Roberta is giving me a hard time. It seems to be a favorite pastime for the women in my life.

“You ‘think’ she’s an eight? You think. How do you expect me to find a dress for her if you can’t even tell me what size she is, Dominic?”

“Work your magic. I emailed you a photo.”

“You did, but it would be helpful to have something that shows all of her. And not just yanked from social media.”

“Roberta…” I’m using my President of Breson Company voice on her now.

She knows me well enough to stop teasing and get to it.

“I’ll take care of it, Dominic. I have a gorgeous red satin A-line that will look stunning with her coloring.”

Hmm. “She’s not a frilly kind of girl. Something sexy, form-fitting. I want to see her—“

“That’s fine,” she says, cutting me off. “I know what men like to see. It’s a date, then?”

A date. I’m taking Lucy out on a date. I try the thought on for size. I’m determined not to make the mistake I made before. I want to see what it’s like to have dinner with her. To be a real person with her, not her boss, not a dick. Everything has been backward so far, I think maybe surprising her with dinner plans tonight might make up for not calling after our last…run-in. She’s not expecting this and won’t have clothes at the office, so I’ve arranged for a dress to be delivered to her here.

Roberta has been a personal shopper for my family account for years. I realize only too late, though, that asking her to help me plan a date is like walking up to the pastor’s wife at the checkout counter and buying condoms. Awkward in the extreme.

“Thank you for your help, Roberta. Can you please make sure all the extras are sent over, too? Shoes, bag, whatever?”

“Not to worry, I’ll take care of it. Do we have an address?”

“Send to the office, would you? Delivery to the attention Lucy Warner.”

“It will arrive this afternoon.” I can hear her tapping out the order when she asks, “And how is Mrs. Talbot? Have you heard from her since she left? I can just imagine what she would think of your new assistant leaving you to make these arrangements on your own.”

After the call I dive into a pile of reports and briefs which, before I realize it, takes up a good chunk of the day. The Foster deal sucked up more than a fair share of oxygen the last few months and it feels good to jump back into the prospective side of the work at Breson Company. We have even more new prospects on the horizon now, especially with the success of the last deal on everyone’s mind.

It’s four-thirty in the afternoon before I even look up from my desk, and even then only because Lucy has come into my office. I deliberately shut my door today—looking at her, knowing she’s steps away from where I’m sitting—is just too much of a distraction. Lucy doesn’t knock when she walks in, however. She stands in front of my desk at stiff attention. Dangling from her left hand is a white and gold Nordstrom bag. I see my delivery arrived.

“Yes?” I ask innocently, ready to spring my plan for a “working dinner” on her.

I don’t expect what she says next.

“I’m not feeling well. I think I’m going to head home a bit early. Sir.” Her face is a stony mask when she speaks.

“Wait, what? You’re sick?” I stand up, concerned, the reports on my tablet completely forgotten.

She shakes her head, but she looks pale. “Just not feeling well. I think I should go.”

Two pink dots are coloring her cheeks. Something’s wrong. She avoids eye contact, her eyes fixed as though on a point above my head. Her body is drawn and tight.

Aside from my disappointment that my dinner surprise is ruined, something feels off. Lucy has the same look on her face that she had Saturday, when she thought I was with Shawna.

“Oh, and before I forget, your package arrived. A dress.” She holds up the bag. I don’t think I’m mistaken that there’s barely contained anger in her voice. “It’s lovely. Shall I go ahead and forward it to Miss Davis’s hotel? Or maybe you plan to bring it to her yourself tonight?”

Aaand now I see what the problem is.

I round the corner of my desk and walk over to my office door, closing it shut to keep from being overheard. Lucy stays where she is, still staring straight ahead. I move in front of her and lean back against my desk, crossing my ankles where I stand.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I say quietly.

“Really, Dominic, please. Do tell me what I’m thinking.” Her eyes flick to mine now, and I can confirm that she’s royally pissed.

“So this is you jealous? Noted.”

“Jealous?” she snaps, her eyes crackling blue fire. “Try insulted. In the extreme. Obviously you have plans with someone this evening. You made the arrangements yourself, to keep me from seeing it, but they sent the dress here. Sorry they messed up your terribly laid plans.”

It shouldn’t, but seeing her fiery like this is turning me on. And I like her a little jealous.

“Lucy,” I begin, but she averts her eyes again. “Lucy, look at me. Please.”

When she does I see hurt mixed in with the anger now.

“Do you really like the dress?”

If looks could kill, I think I’d be dead. Before she snaps and kills me for real, I say quickly, “I’m only asking because it’s for you.”

She jolts.

“I was going to tell you we’d be working through dinner, and then surprise you with the dress. It was, as you said, a terribly laid plan.”

Lucy eyes me suspiciously and then looks down at the bag.

I cross my arms. “I made reservations at Le Cirque at seven tonight. For us. If you’re not feeling up to it, I understand.” The words feel strange. I’m not used to being unsure asking a beautiful woman to dinner. But I suppose everything with Lucy has been a bit backward since we met.

“This is for me?” Her voice wavers. An improvement, I think, though I suppose I should just be relieved she doesn’t sound angry anymore.

Our eyes meet and hold, even as she lifts the bag onto my desk and takes the garment boxes out. I have to hand it to Roberta: she’s a pro. Wrapped in tissue, I can see the color of the dress is a shiny sapphire blue, with a deep V at the front, but not much else. Also in the bag, a box with a strappy set of Louboutin heels.

Lucy lightly touches the fabric, but then pulls back as though unsure. “I’m flattered. And embarrassed. I didn’t think this was for us.”

“No, I understand. This is strange territory for me, too. I’ve usually taken a woman to dinner first before we get this far.” I make a pointed look at my desk. Lucy blushes, and I feel a skip in my chest.

Her eyes are shiny as she closes the lid of the box and slips it reverently back into the gift bag. And then she bites her lip.

Before I can even think about it, I move in close and kiss her. No hands, no other parts touching, just my mouth on hers. When her lips part to accept, I tease her lip with my tongue and then bite her gently, too.

Pulling back, I stay close enough so that I can feel the heat coming off of her, I’m fighting to keep my hands off her. To keep from pulling her tight against me then tossing her back up on the desk and burying my mouth against the soft, sweet part of her. Instead, I focus on the tiny hitch of her breath as I speak low and soft against her mouth.

“Wear this dress for me. Come to dinner.”

I kiss her again and feel her sway a little, her lips following as I pull back one more time.

“Say yes, Lucy. Say it.”

This close to her, I feel rather than see the slow smile on her lips. And then I hear the word I’m waiting for.

“Yes.”