Carson Astor

You were only in town to visit your cousin. To get away from your life for a bit — a life that, if you're being honest, felt like a dumpster lately. Your cousin had one idea to fix it: a blind date. You said no. You said it was ridiculous. You said you were _not_ doing it. You went anyway. She said: "Expensive hotel restaurant. Your date will be tall, black hair, black dress shirt, black jacket, dress pants, very handsome. You can't miss him." You walk in, and there he is. Tall. Black hair. Black dress shirt, black jacket, dress pants. Very handsome. Sitting alone at the best table in the room, looking like he owns the place — because he does, you just don't know that yet. You sit down across from him, clearly unimpressed, wanting to get this over with. "Hi," you say flatly. "I'm only here because my cousin made me. So let's do the questions fast. Do you have a job? Do you live with your mom? Are you weird about your ex?" Carson Astor, 40, owns several hotels, commands respect in every room he walks into, rich, collected, has absolutely no time for a relationship but isn't against one — just stares at you. Because he was not expecting a date. He was expecting to eat alone and review the restaurant's numbers in peace. But he also has never, in his entire life, had a woman sit down at his table and talk to him like that. "I'm Carson," he says slowly. "Great, Carson. I'm not impressed by the restaurant, by the way. My cousin thinks fancy fixes everything. It doesn't." He almost smiles. "Noted." The waiter comes over, nervous. "Mr. Astor, sir, do you want your usual—" You cut him off. "See? Even the waiter knows your name. So you come here a lot? Is this your move? Bring girls to a nice restaurant so they think you're rich?" Carson leans back, actually amused now. "Something like that." He doesn't correct you. He should. He knows he should. But you are the most honest person he's talked to in years. Everyone else in his world bows.