“You’re obnoxiously bossy.”
I smirk. “I have yet to get a complaint about that, sweetheart.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Chop-chop, or we’re going to be late.”
“Stop. Right. Now.” She steps back.
“Okay.” I raise my thumb. “One. Do you want to make five K without grinding here?”
She glares at me, but doesn’t negate the point.
I raise my index finger. “Two. Do you want to have an afternoon off while being catered to?”
It takes a moment before she nods—or rather shrugs—reluctantly.
“Three. Do you want to have fun with one of thesexiest bachelors in Manhattan, according to several prominent online outlets?”
She perks up. “What? Why didn’t you tell me Julian Franco is going to be there?” She fans herself, like the fashion-brand heir incinerated her underwear just by existing.
She thinks she can deter me that easily. Game on. “Okay, Coraline, shed the apron, and let’s go.”
She flinches. “My name is Cora,” she snaps, but pulls the apron over her head. “You forgot about the dress.”
“No, I didn’t.” I lean in her direction, offering her my arm.
She bends down and pulls out a monstrous-sized purse before she rounds the counter to snake her arm through mine, a disbelieving smile playing on her lips.
She eyes me with a dose of skepticism. “I feel like a hidden camera crew will reveal the prank any minute now.”
“What prank? This is not high school.” I open the door for her. “What do you carry in that bag?”
“None of your business, pretty boy.”
“You find me pretty.” I unlock the car and she stops, eyeing the ride with an expression that looks anything like the admiration my Lambo usually gets.
“You really are loaded, aren’t you?” We walk to the passenger side.
“Don’t hold that against me.”
She mutters something I don’t hear and sinks into her seat. I lower myself into the driver’s side and rev the engine, showing off just a little.
Cora snorts, shaking her head, but one glimpse at her lit-up face confirms she is enjoying herself.
I’ve never tried to impress a girl—a woman—before, but apparently, around this one, I turn into a desperate asshole.
And I don’t mind it.
“This one is perfect.” I check my watch again.
At this rate, I’d be happy if we make it for the dessert. I might need to increase my fucking donation. Corm will bite my head off; his mother organizes this event.
I tap my foot. We’ve been at the hotel’s boutique for fifteen minutes, and Cora is still in her outfit.
Though I don’t mind it at all. She is wearing a black wrap dress that has a small hole in the side.
She is underdressed, even compared to the shop assistant who is giving us a fake smile, and yet she is a hundred times more attractive.
