“Are you okay?” he asks, slowly moving toward me.

I cross my arms over my chest to chase away the unbearable cold. “I’m ready to get out of here.” Explaining the rejection I just went through wouldn’t be right. He’s my boss, and this isn’t the place or the time. Tonight was supposed to be fun, different, a way to advance my career, but instead, it feels like something I have to do in order to save face. And I’m losing everything in the process.

He places his hand on my back to guide me to the car. Not to my surprise, an older gentleman in a nice black suit comes around the back to open the door.

“Good evening, ma’am.” He nods his head, and I smile in appreciation before climbing into the back seat. Pierce follows, leaving just a few inches of space between us. His proximity, the herb, wood, and fruit scent that emanates off his body reminds me just how intimate this is. I turn my attention out my window, wanting to avoid him and his assessment of me.

The door clicks shut, and I wait for him to ask me questions, for the inner confidence to ask him questions about how he knows Blake. What are the chances that these two corners of my life would intersect? Chicago was supposed to be different than my hometown.

“How do you know Blake?” he asks, saving me. His name comes off Pierce’s lips like a language he’d rather not speak.

I look him in the eyes, knowing it’s what he expects. “He’s my best friend’s brother. I thought I was moving into an empty apartment because she’s in Europe. Surprise was on me.”

He assesses me. Reads me. Calculates my pluses and minuses. He’s not dumb—he can do a simple math problem. “Is that all it is?”

I chew on my lower lip, buying myself time to decide what to say. How much of my world I want to open to him, keeping in mind he’s not the average man who I can feed full of falsities.

“It is now.” It’s telling without saying much. He can read between the lines.

“Are you sure?”

“Never been more sure about anything.” I don’t need to look away because it’s true. Blake’s dangerous, and little by little, I caught myself falling. Luckily, I was able to pull myself back up before I hit the ground. Just like I’ve done over and over the last few months, I’ll bury away the negative and focus on whatever I have left.

“How do you know Blake?” I ask, realizing I have just as many questions as he does.

He studies me, eyes narrowing in. “I’ve worked with him in the past.”

I ponder my next question carefully. What went on back there was about more than work. It was personal. It was hate.

He interrupts my thoughts before I get a chance to interrogate him further. “You look stunning, in case I didn’t make that clear earlier.” My cheeks heat from his praise, from the sexy tone of his voice. Thank God for darkness.

I smile genuinely, not so used to being complimented. Maybe my questions about Blake can wait until later . . . he’s not who tonight is about. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

“Oh, this,” he says, pulling at his lapels. “I drag it out every once in a while for a special occasion . . . when I want to look good for someone special.”

“Like once or twice a week?”

“Not nearly as often as you think,” he replies.

I know so little about Pierce Stanley. His professional success is clear, but everything else is a mystery.

“How old are you?” I ask. I kind of regret it as soon as it leaves my lips. Too personal maybe?

“Guess.”

Shit. If I guess too high, he’s going to be offended. If I guess too low, well, I don’t know. “Thirty-two?”

He chuckles, leaning in closer. He smells so good, I just want to bury my nose in the crook of his neck and breathe him in until I fall asleep with nothing but that memory. Only problem: I still want it to be Blake’s arms wrapped around me when I wake up. “I’m thirty-six.”

I recover quickly from my dreams. “You look younger.”

“You’re not saying that just to get a raise are you?”

“Nah, I like the challenge of surviving on peanuts. It gives me something to think about when I have nothing else going on in my life,” I say, smoothing my hands over my dress.

“Smartass.”

“Oh, how nice, I already have a nickname. Maybe by the end of the night, I’ll have one for you.” This banter is just what I need to take my mind off Blake.

“I’m totally fine with Handsome, Master, Oh Great One . . . unless you can come up with something better.”

I laugh . . . for the first time in a long time. “I think I have one already. How about Mr. Full of Himself.”

“You have me pegged already.”

I’m about to reply when the SUV pulls up in front of a brightly lit building. There’s a group of reporters outside snapping pictures of well-dressed people who walk in front of an Urban Arts banner. Watching it all makes me extremely nervous. Limelight, cameras flashing . . . it’s not my thing.

“You ready?” Pierce asks, squeezing my knee. It distracts me at first, but I’m quickly drawn back to the chaos outside.

“Do we have to stop for pictures?” My fingers shake against my clutch. Gripping it is the only way to keep them away from my hair, from ruining Dana’s hard work.

“We’ll take a couple then move on. Just smile and let me do all the talking. It will go quick, I promise,” he says soothingly.

I nod. He signals to the driver who swiftly opens the door, exposing us to the crowd. As Pierce steps out, I inhale the fresh winter air until my lungs can hold no more. He is by no means a celebrity, but he’s one of the ‘it’ men on the Chicago art scene. Being with him comes with limelight and elevated social status because of his money and success.

When he holds his hand out to me, I hesitate for just a second, doubts flooding my conscience. It all goes away when he bends down so I can see his smiling face. “Coming?”

“You got me this far, I can’t back down now.” I slip my coat off and then place my hand in his, letting him hold on to me as I slide across the seat. I make sure both of my feet are firmly planted on the ground before revealing myself to the waiting crowd. It’s overwhelming—the flashes and screams. One of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors is in their midst.

“Pierce! Pierce! Mr. Stanley!” It’s all I hear as he grips my elbow to guide me up the curb. As soon as we’re on level ground, he wraps his arm around my back, resting his hand firmly against my hip.

“Who’s your date?” one screams, loud enough I hear it over the rest of the crowd.

“Her name’s Lila!” he answers between pictures. My smile falters, but I quickly recover.

“What’s her last name?” the same one yells.

To my relief, Pierce is quiet, guiding us down the carpet toward the glass doors. The doorman opens it just in time for us to step inside without breaking stride. There are a few people gathered in the entry, but nothing like outside.

“You okay?” he asks. He stands in front of me, hands lightly caressing my forearms.

I nod. “Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting it to be quite like that.”

He smiles, squeezing my arms once. “I promise we can sneak out the back when it’s time to leave.”

“You should have that same arrangement for your arrival.”

“That’s why expectations are rarely desires.” His words don’t make sense at first, but then they do. As soon as something hits a list of things to do, it loses its luster. Another responsibility added to our hectic, busy lives.

“You know what I desire?” I ask.

His lips part, eyes holding mine firmly. “What’s that?”

I lick my lower lip, drawing his eyes down momentarily. “Wine, red preferably.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Pinot noir? Merlot?”

Isn’t red wine just red wine? The only option I’ve ever been given before was between red and white.

“Merlot for now,” I answer, not recognizing the other one. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into, but it’s a sipping drink . . . it can’t be that bad.