Page 45

A large door leads to the actual rooftop, where I can spot a large number of people milling about, drinking cocktails and taking obligatory photos with the skyline behind them. A dull thumping noise hints of a DJ somewhere in the mix.

Cullen leads us to a two-top tucked away on the far side, flush with the windows. The stunning view of the city below us makes the experience feel even more lush.

He pulls out my chair, and I smile at the simple gesture. “Thanks.”

“You look gorgeous.” He takes his seat opposite me.

“Really? In my work clothes?” I give him a sarcastic brow raise.

“Especially in your work clothes.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize office attire was such a turn on.”

“Oh, yeah. Haven’t you heard? Professionalism is every man’s secret kink.”

I let out a snort at his ridiculousness, but he keeps a straight face.

“I’m serious, Verity. Those pants with that top, instant hard-on.”

It’s at that exact moment our server walks over, and I have no doubt he overheard us with the way he gives Cullen a questioning stare before not so subtly analyzing my outfit. Lovely.

“I’m Peter and I’ll be your server tonight. Have you had a chance to look at the menu, ma’am?”

“Oh, sorry, no.” I quickly pick up the menu and begin scanning it.

“No worries. Take your time. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Just water, please.”

He nods and then turns to Cullen. “Would you like another Negroni, sir?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“All right, I’ll be back.”

My eyes widen as I take in the obscene prices of the food. My God. I knew the Scarmont Rooftop was fancy, but I didn’t realize it wasthisfancy. I sneak a peek at Cullen over the menu.

He must make good commissions—or at least that’s how the people in those reality shows make all their money, selling expensive homes to rich people and getting a cut of the cost. Hannah and I love watching those while wearing sheet masks and eating pizza from the place next door.

“Anything catch your eye?” Cullen’s gaze connects with mine, turning my subtle peek into a full-blown ogle.

“The lobster roll sounds good.”

“Oh, that’s delicious.”

“Have you eaten here before?”

“Yeah, I do lot of business meetings here.” He nods to the outdoor area. “I was here earlier for some drinks with a client, actually.”

“I was wondering how you managed to snag us a table on a Friday.”

I’ve never tried to get a reservation here before, but most places in the city require a reservation, especially Thursday through Sunday, so there is no way the Scarmont would be an exception. I would even bet it is one of those places that only opens reservations two weeks out right at midnight and books up within the first ten minutes.

I am feeling a little out of my element. I’d gathered during our conversations that Cullen makes decent money—the man has an apartment with a balcony right above Surfside Beach, for God’s sake—but as each day passes, I’ve started to wonder if maybe there is more than what he is letting on. I’m not used to this level of glamour and spend, and I’m a little worried that I will somehow mess it up.

“Are you good?”

Cullen reaches across the table to squeeze my hand, making me realize that I’ve just been staring at him in silence.