Page 72 of Mine

Low, sexy instrumental jazz music hums through the speakers now, and I have just enough of a buzz to not have a care in the world.

It’s 6:50 p.m., ten minutes before our arranged meeting time. I’m ahead of schedule.

Five minutes pass.

Ten.

Twenty.

Finally, quick, heavy steps echo down the hallway.

Butterflies burst into flight in my stomach.

Astor breezes into the dining room and subsequently takes my breath away. The billionaire CEO resembles a bronzed Greek god in a tan linen suit that clings to his broad, muscular shoulders. Though the long work day is heavy on his face, his gaze immediately drops to the exposed skin peeking out from above my waistband.

“You’re late.”

“You look good in my clothes.”

“Thank you. You’re still late.”

“I apologize. I had a call; it went longer than expected ...” He sweeps a strand of hair over my shoulder, his gaze scanning my face like he’s memorizing every line of it.

I look down in a feeble attempt to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks. “Are you ready to eat?”

His brow cocks.

“Food, I mean.” I grin. “Food, Astor.”

“Ah.” He smirks. “Yes. I’m starved. I missed lunch.”

“Sit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As Astor removes his jacket and settles into his chair at the head of the table, I slip into the kitchen and grab the first course.

“Caesar salad.”

I slide the plate in front of him, admiring the shaved parmesan that is perfectly arranged on the lettuce. Each carving is the exact same size, placed equally apart. Next to it is a small serving of dressing, and next to that, two slices of garlic bread, fresh from the oven.

“Before you ask, yes, I made every bit of it—from scratch.”

“Even the dressing?”

“Even the dressing.”

This impresses him.

“I thought you didn’t like salad.”

“This isn’t just about me.”

He looks at me, our gazes lingering.

“Eat.”

Astor waits until I’m seated. I pause until he takes a bite, desperate for his approval.

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