Do you want mustard?” she asks.

“Don’t you mean, ‘do you want mustard, Mr. Chairman?’”

“I knew it,” she sighs, handing me my hot dog. “Power would go to your head.”

I chuckle and slip my free hand in hers. It’s a beautiful summer evening in Central Park and we’ve got the best meal in the city, as far as I’m concerned. And, of course, the best company.

“We both know where the real power lies,” I say. “Too bad Linda Davies didn’t have the brains to recognize it, too. She’s going to regret losing faith in PinkBook.”

“Out of everything that happened, I think that one hurts the most,” she says. “Linda was a mentor. To find out that she had that little faith in us is hard to take.”

“Harder than Millie?”

She sighs. “People are human. She made a huge mistake, but she owned up to it. And I think she can make things right; she and Tim are going to counselling, and I’ll give her a good recommendation for her next job. Things can never be the same between us, though.”

“It’s been my experience that people do stupid things when large amounts of money are involved. They make decisions that they otherwise would never make.”

She looks at me coyly. “You mean like asking women to marry you in front of a roomful of strangers?”

“Exactly like that,” I grin.

“Well, it worked. Not only was the crisis averted, we’ve managed to shore up our stock prices already and the new content rollout has been even bigger than I’d hoped. I guess everyone really does root for an underdog.”

“Especially when that underdog is a brilliantly run company,” I say. “That’s a key part of this, remember.”

“That’s something we should really talk about. Are you going to be a silent partner?”

“My lips are sealed,” I say, pulling her into a kiss.

“Don’t change the subject,” she says as our lips part, and I see a glimmer of the little girl who never backed down from an argument. “Do you intend to have a hand in PinkBook?”

“No,” I say seriously. “Do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know how to run a successful company.”

She frowns. “What are you talking about? Of course you do.”

“No, I know how to make lots of money. They’re two different things. I used to think the same thing—obviously—until I met you and your friends. You showed me how good companies run. Any meddling I did in PinkBook would just screw things up.”

She squeezes my hand. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit, Justin.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” I grin. “This isn’t false modesty. I’m still the cleverest guy in just about every room, and I can take turn a quarter into a million dollars through sheer willpower.”

“If you do say so yourself,” she giggles.

“But I don’t have the soul of a businessman just yet. That’s what I need to learn from you and others like you. Once I do, I’m going to make some changes.”

“Like what?”

“Well, first of all, I’m going to see if I can get a Nigerian petroleum refinery running again and put about a thousand people back to work.”

Her eyes go wide. “Are you serious? That’s amazing! Could we go there together?”

“If it’s feasible. There’s no guarantee that I can make it happen.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“And I’m going to take a couple hundred million that I have set aside and put it into a charitable foundation. I was thinking of maybe getting Margot’s fiancé Bryan to run it for me.”

“Oh my God, she will plotz when you tell her that! A stockbroker his age taking over a $200-million portfolio? You’re essentially buying them their first house!”

I shrug. “He’d be buying it himself. And if he doesn’t make enough of a return on my investment, I’ll fire him. I’m not Santa Claus.”

She leans into my arm. “Keep eating my cooking the way you have been and you’ll be as fat as him.”

“Don’t I know it,” I chuckle. “Would you kick me out of bed if I was?”

“I think it’s safe to say I will never kick you out of bed.”

We walk in companionable silence for a while, drinking in the warmth of the air, the summer smells, the sounds of people enjoying themselves. This is something no amount of money can buy.

“Come with me,” she says finally, tugging on my hand. “There’s a nice little spot over here.”

We end up under a wide weeping willow that creates a canopy around a spot about thirty feet in diameter. It’s cool in the shade and the grass under the umbra is particularly lush.

“I wanted to be somewhere that there was soft ground,” she says.

“What for?” I give her a leering look. “You want to make out right here in public?”

She locks her eyes on mine, and the look on her face is as serious as I’ve ever seen.

“Ask me again,” she says.

I frown, puzzled. “Ask you what again?”

She squeezes my hands in hers. “Ask me again.”

My pulse quickens as I finally catch on to what she’s saying. My mouth is suddenly dry and I almost stumble dropping down to one knee.

“I don’t—I mean, I left the ring—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she urges. “Just ask me.”

I take her hand in mine and look into those eyes that are bluer than the sky above us. Just like last time, we’re surrounded by strangers, and I don’t care.

“Sarah Bauer,” I say, my mouth suddenly dry. “Would you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

I’m expecting a giddy grin, but the look she gives me is as stern as a Brooklyn traffic cop’s.

“I’ll say yes on one condition.”

Conditions? What is this, a negotiation? I don’t know, I’m still knew at this romance stuff!

“Uh…name it?” I ask.

Now she smiles, and it’s like a sunrise I want to see every morning for the rest of my life.

“Next time,” she says, “I get to rescue you.”

Turns out Sarah is a pretty tough negotiator herself.