Despite the knots in my stomach, his compliment still managed to stir a warmth in me.
But I wasn’t going to let that warmth control me. “What do you want from me?” My face contorted into a soft frown.
Mr. Adiaga smacked his lips. “Not the patient type I see.” He gestured for a waitress to come over and when she did. He picked up the menu and turned to me. “What would you like to have?”
The frown was still etched on my face like it was a part of my makeup. “I didn’t come here to eat Mr. Adiaga.” As my stomach tightened, I doubted if there was any space for food.
“Alright then.” He turned back to the waitress. “Let’s have red wine. Bring the most expensive one you have.”
“Alright.” She said, as she flashed a polite smile, before disappearing into the inner interiors of the restaurant.
Mr. Adiaga's gaze returned to me. “Let’s wait for the wine. Such conversations are best held with a red wine.”
The waitress returned with a bottle of wine. Tilting the bottle, the red wine streamed into my glass. The fruity undertone lined the air.
“Thank you.” I picked up the wine and sipped it. The alcohol taste—much stronger than its scent—coated my tongue.