“Who’s that?” Christian snaps.
“My boss.” I peek up at the beautiful man beside me, and his mouth is pressed into a
hard line.
“Well? Your last meal?”
“Christian, that really is none of your concern,” I murmur, feeling extraordinarily
brave.
“Whatever you do concerns me. Tell me.”
No, it doesn’t. I groan in frustration, rolling my eyes heavenward, and Christian narrows
his eyes. And for the first time in a long time, I want to laugh. I try hard to stifle the
giggle that threatens to bubble up. Christian’s face softens as I struggle to keep a straight
face, and I see a trace of a smile kiss his beautifully sculptured lips.
“Well?” he asks, his voice softer.
“Pasta alla vongole, last Friday,” I whisper