compare to how exquisite you are, belle,” he said, his eyes holding hers like he could see her soul.

She felt the heat rush to her cheeks, caught off guard by his directness. She was used to guys throwing compliments her way, but this one? It hit differently, like a perfectly aimed dart. She forced herself to smile, the corner of her lips curving up despite the way her heart was doing somersaults.

“Well, Mr. Aston Martin connoisseur, your taste is impeccable. The DB4 is a treasure.”

“Ah, belle,” he replied, his voice a low, velvety timbre. “While the DB4 may hold its own charm, I assure you that you are the most captivating treasure here tonight.”

Elnora leaned in, narrowing her eyes with a smirk. “And what other treasures do you have hidden in your repertoire?” she asked, half-expecting another line she could roll her eyes at.

His smile widened, and he leaned in a little closer. “Oh, you have no idea,” he replied. “Maybe, if you’re willing, I could show you a few more of my prized possessions as the night unfolds.”

“Hmm, I’d be delighted,” she said. “Mr…”

“Mason,” he supplied, the name slipping from his lips as if he were offering her a piece of himself, a well-kept secret.

“Mason,” she repeated, tasting the name. It suited him—smooth, enigmatic, and just a little bit dangerous. “A pleasure to meet you.”

He stretched out his hand across the table, and before she could second-guess herself, Elnora found her own hand sliding into his instinctively. His grip was warm, firm, and the way his thumb brushed against her skin sent a jolt of electricity through her. Damn it, she thought, feeling the sizzle that clenched her stomach with a welcomed surge of desire.

Then he just looked at her, a slow, sensual smile curling at the corners of his full, maddeningly inviting lips. It sent a wave of unexpected desire through her, igniting her imagination with all kinds of inappropriate thoughts. She could almost taste his lips on hers, feel the warmth of his skin, making her body yearn for something far beyond the polite conversation they were having.

As if reading her thoughts, Mason’s smile widened, flashing a perfect set of white teeth—teeth she could already picture grazing her bare skin. Her breath caught in her throat, and she quickly banished the image from her mind.

“I don’t suppose you have a name?” Mason’s voice was velvet, smooth as sin.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Elnora’s face. Seriously? He couldn’t be bothered to learn her name before their date? Maybe even Google-stalk her a bit. Was that too much to ask? That small, significant gesture that might have hinted at genuine interest was evidently too much to ask.

She took a moment to collect her thoughts before speaking. “Mason, I do have a name,” she said, her tone carrying subtle reproach.

She watched him, waiting for a flicker of realization, maybe a dash of regret. But no, those wicked green eyes remained locked on her, a dangerous gleam in them daring her to push back, with just enough arrogance to make her want to punch him or kiss him—she wasn’t sure which. He had trouble written all over him. The type of trouble she usually avoided. But here she was, leaning into it.

“Is it a name,” Mason asked, leaning forward, “that can only be whispered in the dark? Shared between two lovers in the heat of hot, savage sex?”

A smile played on her lips as she leaned back slightly. Oh, Mason was going to be trouble.

“You enjoy reducing women to blabbering idiots, don’t you?”

He chuckled, his laugh deep and rich. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” she said, shrugging lightly. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve got a certain charm. The type that makes most women swoon, and I bet you love every minute of it.” She could practically see the parade of lovestruck women trailing behind him, each one hoping they were the one.

He grinned, giving his head a small shake, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. “Not at all. I’m used to women standing up to me. Not taking my bullshit.”

Elnora arched a brow, intrigued despite herself.

“I like a woman who’s driven,” he continued, his voice dropping just enough to make it feel like they were the only two in the room. “Someone who challenges me, who pushes back. A woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it. Most importantly, one who doesn’t settle.”

His response was… unexpected. It wasn’t the smooth, predictable line she’d been waiting for. Instead, it sparked something in her, something that made him even more irresistible.

Damn it.

“Well,” she continued, “you may call me Elnora.”

Mason’s eyes sparkled. “Just exquisite.” His voice, so soft and crisp, licked at a spot behind her neck she couldn’t quite reach, like a fine wine that lingered just long enough to leave her craving more.

It wasn’t just physical attraction—though there was plenty of that—it was the way he effortlessly stirred her senses, leaving her slightly off-balance and oddly wanting. Not that she’d ever admit that out loud.

“So,” she said, arching a brow, “now comes the fun part: learning about you and your… preferences and peculiarities.” Her gaze swept the restaurant with deliberate nonchalance. “And that little repertoire you mentioned.”

“The exclusives, you mean,” he replied with understated confidence.

“Yes,” she said, smirking. “Those. I like to think I’ve earned a sneak peek, unless you intend to make me work for it.”

Mason smiled slowly. “I think we can work something out.”

He stood, walked around to her side, and offered his hand. Elnora hesitated for just a beat—because why make things easy for him?—before slipping her hand into his. The moment their fingers touched, he gently pulled her to her feet, his eyes never leaving hers.

Then, Mason leaned in close, so those full lips brushed lightly against her ear. “Afterall, the best things in life are meant to be savoured, Elnora?”

Her name sizzled on his lips like ice hitting a hot skillet. Her eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment as she caught the intoxicating scent of his cologne, and she couldn’t resist running her tongue over her lips, which suddenly felt much too dry.