“They’re beautiful. Thank you. Come in while I put these in water.”
I step through the doorway, shutting it behind me as I watch her turn and head to the tiny kitchen. I allow my gaze to travel down the length of her backside. Desiree stands about five feet, nine inches tall, but in those heels, the top of her head easily reaches the tops of my shoulder. At six-foot-three, I’m used to towering over the women I date. That’s not so much the case with Desiree, a fact I’m very okay with.
When she disappears behind the kitchen’s entrance, I glance around the small apartment. Desiree’s apartment has a colorful bohemian style to it. The multicolored area rug leads to a soft pink couch opposite the flatscreen that sits on a black console. To the far right, against the wall that separates the kitchen from the living room, is a dark green, velvet chair. The colors all seem to fall into place, however. Though the apartment is very different from my own sleek and mostly black, grey, and white color scheme, it holds a certain appeal, much like the owner of said space.
“I’ve set them on the windowsill so they can catch the morning sun rays,” she chimes as she reenters the room, smiling.
“I’ll bet they’ll soak it all in. Ready to go?” I hold out my arm.
She nods, taking my arm as we fall into step next to one another as if meant to be.
“I still smell the remnants of your baking in there.” I nod toward the door that she’s now locking.
Desiree lets out a laugh. “My place always smells like cookies. I have four orders that need to go out by the end of the week.”
Grinning, I shake my head, taking my free hand and laying it over hers.
“I don’t know how you spend all day on your feet teaching and then spend hours in the evening baking cookies from scratch and sending them out.”
She shrugs and looks up at me. “We all make time for what we love, I guess.”
I pause to push open the door that leads to the street for her to walk through.
“I guess we do.” I open my car door for her, watching every move she makes as she climbs into the passenger seat of my Jeep.
“This is not at all the type of car I thought you’d drive,” she admits once I get behind the wheel.
“No?” I glance over as I start the ignition. “What’d you think I’d drive?”
She shrugs as we pull off. “I don’t know. Like a Mercedes or something fancy like that.”
I chuckle. “Is that the impression I give you?”
She looks at me out of the side of her eye before shaking her head. “To be honest, no. But there’s still something about you having your name on buildings all across the country that makes me think you should be a little showier than you are.”
I frown, not at her, but because many people think that way about me. “I didn’t put my names on those buildings. Hell, if I had it my way, I would’ve changed the names of the clinics as soon as I became the CEO. The board stopped me.” My frown deepens, remembering that debate from five years ago when I took on the role.
“You inherited the job from your father. Why would you want to change the name?” She sounds genuinely intrigued and concerned.
“It’s a long story. One I’ll tell you over dinner. I hope you’re in the mood for the best pizza this side of the Atlantic.”
She turns to me with a lifted eyebrow. “That good, huh?”
I nod. “I can personally vouch for the owner of this place.” Desiree informed me that Italian was her favorite, and I knew the place to take her.
Ten minutes later, I pull into the parking lot ofRusso’s.
“Of course you know the owner of one of the most exclusive restaurants on this side of the city.”
Smirking, I toss her a wink.
After parking, I get out and stroll around the front of the Jeep to open the door for her. Her hand in mine feels natural, as if it’s supposed to be there. Desiree visibly shivers, signaling that this feeling isn’t one-sided.
As soon as we step inside, a warm smile from the male host greets us.
“Neil,” he exclaims.
“Hey, Max,” I say to the twenty-something-year-old, still grinning from ear-to-ear. “Good to see you.”
