**Liana's POV**
He texted at half past five.
*Dinner tonight. Just us. I'll pick you up at seven.*
Then, two minutes later:
*Please.*
I stared at the second message longer than the first. That single word did more damage than anything elaborate could have. Raphael Blackthorne, CEO, broad-shouldered, hazel-eyed, quietly devastating, saying *please* like he meant it.
I typed back: *Seven is fine.*
Then I went home and spent forty minutes pretending I wasn't thinking about what to wear.
---
He arrived at 6:58.
Dark navy suit. No tie. Top button open. Hair slightly less controlled than usual, like he'd run his hand through it on the way up and not bothered to fix it. He was holding a single stem of something small and white I didn't recognize, not lilies this time, something quieter.
