Millionaire Helps a Stranger Escape a Bad Date, He Never Expected She’d Be the One He Wants Always
The Unexpected Rescue
Nicolet Zayn had just dumped her full glass of red wine into her lap, and the man across the table didn’t even notice.
“I’m not kidding; I made six figures last month flipping NFTs.”
Her date droned on, stabbing his fork at a limp steak.
“You should really consider investing; I could show you some charts.”
Nicolet forced a tight smile, dabbing at her soaked dress with a napkin.
Of course, her friend had set her up with the most self-absorbed man in Manhattan. She should have known when he showed up with a Bluetooth headset still in his ear.
“I think I’m going to call it a night,” she said, pushing her chair back.
But the man, Travis Troy, lifted a hand.
“Wait, wait, dessert’s coming; you can’t bail before the creme brulee.”
That’s when she heard the chair scrape beside her. A voice—low, deep, and firm—cut through their awkward energy like a knife.
“She’s done; I’ll walk her out.”
Nicolet turned, startled. Standing beside her was a man she’d never seen before, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair swept back like he belonged in a cologne ad.
His eyes—gray, serious, and unreadable—locked on hers with a flicker of concern. Travis Troy blinked.
“And who the hell are you?”
The stranger didn’t answer. Instead, he extended his hand toward Nicolet.
“Come with me for a second.”
She hesitated, but the look in his eyes wasn’t aggression. It wasn’t pity either. It was something else, like he actually cared that she was uncomfortable.
She stood.
“Yeah, I’m done here.”
The strange man didn’t say a word until they were out of the restaurant, past the velvet ropes, and halfway down the block.
“You okay?” he asked finally.
Nicolet laughed, breathless.
“That was dramatic. I figured you needed a way out.”
“I did,” she said, glancing over at him. “You usually rescue women from terrible dates?”
“Not usually,” he said, hands casually in his coat pockets. “But I know the look of someone trapped.”
“Thanks,” she said softly.
He paused.
“I’m Quinton Burke.”
“Nicolet Zayn.”
They shook hands. Her skin was still cold from the air; his was warm and strong.
“Want to keep walking?” he asked.
