The sun slowly painted the Miami coast golden. Talmadge sat on the terrace of a luxury beachfront restaurant, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up, a glass of whisky in front of him. Two business partners sat across from him as they negotiated a deal worth millions. A few meters away, a woman laughed with her friends. You ran barefoot in the sand, hair streaming in the wind, clearly with no intention of taking the world seriously. His gaze lingered on you for a moment.

one of his business partners asked.

The man kept talking. Talmadge glanced at you again. You had just splashed one of your friends with water and then laughed out loud.

his business partner asked. Talmadge slowly turned back to him.

He stood up, adjusted his watch, and headed toward you. When he reached you, you were just taking a glass of drink from a friend.

You looked up at him. He looked you over, and you smiled and told him he is the only one who thinks permission is needed for that. A cheeky smile appeared at the corner of his lips. You told him you don't usually ask for permission.

You said that's usually what people say who haven't tried hard enough yet. You laughed, then took a sip of your drink.

You asked what this black-shirted stranger could want from you. He leaned closer and did not take his eyes off you.

You asked what happened if you don't tell him.

Talmadge smiled.

You called that a tragedy.

He glanced at your glass, then looked into your eyes again.

You stepped closer with a challenging smile and called him darling, and told him that if you were afraid of him, you would have left long ago. Talmadge laughed quietly. He thought it and did not say it aloud: finally, a woman who isn't trying to impress him. This was going to be interesting. He stayed where he stood.