Page 8 of The Boss's Hideaway Baby

I hesitate. I’ve never shared my writing with anyone.

This must show on my face, because Maria shakes her head. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked.”

But I’m not able to backpedal. “Sure.” Hopefully, I’m coming across as nonchalant and confident. “I’ll send you one when we get back to the office. Maybe you can give me some feedback.”

“I’d love to. What are they about?”

I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. “Well, they’re all over the place, really,” I admit. “Some are about everyday life; others are more fantastical. I enjoy exploring different genres and themes.”

Maria’s eyes light up with curiosity. “Fantastical? Like magic and mythical creatures?”

I nod, feeling a surge of excitement. “Exactly. I love creating worlds where anything is possible.”

Her smile widens, her enthusiasm contagious. “That sounds amazing. I can’t wait to read them.”

Yep. There it is. I just admitted to her that I, a grown man with a multi-billion-dollar company, like to write short fantasy stories. I’ve never admitted that to anyone.

There’s no time to think much about it, though, because the car is pulling up outside of one of the most renowned dress shops in the city.

At the sight of our arrival, a doorman in a long coat hurries to open the building’s front door. I step out onto the sidewalk, then turn to offer Maria my hand.

“Welcome to your fairy godmother’s workshop.”

We’re standing in front of gleaming display windows showcasing flowing gowns in every color.

She doesn’t say anything, just smiles and takes it all in. I guide her through the entrance, and a wave of warmth washes over me as we step into the dress shop. The air is filled with the delicate scent of fabric and the soft sound of hangers sliding along metal rods. There’s an air of excitement, as if every dress holds a secret waiting to be discovered.

I called ahead, so the manager knows to expect us. At the front, a sales associate presents us with glasses of champagne then leads us to a private dressing suite. Racks of cocktail dresses in silks and chiffons surround a raised pedestal and trifold mirror.

Maria runs her fingers over the fabrics, wide-eyed. “I’ve never seen so many beautiful dresses.”

“Only the best for you tonight.” I pluck a shimmering silver sheath from the rack and hold it out to her. “Ready to get started?”

Over the next half hour, she models gown after gown, each lovelier than the last. An emerald-green wrap dress with a plunging neckline. A strapless champagne satin gown with an embellished bodice. A flowing chiffon number in blush pink that makes her skin glow.

“Stunning,” I tell her each time. And I mean it — she looks radiant in everything. But none seem exactly right for tonight.

Until she steps out in a figure-hugging black lace number with a low back. I suck in a breath, momentarily speechless. The dress fits her like a glove, highlighting every curve. She looks sophisticated yet alluring, elegant yet glamorous. It’s absolutely perfect.

“That’s the one,” I manage. Already I’m envisioning her on my arm at the gala, stunning everyone into silence. She’s exactly what I need in order to make this night go my way.

Maria smiles shyly as she smooths the lace fabric over her hips. “You really think so?”

I nod, snapping out of my daze. “Absolutely. We’ll take it.”

I flag down the sales associate to begin the alterations. As we wait, my stomach rumbles, reminding me it’s dinnertime.

There will be plenty of food at the gala, but I don’t want to wait that long. Plus I have a suspicion that Maria will like what I’m about to suggest.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” I say. “There’s a great little Chinese place just across the street. Want to grab a bite while they work on the dress?”

Maria’s eyes light up. “I love Chinese food!” Then she pauses, looking uncertain. “But won’t we be late for the gala?”

“We’ve got time,” I assure her. “The place is quick. And delicious. I know it’s your favorite — I’ve seen the takeout containers on your desk.”

“Oh.” She giggles in a kind of nervous way. “Yeah, I do like Chinese.”

We hurry across the street to the tiny restaurant tucked between boutiques. Inside, the spicy aroma of stir-fry and fried rice envelops us.

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