The Kiss Quotient(94)
Quan saw her first. “Hi, Stella.” He waved at her absently before continuing an animated discussion with the camerawoman.
Michael paused in the middle of tying the golden ribbon on a little girl’s white chiffon evening dress and glanced up at her, brightening. “You’re early.”
“I missed you.”
His smile widened, and he patted the little girl on the shoulder and directed her toward the set, where a coordinator was positioning the children and the props. As he walked to her, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks and swept an appreciative gaze over her navy-blue skirt suit and the scarf loosely wrapped around her neck. She knew he was admiring his clothing selection for her today, and her lips thinned as she suppressed a smile. The things that made him happy . . .
When he reached her side, he leaned down and kissed her on the mouth before trailing his hands down her arms and capturing her hands. He brought her knuckles to his lips and brushed a thumb over the fingers on her left hand, drawing her attention to the respectable trio of diamonds sparkling on her ring finger.
“I still can’t believe you went into debt to buy me this,” she said.
Even so, she had to admit she loved everything it represented. She’d never been into jewelry, but she caught herself gazing at her ring more often than she’d expected and, invariably, thinking of Michael. When people at the office caught her grinning for no apparent reason, they rolled their eyes and muttered under their breaths.
“I needed to announce how ‘taken’ you are. Also, as of this morning, I’m officially out of debt. Quan got us the venture backing. We’re opening three new stores by Christmas.”
She mentally ran the numbers, and excitement bubbled inside of her. “That’s really fast. You’re doing even better than the high-growth trajectory I developed for you.”
“We are. Your analytics are part of what convinced the venture capitalists, actually.”
“I think it was your designs and aggressive marketing strategy.”
“Okay, that may have had something to do with it.” He laughed, but the look in his eyes was soft. “Having you with me this whole time has meant everything to me, though. I hope you know that.”
“I do.” The past few months had been busy for the both of them, but together, they’d made it work. “It’s the same for me.”
His expression went serious. “You said you were having the meeting with the partners at your firm today. How did it go?”
“They offered me a promotion again. Principal econometrician. Five direct reports in addition to my trusty intern.”
“And?”
She took a breath before saying, “I accepted it.”
His lips fell open, and in the next moment, he crushed her in a fierce embrace. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Do you regret it?”
She burrowed closer to him and breathed in his scent. “No. I’m nervous about it, but mostly, I’m happy.”
“So proud of you.”
She smiled so big her cheeks ached. “The promotion comes with a large bonus. I’m warning you in advance I’m buying you a new car.”
When he pulled back, she worried he was upset. She couldn’t read the shuttered look on his face as he said, “I can buy myself a new car.”
She bit her lip to keep from frowning, but she understood if he had to earn his own way. She didn’t need to spoil him. She just wanted to.
“But I want the same model as yours,” he continued. “And I like black.”
She tilted her head to the side and drew in a slow breath. “Does that mean . . . ?”
“It means if you want to buy me a car, I want to drive it.” His lips curved with a suggestive grin, and his eyes danced. “If you want to buy me boxers, I want to wear them.”
Her chest filled with lightness, and she grabbed his hand so she wouldn’t accidentally float away. “It means you love me.”
He interlaced their fingers the way he always did and squeezed. “That’s right. It’s economics.”
THE END
Author’s Note
The first time I heard of “high functioning” autism, previously known as Asperger’s Syndrome, was in a private discussion with my daughter’s preschool teacher. I was completely shocked by the teacher’s suggestion. While my girl was a handful, she didn’t fit my preconceptions of “autistic” at all. In my eyes, she’s always been just as she should be—a sweet little thing with a firecracker personality. I came home and did some quick research on the Internet, and my findings didn’t seem in line with my girl’s traits. Just to be sure, I asked my family members and her physician for their opinions, and results were unanimous: She was not autistic. They had to be right, and I let it go.
At least, I thought I did. Real Life Me let it go, but Writer Me was fascinated. You see, a gender-swapped Pretty Woman had been niggling at the back of my mind for quite some time, but I hadn’t been able to figure out why a successful beautiful woman would hire an escort. One autistic trait from my quick Internet research stuck with me: trouble with social skills. That was certainly something I could empathize with—and a compelling reason to hire an escort. What if my heroine was autistic like my daughter wasn’t? I needed to learn about this character.