“Sir?” she asked. “I’m still working on—”

“I know.” He glanced down at her disheveled desk. All her personal items were scattered about the top of it, and her pens weren’t in any sort of color-coded order at all. It made his fingers itch to straighten it up for her, but he stood still. It wasn’t his job to make her desk organized. “I was wondering if you were hungry?”

She darted a glance to the door, then back at him. “I packed dinner. I just haven’t gotten around to heating it up yet.”

“Oh. Well, my dinner plans were canceled last minute.” He pointed over his shoulder. “If you’d rather, I have fresh eggplant parmesan and wine, and it’s still hot—if that’s agreeable to you.”

“Agreeable?”

Again, the urge to smile hit him. He didn’t. “Dinner. With me.”

“Umm…” Blinking, she tucked her hair behind her ear, took it out, and tucked it in again. He’d obviously made her nervous. “Let me get this straight. You’re inviting me to dinner? With you? Alone?”

He raised a brow. “I just said that, didn’t I?”

“Uh.” She stepped around her desk, clasping her hands in front of her nervously. “Yeah, I guess so. Are you sure? I mean, you’re the boss and—”

“You’re a great employee. I thought you might like to eat dinner.” He tugged on his tie. “That’s all, Maggie.”

She choked on a laugh at his use of her first name. Whenever she got nervous, she laughed. Yet another thing he found adorable about her. “I mean, yeah, I like food.”

His lips quirked. “Good.”

“Yeah.” She smiled at him. “Uh, good.”

He crossed his arms and watched her through his lowered lids. Her white button-up shirt strained over her generous breasts, and her black pencil skirt hugged the curve of her hips. It was prim and proper office attire, and yet she somehow managed to make it look drop-dead-sexy without even trying. It was fucking ridiculous. “If it makes you uncomfortable, please don’t hesitate to say no. I won’t be insulted.”

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all,” she said softly, her head tilted. He loved how she stared him straight in the eye and didn’t cower away from him like the rest of the staff, and how the smile never faded from her lips. “I just didn’t want to create the wrong impression, is all. I mean, we’re alone, and if we’re eating, if might look like a…well, you know.”

“A date?”

“Yes. That.” She pointed at him as if he’d given her the correct answer in a game show. He half expected her to announce that he’d moved on to the next round. “People might get the wrong idea.”

He lifted a hand and encompassed the empty office. “Yes, clearly gossip would be an issue.”

“Okay.” She glanced around, and one side of her mouth quirked up higher than the other. “You got me there. Eggplant parm, huh?”

“Yep.” He stepped back and gestured her inside his office. “And wine, too, if you’re feeling adventurous.”

“I’m not done with the report yet,” she said quickly, her cheeks flushing to a fetching pink as she headed toward him, smoothing her skirt. “I’ll have to return to work after I eat.”

“Leave it.”

She blinked. “But—”

“I said, leave it.” He left the door open, just in case someone happened to come in after hours. When she stood at the table awkwardly, he pulled a chair out, and watched her. She sat down, and he pushed her in closer to the table. She let out a little gasp and clutched the edge of her seat. “It’ll wait till Monday,” he said.

“Maybe I can take it home with me and work on it over the weekend,” she said, placing a white linen napkin on her lap with a perfectly manicured hand. “It’s not my style to just leave things undone.”

“Mine either.” He sat down and lifted the cover from her dinner plate. After setting it down, he picked up the bottle of Clos Du Val pinot noir, and leaned in. Her nose was inches from his, and she watched him with wide eyes. He had the undeniable urge to lean in even more and capture her mouth with his. Of course, he didn’t, but still. The impulse was there. “So let’s be rebellious together, Maggie.”

She let out a nervous laugh, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Okay. Sure. Why not? Pour the wine, sir.”

“I like a woman who can see the merits of letting loose every once in a while,” he said.

She blinked at him, lowered her head, and straightened her napkin. “I don’t let loose very often.”

“I doubt that’s true.” He lifted a brow. “Surely when you’re at home, with your boyfriend, you—”

She lifted a hand, cutting him off. “I’ll stop you right there. There’s no boyfriend at home. As lame as it might sound, there’s just a cat.”

Satisfaction over her answer punched him in the chest, but he’d ignore that and the reason for it, too, thank you very fucking much. “I don’t even have that.”

“The boyfriend?” She smiled, looking more at ease. “Or the cat?”

“Either one.” He picked up the wine. “Tell me, how long ago did you move to New York?”

She scrunched her nose, making those freckles dance. “Is it that obvious I’m not a native?”

“Yeah.” He poured her a glass. “Sorry.”

She laughed and blew out a breath. Her bangs fluttered, but fell right back into her sight. “No apologies needed. I’m sure I stick out like a sore thumb.”

“You’re very polite and you apologize too much.” He poured himself a glass, too, and held it up. “But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

She clinked her glass to his, and took a sip. He lifted his glass just as she muttered, “He says with an apologetic tone…”

Choking on his wine, he set the glass down and swallowed hard. “Did you seriously just narrate our conversation?”

“Um, maybe?” She flushed. “I talk to myself a lot. It’s a bad habit.”

Or a delightful one.

Setting his glass down, he picked up his fork, unable to tear his eyes off of her. Her knee brushed his under the table and she jerked it back right away, shooting a quick glance at him. He didn’t miss the flush in her cheeks, or her quickened breath at the contact, but damn it, he wished he had. Still not fucking touching her, Gale. “You do?”

“I just said so, didn’t I?”

Fighting back a grin at her saucy tone, he shook his head. She’d turned his earlier words around on him. He’d always been a sucker for a quick wit, and the fact that she didn’t treat him like he was her boss, or the Beast of Gale, sat well with him. The rest of the workers tiptoed around him as if he might bite their heads off.

They weren’t exactly wrong.

He probably wasn’t the easiest boss in the world, but he didn’t demand anything from anyone that he didn’t ask from himself. “I don’t willingly say this about a lot of people, but I like you, Maggie.”

She flushed even more. “Uh—why?”

“For starters, you’re not afraid of me.” He swallowed a bite of eggplant parmesan. It was perfection. Chef Antoine had outdone himself. “It’s refreshing.”

She raised her brows and cut into her own dinner. “What’s to be afraid of?”

“I guess it’s because I’m a beast.”

She choked on her food, swallowed it, and reached for her wine with a shaking hand. He watched her with amusement as she drank the whole glass. Once finished, she set it down and locked eyes with him. “So, you heard that?”

He nodded once. “I also heard you defend me. Thank you.”

“Oh. That?” She waved a hand. “That was nothing. It’s ridiculous that they gave you that name in the first place. You being a strict boss doesn’t make you scary.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” She licked her lips, and he couldn’t look away from her red, exquisite mouth. Leaning in, she rested a small hand on his arm. Her innocent touch burned through his shirt, searing his skin, and he stiffened. Her nostrils flared slightly, and she held his arm tighter, as if she felt the instant attraction, too. His pulse sped up, and he shifted in his chair to accommodate his increasing hardness. “And anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool.”