“You know Julia can help you with this, don’t you?” He lifts the spotted planner and looks at me. “She can go and check on Kevin Peters and probably check on the wallpaper. Since we’re closed she has a lot less work to do.”

“Again, I don’t need an assistant, so thank you, but no thank you.” I take the book back from him and set it on the bar.

“Don’t you trust her? She organizes me efficiently.”

“And I’m sure she does a great job at that, but I just like to handle things myself.”

“Ahhh,” he says in a low voice, joining me at the bar. He rests his forearms on the top and leans forward, turning his face toward me. “You’re a control freak.”

“I am not a—” I pause when I realize just how close he is to me, “control freak,” I finish. I look away from him and focus on my planner so I don’t accidentally drop my eyes to the way his white shirt is hugging his muscular arms.

“Are you sure?”

“Wanting to stop by and personally check on Kevin Peters and his progress means I’m invested in making sure my client—you—has the best possible quality of work for his business. Calling the electricians and decorators myself simply means that if there’s a problem then I’m already on the phone and don’t have to rearrange my whole day to make extra calls.” I huff out a breath. “None of that makes me a control freak. It makes me dedicated.”

“I didn’t peg you for a control freak,” Carter replies, amused.

“And what does that mean?” I turn back to him.

Stupid Bee. Stupid, stupid Bee.

His eyes flare. “I’d tell you, but I’m not allowed.” He smirks and, with a wink, pushes off of the bar. “When are you planning to see Kevin?”

“Uh…” I shake my head to clear it from the implication of his words. “Right after I’ve checked that Dave has all his ducks in a row. They tend to waddle off.”

“Much like your own.”

“If you were anyone but my client, I’d tell you to fuck yourself,” I say under my breath, slamming my planner shut and walking to Dave.

I spend the next few minutes going over everything with him before he assures me he’s passed on my threat to Dan and insists I go do my thing before I break out in hives.

So I like to keep to my schedule. Just because my office looks like a department store threw up in it doesn’t mean my schedule does.

Carter’s leaning against the bar on his phone when I approach. He looks up, still typing. “Everything all right?”

“As all right as it can be,” I respond. “I’m going to see Kevin now. He said he was free late morning. Did you want to come?”

“Sure.” He presses a button on the side of his phone and slips it into his pants pocket. “You need a hand packing this up?” He waves his hand over the stuff on the bar.

I flap my own dismissively. “Just my planner. They know if they touch it then they’re dead meat.”

“You’re a feisty boss, aren’t you?” He’s clearly fighting a laugh.

I raise an eyebrow. “When you’re a woman surrounded by men in the workplace, being a wilting flower won’t get shit done. They respect me or they don’t work for me. They know that. Thank you,” I add when Carter opens the restaurant door and holds it for me.

I walk to the curb and he grabs my hand. “What are you doing?” he asks me.

“Getting a cab…”

He shakes his head with a wry smile and clasps my upper arms from behind. He directs me a few feet along the sidewalk toward a sleek black Mercedes waiting at the side of the curb. He releases me to open one of the back doors and motion for me to get in.

How the other half live, eh?

Sure, Mom and I make a ton of money, but not personal chauffeur kind of money. Must be nice.

“Thank you,” I say again, getting into the back seat and sliding along it.

Carter settles in on the other side and shuts the door behind him. “Where’s the studio?” he asks me, leaning forward.

I give him the address and he relays it to the driver, and getting an affirmative answer, slides the partition closed. Butterflies start up in my stomach, the stupid little creatures, and I swallow in an attempt to hide my nervousness.

So much for not being alone for more than ten minutes. It’s at least fifteen minutes to the studio and then a further fifteen back.

Agreement screwed already.

Fuck. I couldn’t have realized this before, could I?

“Dave seems to have a handle on his team,” Carter remarks, shifting so he can look at me. There’s a questioning glimmer in his eyes, one that doesn’t make much sense.

“I’d hope so. He’s been working with some of them since he was sixteen. It’s his father’s business, but he sticks to the office side more often than not now. Dave unofficially runs the show,” I answer.

He nods slowly. “And you’ve known each other since school?”

“Kindergarten. Our moms are close friends. They wasted five years trying to set us up.”

“And has it ever worked?”

My eyebrows shoot up at the personal question. “We went on one date. I got food poisoning and puked on him when he went to kiss me.”

Carter half-smiles. “Was that before you learned how to voice your aversion to commitment?”

“I believe that was the day I learned.” I smirk. “What about you? Aren’t you kind of young to have such an… exclusive… restaurant?”

“When my grandfather passed, he left me a trust fund. The only catch was that I had to invest it into property. I bought the restaurant when it was a run-down ice cream parlor when I was twenty-three and used the cash I had left to turn it around. I barely made a profit the first year.”

“How’d you get from teenagers on first dates to sex in private booths?”

The grin that teases his lips is just pure sex. “I added hot food. More people started buying food than ice cream. I lived in the upstairs apartment and lived frugally. I renovated when I had enough money to get a loan from the bank two years later.”

“So you were… twenty-six.”

“Correct. It took three months, but when I reopened, it was with a better menu, and the area was becoming more exclusive. By the end of that year I’d paid off my loan and still had money to spare. When I was twenty-nine, I bought my house and added the bar. Four years later, I own my house outright, cater to people whose names I’m not allowed to mention in public, and have a bank account that would make many Hollywood stars weep.”

“From just one restaurant?”

“No. I have several. A handful in-state, then Chicago, Boston, Denver, and Seattle. I have one opening in Los Angeles later this year.”

“Impressive,” I say softly. “All that from a trust fund.”

“Yep. All he asked was when I made it, I’d put that money in a fund for my child or grandchild.” Carter shrugs a shoulder. “Seemed fair. It’ll likely go to my niece or nephew when my sister has a child. She’s the fairytale lover out of us.”

“What? You don’t think you’ll find your Cinderella? I’m shocked,” I say dryly.

He chuckles. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ll find her, but the chances of me returning her shoe are pretty slim. I’ll just send her a check for the cost or something.”

“I’d keep that to yourself if I were you.”

“What would you want? The shoe or the check?”

“The shoe, and then I’d thank you and slam the door in your face.” I smile sweetly.

His chuckle grows to a laugh. “And you doubted I’d find Cinderella.”

I roll my eyes. “Please. My shoes are far too expensive to leave behind.”

“I know. I have to buy Izzy a pair every birthday,” he drawls.

The driver raps on the partition and Carter leans forward to open it. “We’re here, Mr. Hughes,” he says.

“Thank you. Wait, please.” Carter opens the door and gets out of the car. He holds the door as I slide across the seat, then reaches down and takes my purse.

My eyebrows shoot up as I look up at him and put my hand in his offered one. He steadies me as I get out of the car and step onto the curb. He shuts the door before releasing my hand and passing me back my purse.