The midday sun hung high over Calivernia, painting the streets in a golden glow as Darren's Aston Martin One-77 glided to a stop outside La Villette, a chic bistro tucked between glass-fronted boutiques.
Its ivy-draped patio and soft jazz spilling from open windows promised a respite from the morning's startup grind.
Darren stepped out, his charcoal suit catching the light, tie still loose from earlier. He glanced at Amelia, who hesitated in the passenger seat, her dark hair framing a face caught between surprise and nerves.
"Coming?" he called, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "I promised you a nice lunch if you impressed me. NeuraNest was a solid find, so here we are."
Amelia's hazel eyes widened, and she fumbled with her notebook, stepping out in her navy blazer and skirt, heels clicking uncertainly. "I… I didn't think you meant today, sir," she said, her voice soft, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "And I didn't think you meant La Villette."
