Beneath Her Ice

Brunch was supposed to be neutral territory.

That's what Charlotte Bing said as she ushered Will through the front doors of a chic Tribeca café that looked like it had been designed by minimalists with a God complex. Everything was white stone, pale wood, and plates that looked more like abstract art than food.

Will glanced around. "So... brunch with billionaires means starving artist portions. Got it."

Charlotte smirked. "You'll live. Barely."

Then she turned—too casual—and there she was.

Eliza Darcy.

Seated. Poised. Wrapped in a cream silk blouse that probably cost more than his entire outfit. She wasn't looking at them. She was scrolling something on her phone, fingers gliding across glass like she was conducting an orchestra only she could hear.

Will's mouth went dry.He hated that.Hated the way she unsettled him.

Not because she was beautiful. That would've been easy. But because she looked like a woman who didn't need the world's permission to breathe.

Charlotte nudged him. "Play nice."

"I'm always nice," Will muttered.

Charlotte rolled her eyes and left them to greet another friend near the back patio, clearly on purpose. She was matchmaking. Or conducting a social experiment. Either way, Will was alone now… and Eliza was looking up.

Their eyes met.

A beat of charged silence.

"You showed up," she said, tone unreadable.

He sat across from her. "You say that like you didn't expect me to."

"I didn't." A flick of her eyes to the window. "People usually avoid discomfort. You strike me as someone who likes being liked."

Will gave her a half-smile. "And you strike me as someone who's allergic to warmth."

She tilted her head. "You always this direct?"

"Only when I'm trying not to say something worse."

Her lips twitched—barely. The closest thing to a smile she'd given him.

"Impressive restraint," she murmured.

A waiter came by with espresso and avocado toast that looked insultingly elegant. Neither of them moved to touch it.

Will tapped the edge of his cup. "Why did you come?"

Eliza's gaze stayed level. "Because Charlotte asked me to."

"That's not a reason. That's an excuse."

A pause. She studied him, eyes sharp and searching.

"Fine," she said softly. "Because you irritate me. And I find myself wanting to understand why."

Will blinked.

He hadn't expected honesty. Or... that kind of honesty.

"Well," he said, leaning back, "that's mutual. You're the first person to call my nonprofit 'charity cosplay.' I've been thinking about that all week."

She looked at him then—really looked. And something behind her eyes shifted. Regret? No. Not that simple. More like... conflict.

"I shouldn't have said that," she admitted. "It wasn't about you."

"Oh?" He folded his arms. "Was it about some other guy at the gala in a blue suit talking about urban tech access?"

Eliza's mouth curved—wry and self-deprecating.

"You talk like you expect everyone to live up to your ideals," she said. "I talk like I expect everyone to disappoint me. We're both exhausting."

Will laughed. He didn't mean to. But it came out anyway — dry and reluctant. "At least you admit it."

She sipped her espresso. "Most people don't argue with me."

"I'm not most people."

"That," she said, "is becoming obvious."

They sat in a quieter moment after that. The clatter of cutlery and low conversations filled the silence between them. Neither seemed willing to leave, but neither made a move closer, either.

Finally, Eliza stood.

"I have to go. Board call in ten."

"Of course," Will said, rising as well.

She looked up at him, and this time… her eyes softened.

"Thank you. For being honest."Then, more quietly:"I'm still working on that."

And just like that, she turned and left, heels clicking across polished tile.

Will watched her go, heart ticking a little too fast.

It wasn't an apology.It wasn't closure.But it was… something.

And that something stayed with him longer than he liked.