Page 114 of Lennox Lane

She tried to keep her face neutral while a bellhop greeted them by name. A woman at the front desk handed Lennox their key cards just as a second staff member appeared with infused water, as if hydration had a concierge. But by the time they stepped into the elevator, Lane’s composure had started to slip.

Their suite did the rest.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. A sitting room with a fireplace—a bedroom dressed in cream and deep emerald. A marble bathroom with a soaking tub Lane immediately decided had been built by someone who understood spiritual ambiance. There were fresh flowers on the coffee table. Champagne chilling near the window. A small welcome basket with fruit, chocolates, and a handwritten note from the hotel manager.

Lane walked through the suite slowly.

“Lennox.”

“Yeah, Baby.”

“This is too much.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” he told her, setting their bags near the bedroom entrance. “It’s not too much for me to want to give you the best I can afford to offer.”

Lane turned toward him.

That was the kind of thing he did now.

Slipped truth into a room like a hand at her lower back. Gentle, firm, impossible to ignore. She looked away first because softness still made her want to inspect the exits.

“What time is dinner, Robot?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“Where?” she probed further.

“Olive and Oak.”

Lane turned back. “THEE Olive and Oak?”

“Yes.”

“Head chef Knox Carter-Fairfax Olive and Oak?”

“Yes.”

“Maison Noire wine pairing Olive and Oak?”

His smile widened. “You’ve done research again.”

“Robot, you told me Michelin-star restaurant, and I’m a manager. I prepare.”

Lane crossed her arms. “You know there’s a difference between planning a weekend and trying to subdue me, romantically?”

“Baby, Daddy is spoiling you. You’ll never have to question if I can be who you need cause I’m showing you every chance you give me.”

She didn’t even bother arguing. The man had planned a stay at a luxury hotel. A wine tasting. And what intrigued me most—whatever Provocateur had waiting for them later. At this point, she had to respect the campaign. She told him to play ball or get off the field, and he showed up to win. Not only was his money talking, but so were his actions. He was showing her every day what intentional looked like, even if it was deeply irritating to her defenses.

Because it was working.

A few hours later, after Lane had soaked in the tub long enough to consider becoming a better person—she stood in the bedroom wrapped in a hotel robe while staring at the outfit laid across the bed. A leopard-print satin slip dress with black lace along the sides. She decided on black strappy sandals and gold accessories. It was sexy without begging to be. Soft and elegant but still very much Lane. The kind of dress that didn’t enter a room so much as make the room adjust its behavior.

Her toenails were painted a dark green that looked almost black until the light caught it. Her lavender pixie had been molded into finger waves, glossy and perfect, each curve lying against her head like art. Gold door-knocker earrings waited on the dresser beside layered necklaces, bracelets, and rings.

Lennox walked in and stood behind her in the mirror, watching her watch the dress. He wore black slacks and a dark green button-down that made his skin look unfairly rich. His sleeves were rolled to his muscular forearms because, apparently, he enjoyed stressing her out before dinner. His eyes moved from the dress to her face.

“Let me.”