Sophia's fingers hovered over the doorknob for a full five seconds before she pushed it open. Her apartment welcomed her with silence and dim lighting. For a moment, she let herself sag against the door.
Nate's voice still echoed in her head.
"Even if it's fake, you still matter"
It wasn't fair—how easily he said things like that. With that unreadable expression, like he meant it but also like it cost him nothing.
She didn't want to believe him. But it lingered anyway.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
Nathan Sterling: Private room at Hawthorne House. Your parents will be there. Mine too. Wear something that says charming but not desperate.
Sophia: What if I show up in sweats and say we're having a casual phase?
Nathan Sterling: I'll personally sue you.
Sophia: Romantic. See you at seven, Sterling.
She didn't let herself overthink it.
Instead, she poured a glass of wine, stared into her closet like it had personally offended her, and settled on a deep navy dress—structured but soft, like she was trying to look like someone who didn't flinch at formal dinners with people who ran hedge funds and multi-million-dollar nonprofits.
By the time Nate's driver arrived, she was composed. At least on the outside.
The restaurant was one of those old-money establishments with a waitlist three months long and curtains so thick they muffled even the idea of gossip.
Sophia stepped into the restaurant, the scent of citrus and warm spice greeting her before the maître d' even had the chance. A soft murmur of silverware and low conversation underscored the elegant atmosphere. She scanned the room and spotted them almost instantly — Nate and a sharply dressed woman who could only be Eleanor Sterling.
They sat at a table near the window, backlit by city lights. Nate's dark jacket was crisp against the linen seat; Eleanor sat opposite him with the kind of posture that belonged to someone who knew exactly how much her presence filled a room.
Sophia took a breath, pulled her shoulders back, and walked over.
Nate saw her first. He stood, ever the gentleman, and gave her that slight smirk that somehow disarmed and provoked all at once when she entered, his eyes scanning her once—and though he didn't say a word, she felt the flicker of approval in his gaze.
Sophia," he said, his voice warm with something just shy of amusement. "You made it."
She gave a smooth smile, lifting her chin. "Wouldn't miss it."
His gaze flicked briefly to her dress — a deep green wrap that Jazz had insisted was 'powerful yet approachable' — and something in his expression shifted. Approval, maybe. Maybe something else.
"Right on time," he murmured, pulling out her chair. "Look at you being punctual."
"Try not to sound so shocked," she whispered back.
He turned toward the woman beside him. "Sophia, this is my mother. Eleanor Sterling. Mom, this is Sophia Dawson."
Sophia smiled warmly and extended her hand first, stepping just close enough. "It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Sterling."
Eleanor remained seated, composed in her steel-gray silk blouse, her jewelry understated but clearly expensive. She took Sophia's hand with cool fingers and a nod of acknowledgment. "And you, Ms. Dawson."
Sophia held the smile as she sat across from Eleanor and beside Nate. The table was already set, water poured, menus untouched. A low instrumental hum floated through the elegant restaurant, all polished wood and linen.
"Thank you for coming," Eleanor said, her voice soft but direct. "Nathan doesn't usually request family dinners. Especially not with… guests."
Sophia folded her napkin into her lap. "I wasn't sure what to expect, but I'm glad he asked. It's not every day I get to meet someone so important to him."
Nate made a faint sound beside her — amusement or discomfort, it was hard to tell.
Eleanor studied Sophia for a second. "You don't strike me as the easily intimidated type."
"I'd say I'm more curious than cautious," Sophia replied lightly. "Especially when it comes to people who've clearly earned their reputation."
That earned a ghost of a smile from Eleanor. "Is that how he described me?"
"He didn't have to."
Nate let out a low breath, clearly aware that the two most strong-willed women in his life were now circling each other — politely, of course, but the undercurrent was undeniable.
Menus were offered, drinks ordered — Eleanor requested a neat gin, Nate a glass of red, and Sophia asked for the same. The server left them with space.
Eleanor glanced at Nate, then back at Sophia. "He doesn't typically bring women around. At least, not to me."
Sophia didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I figured that out somewhere between the first drink and the dinner invitation."
Eleanor's head tilted slightly. "Then you're already ahead of the last few."
Nate coughed. "Mom."
"What?" Eleanor sipped her gin. "I'm not being rude. I'm being honest."
Sophia met her gaze, not backing down but not defensive either. "I appreciate honesty. And I'm not here to prove anything."
"Good," Eleanor said. "Because I don't need anyone to prove anything. I've known my son since he had a bowl cut and couldn't pronounce the word 'legitimate.'"
Nate pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's unnecessary."
"Still true," Eleanor replied, then looked back to Sophia. "And if he's asking me to meet someone, I assume it's for a reason. I don't need to approve of it. But I will try to understand it."
Sophia's smile softened. "Fair enough."
The food came quickly after — sea bass for Eleanor, a steak for Nate, and a lemon risotto for Sophia.
The conversation shifted into smoother waters. Eleanor asked about Sophia's background, her work, and her recent decision to pivot into private brand consulting. There was no cruelty in the questions — only curiosity couched in that unmistakable Sterling tone: precise, a little sharp, but never without purpose.
"You're very poised," Eleanor noted mid-meal. "I can see why he chose you."
Sophia glanced at Nate, who was busy cutting his steak. "I'm very sure I had much of a choice in the matter."
"Oh, you did," Eleanor said, not missing a beat. "You're just clever enough to make him think it was his idea."
That, finally, got a soft laugh from Sophia. "Then I'll take the compliment."
As dessert was offered — espresso, sorbet, or nothing — they each declined except Nate, who requested a double espresso like he was prepping for another case.
Eleanor placed her napkin beside her plate. "Thank you for accepting this dinner, Sophia. Regardless of how long this… relationship continues, I appreciate that you didn't come into it pretending to be something you're not."
Sophia held her gaze. "Thank you for saying that. I came here to be honest."
"Then you've done just fine," Eleanor said, standing gracefully.
Nate stood too, and so did Sophia, adjusting her dress as she rose.
Eleanor gave her son a short nod, then turned to Sophia again. "We may not always agree. But I respect anyone who looks me in the eye and speaks plainly."
Sophia extended her hand again. This time, it felt less like formality and more like mutual understanding.
Eleanor took it, squeezed once, then let go. "Have a good night, Ms. Dawson."
"You too, Mrs. Sterling."
She left them there, poised and assured, walking out with the ease of someone who always knew where the exits were.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Nate exhaled.
"You survived," he said. "That's rarer than it should be."
Sophia leaned into her hip. "She's not as scary as you made her sound."
"She likes you," he said.
Sophia raised a brow. "That was liking?"
Nate smirked. "You'd know if it wasn't."
She laughed softly as she drank her last glass of wine. "Well then. I guess I passed."
Sophia hadn't expected to enjoy herself.
But thirty minutes and one glass of wine later, she was still seated across from Nate in the softly lit booth, the table now cleared of plates, save for two tumblers of bourbon and a shared crème brûlée neither of them touched.
Eleanor had left a while ago, claiming an early night with a glance at her watch, a soft handshake to Sophia and a measured nod in Nate's direction. Not warm, but not cold either. Sophia filed that away as a small win.
Now it was just her and Nate. And silence. The charged kind.
He leaned back in his seat, one arm draped along the top of the booth, eyes lazy but sharp as they studied her. "Trust me," he said, smirking. "If she didn't like you, you'd still be pinned to the table under a glare so sharp it could file patents."
Sophia raised a brow. "You say that like it's happened before."
His smirk stretched. "It's happened before."
They shared a quiet laugh. She liked this version of him. Looser. A little unraveled around the edges. Less buttoned-up courtroom weapon and more man.
"Alright, Sterling," she said, setting down her glass, "truth or dare."
He blinked. "What?"
"You heard me."
He gave her a slow grin. "You planning to dare me into public indecency, Dawson?"
"Please," she said dryly. "You'd need more than bourbon and a half-melted dessert to get that far."
Nate chuckled. "Fine. Truth."
Sophia leaned forward, chin propped on her palm. "Why did you really come on that blind date?"
He paused, the smile slipping just slightly. Then: "Because I got tired of pretending I was fine being alone."
She didn't laugh this time. Just nodded.
"Your turn," he said, voice low now. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth."
He matched her posture, leaning in just enough that she could smell his cologne—cedar and something expensive. "Did you think about kissing me when I pulled you close outside the restaurant?"
Her stomach flipped. And damn him—he knew it. She looked away for a beat, then back, eyes locked on his.
"Yes," she said, not bothering to lie. "But I didn't."
He hummed. "Why not?"
She smirked. "Because I didn't want to give you the satisfaction."
"Smart," he murmured, then picked up his glass. "But it wouldn't have been about satisfaction. It would've been about curiosity."
"Curiosity?"
"You're the first woman in a long time who doesn't flinch when I speak my mind. And I think you might taste like ….."
Her breath caught. She hated how easily he got under her skin. How close his words felt to the truth.
He reached for the check, fingers brushing over hers. "Let me take you home."
Sophia stood, smoothing her dress. "Fine. But no commentary on my apartment."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, standing as well. "Though if it's anything like you—sharp at first, unexpectedly warm once you get past the walls—I might not want to leave."
She shot him a look over her shoulder as they made their way to the exit. "Careful, Sterling. That almost sounded sincere."
He held the door open for her, lips twitching. "Almost."
And just like that, the air between them thickened again. Not awkward. Not uncertain.
Just loaded.
And very, very real.