Billionaire Sits In Busy Restaurant, Unaware The Woman Suggesting He Share Her Table Wins His Heart
The Search for Something Real
Yardan spotted her again six days later, and it wasn’t by accident. He’d pulled half his staff into a frenzy trying to track her down quietly.
There were no security sweeps, no obvious tails, and no digital footprint violations. Just one name, Cashasa Orman, circulated through a few discrete channels.
It turned out she worked at a boutique publishing house in Dumbo. She edited manuscripts no one read until they became something everyone did.
He told himself it was just curiosity. That lie lasted until he walked into the independent bookstore across from her office. He saw her crouched beside a shelf, rearranging a disheveled display.
She was wearing a worn denim jacket and boots with scuffed toes. Her hair was twisted again, this time held up by a silver pen. He stepped closer, letting the chime above the door announce him.
Casha turned, eyes widening slightly.
“You.”
He dropped his hands into the pockets of his slate gray coat.
“Me.”
She stood, brushing her palms on her jeans, her mouth tilting.
“Didn’t take you for the type to browse rare feminist sci-fi.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
She crossed her arms, half amused and half suspicious.
“You tracked me down.”
“I walked into a bookstore and found a woman who once offered me half a table. That’s not tracking; that’s coincidence.”
She arched a brow.
“You’re an extremely well-dressed coincidence.”
“I’m not here to scare you off.”
“You’re not.”
They stood in a pocket of quiet, surrounded by leaning shelves and soft instrumental music playing from overhead speakers.
“How’d you find me?” she asked finally.
“I remembered your name.”
“That’s all I needed.”
Casha considered him.
“That’s either very flattering or very unsettling.”
“Can I take you to dinner?” he asked, his tone even and stripped of pretense.
She blinked.
“That’s a jump.”
“I don’t do small talk, but I remember wanting to keep talking to you.”
Her mouth twitched. For a moment, he thought she might say no. Then she glanced at the clock above the register.
“I have an author event in thirty, but I get off at 6:00.”
“Then I’ll send a car.”
“No,” she said quickly. “I’ll meet you. Neutral ground.”
Yardan inclined his head.
“Fair.”
She scribbled something on a receipt pad, tore it off, and handed it to him.
“This place has great food. Don’t check the reviews; just trust me.”
He didn’t glance at the address.
“I will.”
Casha gave him one last look, then turned back to the shelf.
“You don’t need to buy the store to impress me.”
“I’ll try to restrain myself.”
At 6:00, she arrived exactly on time. The restaurant she’d chosen had no white tablecloths, no valet, and no imported chandeliers.
It smelled like garlic and roasted tomatoes. The tables were pushed so close together that elbows bumped and conversations overlapped.
Yardan had never been there, but he’d bought restaurants worth ten times more that had half the soul. Casha waved to the owner, who pointed her toward the back.
Yardan was already seated, his overcoat folded beside him and his suit jacket gone. Without it, he looked slightly less untouchable. Only slightly.
“You clean up well,” she said, sliding into the booth.
“You say that like I was dirty before.”
“You were emotionally crumpled.”
He laughed under his breath.
“You always this blunt?”
“I get it from my grandmother. She once told my prom date his tie looked like a funeral napkin.”
“She sounds terrifying.”
“She’s perfect.”
They ordered pasta for her and lamb for him. There was no wine, just water and bread with olive oil between them.
“You said you don’t do small talk,” Casha said, twirling her fork. “So what do you do?”
“Deals. Strategy. Acquisitions.”
“Sounds romantic.”
“It isn’t.”
“Sounds like it pays well.”
“It does.”
She nodded, then leaned forward slightly.
“So why does someone with all that end up eating at a place like this with someone like me?”
Yardan didn’t blink.
“Because no one else looked at me like I was just a guy who needed somewhere to sit.”
She looked down at her plate, then back up at him.
“That’s not enough.”
“Maybe not, but it’s a start.”
They ate, and the space between them shrank—not physically, but in the way people inch toward each other without meaning to.
She told him how her parents had lived on opposite coasts after their divorce and how she’d always felt like a suitcase no one fully unpacked.
He told her about boarding school in the Alps, the year he’d lived in Tokyo, and the first time he’d realized money couldn’t fix silence.
They didn’t touch, but the air between them was charged like a wire stretched taut. When the check came, she reached for it. He placed one hand over hers.
“Let me.”
Casha narrowed her eyes.
“I’m not a charity case.”
“I know that. But I asked you to be here. Let me do this one thing.”
She pulled her hand back after a second.
“Just don’t tip more than the actual bill. That drives them crazy.”
“Noted.”
Outside, the street was wet from a light, misty rain. It was just enough to make the pavement shine. They walked slowly, with no real destination.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said.
“I get that a lot.”
“I mean, you are, but you’re also not.”
Yardan stopped walking.
“Casha.”
She turned to face him. He studied her for a long moment as the city swirled behind them and headlights sliced through the shadows.
He stepped forward, not touching her, but close enough that she had to tilt her chin to keep his gaze.
“I don’t do this,” he said quietly. “I don’t chase. I don’t show up. I don’t remember names unless they’re on contracts.”
“Okay.”
“And yet here I am.”
Casha’s voice was soft.
“Why me?”
“I don’t know yet.”
His eyes searched hers.
“But I plan to find out.”
She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t move away either. Then, as if the moment had reached its edge, she stepped back.
“I have to catch a train.”
“Let me get you a driver.”
“No, Casha. I don’t want this to become something I can’t keep up with. Let it be simple. Just for now.”
He nodded once. She walked backward for a few steps, then turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Yardan stood there for a long time, the mist clinging to his coat and a strange heat beneath his ribs.
He wasn’t used to being told no. He’d never been more certain he wanted to hear her say yes.
