Page 47 of Lease to Love

"Don't worry about it."

"What? But that was the whole point of—"

"I said don't worry about it."

I turned and pulled the door open.

Stopped.

Closed it again.

"Remember, no one can know how this started."

She made a sound. "As if I'm dying to tell anyone."

I threw a look over my shoulder.

"Block association gala," I said. "Two weeks. That's our first appearance."

Her eyebrows rose.

"I'll send you a dress and a car. Don't wear shoes you can't move in for three hours."

"Are you giving me ord—"

"Matter of fact, I'll send shoes too." I adjusted my collar. "Better logistical choice."

"Oh, the logistical choice." Her voice came out like a blade gift-wrapped in pleasantry. "Should I be expecting a full itinerary? A briefing packet? A dress code memo from the Sterling Group?"

"I'll have Erik send something over."

"I bet you will." She tilted her head. "And what do I call you in public? Is Beelzebub fine, or do you have a fake-boyfriend name that works better for you?"

"Roman is fine."

“Not babe?”

She blinked at me, all wide eyes and exaggerated innocence, and then pouted her mouth in a way that was clearly designed to irritate me.

It did.

It also did something else I had no intention of examining.

"No. Not babe." I opened the door. "Oh—and Sunshine?"

She raised a brow.

I gestured at my own chest in the approximate location of her stain.

"Try to keep the mumbo sauce off the silk. I don't think it'll come out."

I watched her face do everything it did when she was going from zero to fully committed to going off on me.

The eyes first.

Then the freckles.

Then the breath.