Fat Cat Liar

“Impressive.”

“I’m excited. Hopefully, it goes well. We seem to get along on the phone. If this turns into a long-term thing, it will be very good for business.”

“I have no doubt it will go well.”

“Thanks.”

He turns into our parking garage and peers over at me with a glint in his eye. “Perfect timing.”

“Perfect timing for what?’

He doesn’t answer, taking his phone from the console and typing a few buttons. Then he gets out and comes around to open my door.

His fingers lace through mine as he leads me to the elevator in a hurry.

“What?

??s the rush?”

“Dinner.”

“Do we have a reservation?”

He smirks, twisting me so I’m facing him and placing a finger on my lip to silence me. “No reservation, but the timing is critical.” He reaches over my shoulder and punches a button.

As we ascend, I know immediately when we’ve passed our floor and keep rising. “Lawso—” I try to speak around his finger, but he presses it a little harder.

“Close your eyes, Greer,” he commands gently.

My heart flips in my chest, and I do as he says, knowing our destination. When the elevator stops, he takes my hand again and guides me out. “Four steps,” he instructs me, holding tight as I climb the stairs.

We walk a few more steps before he stops. “You can open them now.”

I slowly open my eyes and blink a few times at the bright glare. My free hand flies to my mouth, and I let out a little yelp at the scene in front of me. Our rooftop terrace has been transformed. All the normal furniture has been pushed to the sides, and the focal point is a bistro table with two chairs facing west. Immediately, I understand what he meant by the timing being critical as the sun comes into view.

“Sunset is officially at seven- thirteen, but once it passes behind that building, we’d miss it.”

“Oh my God.” I gasp in awe. “It’s gorgeous.”

“I’ve lived in New York City all of my life and never seen anything as beautiful.” His grip in my hand tightens, drawing my attention to him. Instead of staring at the sky, his eyes are on me.

He releases my hand and takes the bag off my shoulder, walking to the small table where he drops it in a chair. He takes the bottle of wine out of an ice chiller and pours two glasses, bringing one back to me.

“I’m not really a wine guy, but the occasion seems to call for it.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“One week ago tonight, you walked into my life. I consider that a reason to celebrate.” He clinks his glass to mine and sips.

My cheeks heat, and I raise the glass to my lips with a shaky hand. “How’d you do this?”

He slides behind me, sweeping my hair over one shoulder and then encircling my waist with his arms. “We have this terrace to ourselves for two hours for a private party. Dinner will be here shortly.”

“We get to have dinner up here?”

“Since you didn’t get Italian the other night, that’s what we’re having.”

“How’d you know I wanted Italian?”