Page 123 of Assistant to the Billionaire CEO

Oh, my gosh. “Who was the murderer in4.50 from Paddington?”

He whispered the answer into my ear, and I thought it was so cute—there was nobody here—but, spoiler alert: His answer was correct! “All right! I’m impressed. Did you know the author, Agatha Christie, wrote sixty-six detective novels?”

“That’s a good number of murder cases.”

We pulled into his apartment building’s underground parking lot. “Right? I’ve read all her books. She cast a spell on me when I was young, and it never let me go.”

Ace grinned. He parked the car in his designated spot, got out, and walked around to open my door for me while I gathered my stuff. “I can relate. Just like you, because you’ve already bewitched me.” He extended his hand to help me out of the car. I took it and smiled up at him.

“You’re way too smooth,” I said. “If anyone is casting spells, it’s you.” Hand in hand, he led me to the elevator.

“It’s easy to be smooth when the person you’re flirting with is perfect,” he said sincerely and summoned the elevator. I looked down and noticed a handful of red rose petals on the floor.

“Someone had a fight. Look at the ruined flowers—they ripped them apart,” I commented, pointing at them. “Isn’t that sad? But this looks just like a perfect murder plot set up for a novel, doesn’t it? I hope whoever it was is fine.”

He kinda chuckled but didn’t say anything.

Strange. He had always been the quieter type, but now he seemed abnormally quiet.

“Am I going to see your sister and the baby?” I asked while we waited for the elevator to arrive.

“Not tonight. My sister met someone. A woman, actually. She’s a single mom, and they’ve been dating for several weeks now. They’re spending the weekend together.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m happy for her.”

“Yeah. Me too. Me too.”

“I didn’t know your sister was into girls.”

“Neither did I. I’m glad to see her happy.”

The elevator doors slid open, and he led me inside.

“Oh, look, there’s more here,” I said, pointing at the red petals on the floor. “The poor flowers.” We turned around, and he pressed the button to his floor. The elevator slowly started ascending.

He squeezed my hand and gave me a wink. “You’re funny.”

“Thanks! Wait, why?” I asked.

He didn’t reply.

His living room was darker than usual. I blinked and noticed it was entirely lit by hundreds of little white candles. Bach was softly playing from a vinyl record player under his television. Candles lined the coffee table in the center of the room and marked out a path on the floor. It led to the balcony’s glass double doors.

Ace tugged at my hand to encourage me to follow him. Looking down, I realized the floor was littered with hundreds of red rose petals too.

Oh. I wassucha goof.

This wasn’t a murder set-up. Duh. There hadn’t been a fight. Nobody had been killed.

Those rose petals had been placed there on purpose. They had been placed there forme.

“Ace?” I asked shakily as we stepped onto the balcony.

The warm summerish breeze tugged at my hair like a playful child. New York City sparkled around us like an ocean of diamonds. It was enough to take anyone’s breath away. I tucked a flailing strand of hair behind my ear and waited for his reply.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he took hold of both of my hands and got down on one knee.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

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