“I thought you said dinner," I said, stepping onto the rooftop.
Ben smiled, sheepish but determined. “Dinner. With ambiance."
Fairy lights twinkled above. An acoustic guitarist strummed softly near the terrace railing. A server handed me a mocktail with a sprig of rosemary.
I blinked. “Is this… a pitch?"
“Not for a project," he said, pulling out a chair. “For something better."
I sat, uneasy.
Between courses—organic, seasonal, perfectly plated—Ben leaned in, eyes too soft, voice too smooth. “You're the most brilliant woman I've ever met. Every day I think about you. Your ideas, your stubborn logic, the way you challenge people to be better."
My fork stalled mid-air.
“And if I'm being honest…" he reached across the table, brushing a curl behind my ear, “I want to be part of your fut
