Even the always unflappable Ethan Carter couldn’t help but find this a bit tricky. But at this point, there was no turning back. He could only walk slowly to the table and nod in greeting.

“Mr. Grant.”

Ethan Carter had prepared himself for the other party to ignore him, but unexpectedly, he heard a low voice.

“Sit.”

The man’s voice was very deep, with a hint of metallic timbre—cold, yet surprisingly magnetic.

Ethan Carter sat down as instructed. When he looked up, he met a pair of bottomless black eyes.

Nathaniel Grant’s hair and eyes were both pure black, without a trace of any other color, pressing down like a dark mist, making it hard to breathe.

Ethan Carter stiffened slightly. Only then did he realize that from the moment he entered, the man had been watching him.

It was the kind of gaze that never wavered, intensely focused.

Ethan Carter couldn’t help but wonder.

Did he look strange?

Just as he was starting to doubt himself, Nathaniel Grant finally spoke.

The man’s voice was low and magnetic: “You need to change how you address me.”

How to address him?

Ethan Carter was momentarily stunned, then suddenly understood.

Right, they were supposed to pretend to be a couple. Calling him Mr. Grant did sound a bit distant.

Ethan Carter realized he’d used the wrong form of address, but wasn’t sure what to use instead, so he asked, “How do you think I should address you?”

Nathaniel Grant looked at him, his gaze still dark and inescapable.

He tapped his fingertip lightly on the solid wood table. The sound wasn’t loud, but it made Ethan Carter’s eardrums tingle.

“At the very least, don’t use ‘您’.”

Ethan Carter felt a bit embarrassed.

The interview had just started, and he’d already made two mistakes in front of the man.

But Nathaniel Grant didn’t let him feel awkward for long: “Call me by my name, or something else. Up to you.”

Ethan Carter was still unsure. Calling him directly by name felt too disrespectful—he couldn’t bring himself to do it. If he called him “难哥”... that sounded like a gangster.

And even though there was a ten-year age gap between them, Ethan Carter still felt he couldn’t call him “uncle”—that would just make him sound old for no reason.

He hesitated for a moment, then tentatively said, “Gege? (Older brother?)”

Nathaniel Grant’s expression didn’t change, but his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly and he narrowed his eyes.

Ethan Carter inexplicably felt that the way he was being looked at was a bit meaningful.

Nathaniel Grant didn’t comment on the form of address, but instead asked, “Do you often call people that?”

Ethan Carter realized the man was actually speaking more than he’d expected, and wasn’t as cold and unfeeling as the rumors said. He shook his head and answered honestly, “No, I usually say ‘senior’ or ‘shixiong’.”

Nathaniel Grant didn’t reply, so it was unclear whether he was satisfied with that answer.

Ethan Carter hesitated, then asked, “So, is it okay if I call you that?”

Nathaniel Grant finally nodded. “That’s fine.”

Ethan Carter breathed a sigh of relief, feeling that he might have a shot at passing the initial test.

If he kept working hard, maybe he’d see an offer waving at him soon.

Ethan Carter took the initiative: “You can call me Ethan, or Little Ethan.”

He thought to himself, calling him Little Ethan would also be fine—that was the one he felt most comfortable with.

Nathaniel Grant didn’t respond.

Ethan Carter didn’t find it strange; after all, the man was famously taciturn, so he just assumed the other had heard him.

However, after a moment of silence, Nathaniel Grant said, “Isn’t it Nina?”

Ethan Carter’s heart skipped a beat.

“Nina” was the nickname his mother had given him.

Not Wu Xin, but his birth mother, who had passed away nearly ten years ago.

He was so shocked that he blurted out, “How does Mr. Grant know that name?”

It wasn’t until Nathaniel Grant glanced at him that he remembered to correct himself.

“Ge... gege, how do you know?”

By the time he’d corrected himself, Ethan Carter had already figured it out.

His stepmother must have given all his information to him.

“It was mentioned in the file? Nina is fine too.”

Nathaniel Grant said nothing more. Once they’d settled the forms of address, he rang the bell to call the server.

The circular restaurant had no menu; the dishes were all pre-ordered when the reservation was made, since those expensive ingredients had to be prepared in advance. So there was no need to order now—the food was brought out directly.

Seeing the dishes brought by the server, Ethan Carter unconsciously let out a sigh of relief.

Thank goodness, it was Chinese food.

Ethan Carter wasn’t used to eating Western food, especially in winter when his stomach was more sensitive—the pressure was even greater.

There weren’t many dishes at this dinner, but each one was delicious. What surprised Ethan Carter most was that the meal turned out to be his hometown cuisine.

Sichuan food is known for its fresh flavors, but it’s not usually served at formal banquets. Ethan Carter had been prepared for greasy caviar, foie gras, or bland consommé, but instead, he was greeted with a table full of the most familiar delicacies, and his beautiful eyes lit up.

Dinner began, and neither spoke as they ate.

But ever since his father remarried, Ethan Carter had long since gotten used to eating in silence at home, so he didn’t find it oppressive at all.