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“How?”

“I make it my business to know everything about the local area where we hold real estate. I knew this family was in trouble and had planned to help them. I just found my opening when I decided to take you for coffee evenbeforeI met you in the cemetery and had Simon call ahead to shut down the shop. The fact that they accommodated my request was merely an added bonus for me. I was going to help them regardless.”

“You can do all that? Without one thing going wrong?”

“A lot can go wrong,” he tells me. “But today, the stars aligned in our favor.”

I’m sure I’m making goo goo eyes at Dante as we continue walking back to the house, a calm silence falling over us. I am still in awe of his generosity, but given the kind of money he has, I am sure this is a pinch of salt in comparison to what he is worth.

I wonder if the same can be said for me once I take my place at the head of the table. I know that my father amassed a fortune and had properties scattered across several states, but I don’t know the extent of his fortune. As though reading my mind, Dante turns to me and tells me one day soon I’ll be in a position to do the same.

“Everything has to be calculated,” he says. “Measured. And you should always know your surroundings. No point opening a hotel and leaving yourself open to competition with an empty block sitting next to you.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you buy the empty block next door before you even build your hotel.”

* * *

No oneever knocks on my door. Ever.

So, when someone does, I call, “Coming!” and slide across the hardwood floors in bare feet without a single thought to how I’m dressed, what I’m doing, or how the person on the other side might see me.

I yank the door open with enthusiasm and find Dante standing there, his gaze traveling up my long legs, lingering far longer than necessary, before he meets my eyes.

The look on his face makes me pause. His mouth opens, but no words come out. Dante’s always quick with his biting wit, so this uncharacteristic silence is... intriguing.

Finally, he seems to find his voice. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

I blink. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”

His jaw tightens. He steps inside and shuts the door behind him, flattening his back against it as if he’s bracing himself. “What if it had been someone else knocking? Hmm? Someone other than me.” His hand does a frustrated loop in the air, his eyes travelling down my body again.

I glance down at myself. Short tight tank top, boy shorts, naked feet. “What’s wrong with how I look?”

He stares at me, and I swear his eye twitches. “Everything.Everythingis wrong with how you look.”

I fold my arms. “That’s rude.”

“Kingsley. For the love of God. Go. Put. On. Pants.”

I’m about to argue—because I still don’t see the issue—when I catch his expression. His eyes are dark, stormy, and... something else. Something that makes my skin prickle.

For a brief, unusual moment, I try to see myself the way he sees me. My legs. Long, bare, and glistening with moisturiser. My tank top riding up just enough to make the boy shorts look even smaller.

Oh.

“Right,” I mutter, bolting for my room. “I’ll just—um—pants. Got it.”

Five minutes later, I return in skinny jeans and a navy henley, feeling decidedly more decent. Dante’s still standing there, looking equally agitated and—oddly—like he hasn’t taken a full breath since he arrived. His eyes flick down to my legs again, and I swear he looks... annoyed.

“Well?” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “I’m dressed. Why are you still mad?”

“Because,” he says, running a hand through his hair like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will, “you don’tget it, Kingsley.”

I cock my head. “Get what?”

“That opening the door in that state is dangerous.”