First Glance: A Serendipitous Meeting at the AGO

The Art Gallery of Ontario was nearly empty at closing time when I noticed him—lingering by the Basquiat exhibit with the restless energy of someone used to moving fast but choosing to slow down.

Finance magnate. Late 40s. That particular aura of controlled intensity mixed with intellectual curiosity.

“You’re staring at it wrong,” I said, stepping beside him.

His head turned sharply. “Excuse me?”

“The painting,” I gestured to Boy and Dog in a Johnnypump. “You’re looking for meaning. Basquiat wanted you to feel first.”

His lips quirked. “Mia Laurent, I presume?”

“At your service,” I smiled. First rule of engagement: Always make them come to you.

The Unexpected Turn: A Locked Briefcase Crisis

Dinner at Alo was progressing beautifully—discussing his yacht trip to Montenegro, my unexpected expertise in blockchain—when his phone buzzed violently.

“The Tokyo merger documents—they’re in the briefcase and the code isn’t working!”

I watched his knuckles whiten around his 1945 Château Mouton Rothschild. Most companions would offer sympathy. I reached into my clutch.

“Try 7-2-0-1,” I said.

The briefcase clicked open. His stunned silence was more satisfying than the wine.

“How could you possibly—?”

“You set it while humming ‘Happy Birthday’ earlier,” I shrugged. “July 20, 2001—too significant not to be meaningful.”

The way he looked at me then—that was worth more than any fee.

Moonlight Confession: Secrets by the Toronto Islands

Later, on the ferry to the Islands, he broke the comfortable silence.

“Why does someone with your… talents do this?”

The moonlight traced his profile as I considered my answer.

“Because powerful men are the loneliest creatures on earth,” I said softly. “And everyone deserves one night where they don’t have to be important—just understood.”

The rawness in his eyes told me I’d struck truth.

The Midnight Suite: Where Time Stood Still

What began as dinner became an impromptu midnight tour of the ROM’s private collections, then whiskey and chess in his Ritz-Carlton suite. Priceless details:

• The revelation: His championship-level chess skills (I still took two games)

• The magic: My accidental correction of his Mandarin pronunciation during a tense call

• The line: Professionalism maintained, yet something intangible shimmered between us

At 4:17 AM, we stood watching sunrise paint the CN Tower gold. This is true luxury—**not the extravagance, but those rare hours when masks fall away.*

The Dawn After: A Note on Custom Stationery

I left as the city awakened. On the chessboard:

“M—
Last night I forgot I was supposed to be lonely.
Until Hong Kong. —J”

I slipped the heavy paper into my Chanel jacket. Another perfect moment preserved in memory’s vault.