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“I’ve been involved with the hospital for years. My cousin was treated there as a kid. Leukemia. She survived because they had the right technology and the best doctors. Not every family is that lucky.”

“I had no idea,” Anica said softly.

“It’s not something I advertise. Bad for my image as a heartless sexy tech billionaire,” I shrugged.

“Heaven forbid people know you actually care about something beyond your stock portfolio,” she teased, but her eyes were warm.

“It would ruin me. Next thing you know, I’d be rescuing drowning damsels and helping old people cross streets. My reputation would never recover.”

As we continued through the exhibit, I explained various medical technologies with perhaps more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. But Anica seemed genuinely interested, asking thoughtful questions about the equipment and treatment protocols.

“You know a lot about medical technology for someone who isn’t in healthcare,” she observed.

“I invest in it. Not just financially, but time-wise. I sit on the hospital’s innovation board. We review new technologies, evaluate their potential impact, determine funding priorities.”

“That’s... actually pretty amazing,” she admitted.

“Try not to sound so surprised. I occasionally do things that don’t involve being insufferable.”

“Only occasionally,” she agreed with a smile that took the sting out of her words. “This is clearly your annual good deed.”

“Ouch. You wound me.”

She laughed, and I found myself inordinately pleased that I’d caused that sound. I wanted to make her laugh more often. I wanted to be the reason for that spark in her eyes, that slight flush in her cheeks.

God, I was in trouble.

As we made our way back to the main hall, the string quartet had been replaced by a small orchestra, and couples were beginning to fill the dance floor. I glanced at Anica, who was watching the dancers with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

“Would you like to dance?” I asked, offering my hand.

She hesitated. “I should warn you, I usually don’t.”

“Consider this research for my wedding, then,” I suggested, instantly regretting the reference to our professional relationship. “I mean?—”

“Research,” she repeated, a small smile playing at her lips. “Of course. Very professional.”

She placed her hand in mine, and I led her to the dance floor, my heart beating faster than the situation warranted. As we reached the center of the floor, I drew her into my arms, one hand at the small of her back, the other clasping hers gently.

The orchestra was playing something slow and vaguely familiar, the kind of music that required couples to stand close together.

Anica fit against me perfectly, her body warm and soft where it pressed against mine.

I was a little too aware of every point of contact between us: my hand on her back, her fingers twined with mine, the occasional brush of her thigh against my leg as we moved.

My body’s reaction to her proximity was immediate and embarrassingly obvious.

I subtly adjusted our position to maintain a small distance between our lower halves, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

Or more accurately, not wanting her to feel exactly how comfortable she made certain parts of me.

Think unsexy thoughts. Baseball statistics.

Tax codes. Jellyfish. Actually, no, not jellyfish.

Those floating death bags are too traumatizing.

Gram’s bunion surgery. The time I walked in on my college roommate naked.

Literally anything but the way her breasts press against my chest when she breathes.

“You’re a good dancer,” Anica observed, looking up at me.

“My grandmother insisted on lessons. Said no grandson of hers was going to shuffle around like, and I quote, ‘a drunk toddler on roller skates.’”

“She has a way with words.”

“You have no idea. She once described my first girlfriend as having ‘all the personality of baby food, but with less nutritional value.’”

Anica laughed. “Harsh.”

“The harshest. Gram is not easy to impress. Though she was right. My ex did bear a striking resemblance to mushy baby food.”

“And Angie? What did your grandmother think of her?” Anica asked, her tone carefully neutral. “I mean, did you tell her about the prenup from hell?”

“Thankfully, no. Gram would’ve probably seen through her before I did.”

“Smart lady.”

“You two are a lot alike in that regard.” I spun her around and pulled her closer. “She thinks the bet was stupid too.”

“Certainly has more sense than you, then.”

“Oh definitely.” I pulled back to catch her gaze.

She looked away first, scanning the room. “Everyone’s staring at us.”

“Let them. I’m only looking at you.”

Her gaze snapped back to mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. I wanted to kiss her again, right there on the dance floor, regardless of the gossip it would generate.

“Callan,” she began, her voice barely audible over the music.

Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find Edward Whitman, the hospital’s chief of surgery, smiling apologetically.

“Sorry to interrupt, but the speech is about to begin, and they’re asking for you backstage.”

I’d completely forgotten I was supposed to introduce the hospital’s director. “Right,” I nodded. “I’ll be right there.” Turning back to Anica, I explained, “I have to make a short speech. Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

“I think I can manage not to get lost or kidnapped,” she assured me. “Go. Be brilliant.”

With reluctance, I released her and followed Edward toward the stage. The speech itself was brief and straightforward—welcome, thanks for coming, introduce the hospital director, exit stage left. I delivered it on autopilot, my mind still on the dance floor with Anica.

By the time I made my way back to her, she was engaged in conversation with a small group that included the mayor and his wife.

She looked completely at ease, laughing at something the mayor’s wife had said.

I paused for a moment, just watching her.

She belonged here, in this world of wealth and influence, not because she craved it, but because she was confident enough in herself to navigate it without being overwhelmed.

As if sensing my presence, she glanced up, her gaze finding mine across the room. She smiled, a small, private smile that made my chest tighten. I made my way to her side, sliding a hand to the small of her back in a gesture that was becoming increasingly familiar.

“Nice speech,” she murmured as I joined the conversation.

“I’m a man of many talents.”

“So I’m discovering.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of conversations, champagne, and stolen glances. By the time we finally made our exit, it was well past midnight, and I was riding a strange high that had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with the woman beside me.

In the car, Anica was looking out the window, but I could feel her awareness of me in the way she held herself, slightly turned toward me despite her outward focus on the passing cityscape.

“Nightcap? I make a mean old-fashioned.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. One drink.”

The ride up in the elevator was excruciating.

We stood inches apart, both staring at the numbered display as if it held the secrets of the universe.

I was hyperaware of her scent, the sound of her breathing, the way her dress rustled softly when she shifted her weight.

My palms were sweating, and I was pretty sure I could hear my own heartbeat echoing in the confined space.

By the time we reached my penthouse, I was a bundle of nerves disguised as a functioning adult. I unlocked the door, letting her enter first, then followed, shrugging off my jacket and loosening my tie.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I said, gesturing to the living room. “I’ll fix those drinks.”

“Stay away from the rum.”

I chuckled and busied myself at the bar, carefully measuring bourbon and bitters, adding a sugar cube, stirring with perhaps more concentration than the task required. When I turned around, drinks in hand, Anica was standing by the windows, looking out at the city lights.

“Beautiful view,” she commented as I approached.

“The best in the city,” I agreed, handing her a glass. “Though tonight it has competition.”

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile played at her lips. “That was terrible.”

“But effective. You’re smiling.”

“At your expense, not because of your charm.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

We stood in silence for a moment, sipping our drinks and looking out at the city. Then, simultaneously, we turned to face each other.

“Anica—”

“Callan—”

We both stopped and laughed awkwardly.

“You first,” I offered.

She took a deep breath. “What are we doing? Really?”

“Right now? Having a nightcap.”

“You know what I mean.”

I did. I sighed, setting my glass down on a nearby table. “Honestly? I have no idea. I just know that I want to be around you. I want to talk to you. I want to make you laugh. I want to kiss you again. I want to do a lot more than kiss you, actually, but I’m trying to be gentlemanly about it.”

“That’s... complicated.”

“Because of the arrangement,” I acknowledged. “The bet.”

“Mainly because you’re my client. My very high-profile client who hired me to plan his wedding to someone else.”

“What if there was no arrangement?” I asked, stepping closer to her. “No bet. No professional relationship. Just us. What would you want then?”

She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. “That’s not a fair question.”

“None of this is fair, but I’m asking anyway.”

She was quiet for a long moment, and I held my breath, waiting. Finally, she set her own glass down and closed the distance between us.

“This,” she whispered, rising on her toes to press her lips to mine.