The Billionaire And His Son Want Me Back (Paisley) novel Chapter 6

The Golden Dome was the crown jewel of Harrowfell's fine dining scene—a restaurant where understated luxury met impeccable taste. Every corner radiated elegance, from the soft, golden lighting to the discreet hum of classical music.

Inside one of the private rooms, Gary raised his glass, his expression brimming with guilt. "Ms. Vaire, I owe you an apology regarding the lead actress role. I promised you but couldn't deliver. I'm deeply sorry."

Paisley knew Gary well enough. This wasn't their first collaboration, and she understood his character.

To Gary, the sanctity of art outweighed everything. If it hadn't been unavoidable, he would never have agreed to let Brittany into the project.

"Mr. Anderson, there's no need for apologies. I understand your hands were tied. It's not your fault," Paisley replied calmly, her tone devoid of blame. After all, even the most resolute director couldn't stand firm under the crushing weight of capital and influence.

Gary sighed with relief, but his guilt lingered. Without waiting for a response, he downed another glass of wine, the flush of alcohol creeping across his face. "Ms. Vaire, thank you for your understanding," he murmured, almost to himself.

In the industry, Paisley worked under the pseudonym Nion Vaire—a name that had garnered respect for her compelling scripts.

Gary had always admired her and hoped to collaborate with her again. His regret over breaking their agreement gnawed at him, and it showed in the way he nervously nursed his drink.

As a man in his fifties with a low tolerance for alcohol, Gary quickly began showing the telltale signs of intoxication.

His face turned beet red, and his words grew slightly slurred. "Ms. Vaire, I swear to you, I'll give this my all. I won't let your work be tarnished."

Paisley offered him a faint, polite smile, but her thoughts remained elsewhere. This situation had long outgrown Gary's control.

"Mr. Anderson, do you have any idea who's behind Brittany's sudden rise?" she asked after a pause. Her voice was calm but deliberate, her sharp intuition zeroing in on the real key—the mysterious figure behind Brittany.

Gary's face scrunched with uncertainty. "I don't know," he admitted as he shook his head.

Paisley wasn't surprised. She figured that whoever was backing Brittany was someone powerful enough to keep their involvement concealed. They didn't step into the spotlight—they merely issued orders and had others execute their will.

Paisley nodded slightly, choosing not to press further.

The conversation was momentarily interrupted as the door slid open, revealing a waiter carrying artfully plated dishes. As the door moved, a figure passed outside, briefly glancing into the room.

Elsewhere, Marissa stepped into another private room, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Dominick was already there, lounging with an air of unbothered elegance.

His tall frame was angled toward the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights glimmering faintly beyond the glass. One long, slender finger tapped idly against the table, a rhythm that betrayed his distracted mind.

Marissa snapped out of her daze. Her lips curved into a smile as she approached, her voice warm and slightly playful. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

Interrupted, Dominick glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "I haven't been waiting long," he replied, his tone distant, almost detached.

Marissa slid into the chair across from him, motioning for a waiter to bring the menu.

"Anything you'd like to eat? Or any preferences I should know about?" she asked with a practiced ease, her smile remaining bright and unwavering.

Dominick, clearly absent-minded, didn't immediately respond. His gaze drifted for a few moments as if her question had only just registered. "Anything's fine," he said eventually, his voice indifferent.

If Marissa was bothered by his lack of enthusiasm, she didn't show it. Her smile only seemed to brighten. "Alright then, I'll take care of it," she said cheerfully.

"Sure," Dominick replied with a slight nod, his attention already slipping back to whatever thoughts had occupied him before she arrived.

After placing their orders, Marissa handed the menu back to the waiter. Only when the door closed behind him did she allow herself a playful sigh. "Honestly, Kayla's something else. She's the one inviting us and the one bailing on us."

"It's fine. Without her, it's quieter," Dominick remarked calmly, his tone betraying no annoyance.

Kayla Vanderbilt, Dominick's younger sister, had been coddled her entire life, which made her a spoiled, headstrong woman with little sense of boundaries and a penchant for making noise wherever she went.

Marissa chuckled softly, covering her mouth in a polished manner, "Careful, Dom. If she hears that, she'll throw a tantrum."

She leaned in slightly, her tone casual, but her sharp eyes carefully studied Dominick's expression, trying to catch any flicker of reaction. "By the way, Dom, have you seen the entertainment headlines these past few days?"

A subtle shift crossed Dominick's features, a flicker of something unreadable. "Yes, I've seen them."