Page 28 of Claimed By the Boss

“I like the privacy,” I admit, hoping she catches the double meaning.

“Do you always require so much privacy?” she asks.

“Often.”

“And what exactly do you plan to do with so much of it?”

I don’t answer.

The driver pulls up to a private entrance on the far side of the tower. The valet is already waiting, briefed and background-checked. He opens the door, and I step out first.

Lyra follows.

She walks with a confidence that surprises me. Chin high, shoulders back, like she’s marching into battle. She’s on high alert, and maybe she’s right to be.

We ride the elevator in silence to the top floor.

When the doors part again, they open onto the kind of view most people never get to see.

The restaurant is dimly lit. Black floors. Steel lines. Wall-to-wall glass. The city stretches out in every direction, lights glittering against the night sky. There’s only one table set, near the glass.

She stops walking when she sees it. “This is incredible,” she whispers.

I step beside her. “I thought you might appreciate a little luxury tonight.”

She looks over at me, searching for something in my face.

“So is this, like, your move?” she asks suspiciously. “Do you do this for all of your dates?”

I don’t lie. “No, but I have done it once before.”

She looks back at the table. “Is this the same place?”

“No.”

She looks satisfied by my answer, then walks toward our table.

The host appears silently, bows, then vanishes the moment we’re seated. Champagne is already poured. Lyra picks up her glass and studies it before taking a sip. I let her settle before I say anything more.

“Is this too much?” I ask.

She glances around. “Maybe.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“No.”

I nod, not sure what to make of her short, curt answers.

She studies me over the rim of her glass. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“So private. So in control of everything and everyone.”

“Yes.”

“That sounds exhausting.”