The doorbell rings at 7:45 a.m. sharp.

I’ve been feverishly waiting, fully dressed, since 6:30 a.m. I hardly slept last night, my mind greatly absorbed with thoughts of today. It’ll be my first presentation, since design school—and frankly, I have no clue how Antonio and Jonah are going to react to my suggestions.

I examine my reflection in the floor-length mirror that clings perfectly to the wall by the front door.

Hair done up in an Audrey Hepburn bun—which, on its own, took over an hour to perfect.

Black Dress. Black Heels. Red Lipstick.

Yep. I’m good.

I peek into my leather tote, scanning its contents.

Phone. Wallet. Lipstick. Mascara. Laptop.

Yep. It’s all there.

Taking in a calming deep breath, I clutch the leather tote bag, flinging it on my shoulder, and swing the door open, fully prepared to flash Antonio an oh it’s only you look.

Then, like a groupie, I nearly pass out.

Without a single measure of doubt, Antonio Michaels seems to grow yummier-looking.

Every. Single. Day.

“You’re ready?” he says, eyebrows raised.

“You’re surprised?” I step out, closing and locking the door behind me.

“Well, in my experience, most ladies are never ready on time.” He simpers, as if he’s the only man in the world who’s come to that absurd conclusion.

“Perhaps I’m not most ladies,” I propose.

“Indeed, you’re not.” He winks and the two of us walk side by side toward his silver Mercedes. Like a gentleman, Antonio opens the passenger door. “Buckle up please, Miss Personal Assistant.”

Honoring his command, I dutifully slide into the sleek leather seat and buckle up. The scent of his cologne consumes the atmosphere, and for a nanosecond my–ahem–honeypot, is overcome by salacious desire. I cross my legs, and sternly put her in check with a reprimanding don’t you dare go there, miss thing.

Once on the road, Antonio points to my cappuccino sitting in the cup holder. “I didn’t picture you to be the cappuccino with whipped cream kind of girl. I thought for sure you’d order something far more intricate.”

“Judgmental?”

A skittish smile tugs at his lips as though they are bracing for his imminent quip. “That inquiry coming from the woman who called me a first-class jerk on the Metro?”

I twirl a loose strand of my hair. “Alrighty then…how do you take yours?”

He turns to face me, heady gaze fixed on mine. “Hot. Smooth. Extra Cream.” His robust tone is as alluring as his assertion.

Heat curls down my spine and I nearly melt into the passenger seat. He is talking about coffee, right?

We sip our respective cups of java in silence as Antonio zips along Wilshire Blvd, its sidewalks already riddled with a wide assortment of pedestrians. Hurried businessmen in stuffy suits racing to their meetings. Older ladies wandering aimlessly as they haul their carts full of groceries. Meter Maids issuing parking tickets. It’s like a people watcher’s dream.

The car crawls to a brief stop at a traffic light, and even though I’m avoiding eye contact, clearly trying to cool off from his off-putting comment, I can feel his gaze upon me. “What’s your specialty?” he asks.

I turn my head abruptly to face him. “I’m sorry?” I answer, feeling a tad thrown off.

“You went to design school so, what’s your area of specialty?”

Oh. right. He’s talking that kind of specialty. Duh. I’ll need just a teeny-tiny minute while I get my head out of the gutter.

After taking a sip of my cappuccino, I finally mutter. “Lingerie.”

One eyebrow raised, he says, “Seriously? I would have never guessed lingerie. But I would have guessed dresses and shoes. From what I’ve seen you wear so far, you have elaborate taste.”

Is he flirting? Or just passing down a genuine compliment? I think back to the photo of the young pregnant woman I saw on his office desk yesterday and, with that in mind, I dismiss the thought of him flirting.

“Well, thanks. I started off designing dresses, actually. When I was much younger, of course. But, as I got older, I began sketching lingerie pieces. When I got accepted into design school, I focused solely on lingerie.”

He offers a smile, but his expression is somewhat dormant, leaving me to ponder whether he’s impressed or not.

Antonio pulls into the Creative Solutions, Inc complex and maneuvers his way through the underground parking garage until he eases the Benz in-between two parked cars. “I’m glad we had a little time to chat, Daniella, and honestly, I can’t wait to see the ideas you’ve come up with.”

Up in the boardroom, Jonah greets us, offering breakfast pastries, fruit, and yogurt. He rubs his hands together as he looks at me and smiles. “Are you ready to rock and roll? If you’ve got a presentation, I’ll gladly connect your laptop to the projector.”

I place my tote onto the large table and remove my laptop. “Sure thing,” I say, feeling my heart rate speed up as the realization of me actually presenting, now, in real-fucking-time, kicks in.

Jonah takes my laptop while I slowly ease down into a seat next to Antonio’s.

“You okay?” Antonio asks.

I bite on my lower lip. “Of course.”

He smiles, leaning in close, and whispers into my ear, “Don’t be nervous—Jonah and I are really looking forward to this presentation.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” I affirm, knowing damn well that’s a straight-out lie.

“Okay, you’re set, Daniella. The floor’s all yours,” Jonah says, as he encouragingly claps his hands, claiming a seat across from Antonio.

Buying time, I slowly tug my butt out of the seat, smoothing down my dress as I rise to a knee-wobbly stance. And as I begin inching my way toward the laptop to load the presentation onto the projection screen, I mentally recap the talking points of my fervent proposal.