Page 71 of Mr. Hotshot CEO

I giggle. “Does this surprise involve sex?”

“That will come later, but for now...”

He takes my hand. We head up a set of stairs, so I know we’re going to the rooftop patio, and soon I feel a light breeze on my skin. He guides me into a chair before pulling off the blindfold.

In front of me is a table for two with salad, bread, olive oil, and a bottle of white wine chilling in an ice bucket. Julian sits down across from me. He’s wearing a purple dress shirt, the top button undone, and he looks incredibly sexy.

And he prepared dinner for me. On his rooftop patio.

It’s not quite dark yet, but the sun is sinking in the sky, and it’s just the two of us, high above the city.

“Oh!” I exclaim. “This is amazing.”

“You haven’t tasted it yet.”

“Everything you do is amazing.”

It’s true. Julian doesn’t do anything by half measures.

The green salad has fresh figs, goat cheese, and a simple vinaigrette, and it does, indeed, taste delicious. I break off a piece of bread, dip it in the olive oil, and pop it into my mouth.

“Oh my God,” I groan. “This is incredible. Did you bake it?”

“I’m notthattalented.”

“I suspect you’ll prove otherwise in the bedroom tonight.”

I haven’t talked freely about sex in years, but with Julian, it’s easy.

And he really is that talented. In the bedroom...and elsewhere. I’m sure he could bake bread this delicious if he gave it a try. Lack of experience never seems to stop him; his lemon squares, for example, were divine.

He takes my hand, his touch sending tingles to parts of my body that arenotmy ovaries, and examines my red nail polish. “How was your shopping trip?”

“Successful. Don’t peek in the garment bag. I want it to be a surprise, but let me assure you, it’sverysexy.”

He looks at me with a smoldering gaze. “Did you get shoes?”

“I did. Also very sexy.”

“Did you spend a lot of my money?”

“Including the manicures and pedicures for three people? It was...” I do some quick math. “Close to eight hundred dollars.” I put a hand to my mouth. “Wow.”

He laughs. “Courtney, it’s fine.”

“You gave me your credit card and pin number. You must really trust me.”

“I do.”

We are quiet for a minute and focus on eating our salads. It’s a simple salad with only a few ingredients—but they are quality ingredients, plus Julian made it for me, and we are sitting outside as the sun sets.

This is perfect. I don’t want to forget this moment. Ever.

“Your reaction proves why I trust you with my credit card,” he says. “You would feel too guilty to spend a significant amount of money.”

“Eight hundred dollars is a significant amount.”

“It’s nothing. If it makes you happy...”