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His gaze locks on my mouth as he leans against the doorjamb like he’s contemplating several very illegal activities involving my lips. “You’re fucking perfect,” Oliver growls and steps back for me to follow him.

I laugh, nerves tumbling out of me in a single exhale.

The penthouse behind him glows with warm, golden light, nothing at all like the bachelor caves I’ve seen on TV. Instead of cold steel and glass, I catch glimpses of buttery tan sofas, textured throws, art on the walls, and books spilling out everywhere. A big, modern kitchen opens onto a living room that looks made for cozying up.

I blink, stunned. The place isn’t just luxurious. It’s… welcoming. Surprisingly personal. Kind of like the man himself.

“Make yourself at home,” he tells me, and I’m hyper-aware of every breath, every look, every tiny detail as the door swings shut behind me with a soft, decisive click.

And just like that, I’m in Oliver’s world.

The door swings shut behind me, and for one wild heartbeat, there’s nothing but the hush of warm lamplight, the soft sound of my flats hitting the floor, and the thump-thump-thump of my own pulse ricocheting around my ribcage.

“Wow,” I say, not even pretending to be cool. “This is not what I pictured at all. I thought I’d be walking into some sterile showroom straight out of a minimalist magazine, not, you know… this. I love it.”

He lets out a low, real laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m glad you approve.”

I nod, grinning. “You totally shattered my expectations. I’m officially impressed.”

Oliver’s about to reply, but then a chime slices through the moment. He picks up his phone and checks it, mouth curving into a rueful smile.

“Pizza’s here,” he says, leaning close enough that I catch a hint of his aftershave. “Give me two minutes to run down and grab it.”

“Sounds good,” I breathe, but he’s out the door before I can blink, the air still buzzing from where his presence lingered.

And just like that, I’m alone in his world.

I spin in a slow circle, then immediately panic over whether that looks desperate. I take a hesitant step toward the living room, running my hand along the back of the sofa. It feels like touching whipped cream—soft, pillowy, inviting. I finger the edge of the navy throw, admiring the subtle herringbone pattern. Is it weird to memorize the feel of someone’s blanket? Probably. Like, I’m ninety percent sure it’s not normal, but at the same time, who freaking cares.

There’s so much more to him than he lets on. The bookshelves against the far wall aren’t just for show. They’re lined with actual, well-loved books. Business, yeah, but also novels with glossy covers, including a whole row of cozy mysteries.

The photographs draw me next. I linger over them, taking in the snapshots of a younger Oliver with his arm slung around a man who must be his dad, both of them grinning for the camera. Another shows a much younger Oliver, missing teeth and mud on his cheeks, kneeling beside a beaming golden retriever. The last one is more recent—him and another man, older, sleek suit and all, standing in what looks like a New York City bar.

Suddenly, I realize I’m full-on snooping, so I jerk my hand away from the frames and retreat to the kitchen peninsula, pretending to inspect the potted herbs. Okay, I feel like a fish out of water. I can’t decide between sitting on his sofa or sitting at the breakfast bar. I hover between options for a full minute, wringing my hands, until I finally perch on the edge of the couch, just waiting. I cross and uncross my legs. I smooth my hair.

After what feels like both forever and a whole ten seconds, the lock clicks. Oliver’s back.

He kicks the door shut with his foot, juggling a large pizza box. When the smell hits me, I realize I’m freaking starving.

“Hope you’re hungry.” Oliver’s voice is a low rumble, the kind that settles between my thighs and lingers. He drops the box onto the coffee table, crowding the stack of magazines, and the look he gives me strips me down to bone and nerve.

“Starving,” I mutter. My voice comes out breathy, and his eyes flicker, dark with heat.