Rascal (Rascals Book 1)(65)

There was a red dress I had bought right after getting the job at the firm. It had been a reward, a splurge after knowing that I would have a steady paycheck for the upcoming future. But I had never worn it. Because it was a beautiful dress, but it was too bright and too short and too sexy for anything work-related. And since my life had become solely work-related, it had been regulated to the back of my closet.

Until tonight. Tonight it was going to get it’s moment to shine.

I slipped it on, pairing it with some extremely sparkly and dramatic earrings and equally fun, sexy heels. The dress was tighter than I remembered, but it looked good. I looked good. I looked hot.

Emerson rapped on the doorjamb as he came back into the apartment.

“Got some champagne,” he said. “Are you ready to—”

His sentence stopped practically mid-sentence. I turned to find him standing in my apartment, staring, his mouth hanging open.

“Wow,” he said, his eyes wide. “You look— I mean, that dress is—” He shook his head as if he needed to clear his thoughts. “Fuck,” he finally settled on.

I laughed. “Does that mean you like it?” I asked.

“Like it?” he crossed the room, putting his hands on my hips, looking me over. “I fucking love it.” He kissed me, deeply. “But I think I’d like it even better on the floor of my apartment.” He gave me an exaggerated leer.

I winked at him. “Play your cards right and you might get exactly that.”

He groaned. “Come on.” He took my hand. “We’d better get out of here before I’m tempted to scrap our romantic, celebratory plans in favor of a night of extremely hot sex.”

“Why can’t we have both?” I asked as he practically dragged me out of my apartment.

“We can,” he told me, his hands skimming my hips. “But only if we do the romantic celebratory plans first. If you let me take that dress off of you, we won’t be leaving my apartment for days.”

My skin got hot imagining just that.

“Well.” I locked my front door. “Let’s get the romantic, celebratory section of the evening started as soon as possible.”

The dress rode up as I got into Emerson’s car, showing way more leg than I was used to showing. But Emerson didn’t mind at all, putting his hand on my bare knee as we pulled away from the building. There was a bottle of champagne at my feet, and two glasses.

“Should I even bother asking where we’re going?” I wanted to know.

Emerson smiled and shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “But I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” I told him, taking the opportunity to take him in.

He looked good. Apparently, he was in the habit of stashing a pretty good, black suit in his office in the bar, because he looked just as polished and put together as he had for our first—fake—date. Though, he was sans tie and his hair was its usual messy style. Just the way I liked it. Just the way I liked him.

I put my hand over his. Everything was already perfect.

Emerson drove us to Lincoln Park. I had been meaning to go forever, but life and work always seemed to get in the way. He parked the car and gathered up the champagne, glasses, and a basket that he had stashed in the backseat of the car.

The weather was perfect. Sunny, with just enough clouds in the sky to keep it from being too hot. Spring in Chicago was truly magnificent, and we were surrounded by couples and families that seemed to feel the same. Everyone was picnicking or taking a stroll or just enjoying themselves. I felt a little overdressed in my sexy red dress, but no one gave us a second glance as Emerson led me through the park.

We ended up at the Lily Pool, another place I had always planned to visit. We entered through the prairie-style archway, where we could observe the limestone slabs stacked on top of each other, creating an organic, naturalistic style. There were circular benches and stepping stones, all of it seeming to blend into their surroundings seamlessly. It was beautiful—the lily pads resting along the surface of the still pond, their white, spiky flowers in bloom. It was so peaceful and tranquil, and much less crowded than the rest of the park.

We set up our picnic near the water, Emerson opening the basket to reveal not just a delicious-smelling spread of food, but a blanket as well as plates and silverware.

“This is the nicest picnic I’ve ever been on,” I told him as he loaded up my plate with cheese and fruit.

“I’m afraid I can’t take credit for much of it,” he said with a smile. “The food is what I could find in the bar’s kitchen. I thought about making something, but you’ve already tasted my limited culinary experience, and I was pretty sure that grilled cheese sandwiches wouldn’t travel very well.”

I laughed and took the plate of borrowed food. It was delicious. And so was the champagne, which Emerson neatly opened, surprising a few of the nearby birds with the popping of the cork. He poured us each a glass.

“To Alex,” he said, raising his glass to mine. “The smartest, most driven, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” He kissed me. “I’m so proud of you, babe, and can’t wait to see what you accomplish next.”

I was overwhelmed.

And then he took a small box out of the pocket of his jacket.

It was long, and thin, clearly not a ring box, but I realized, for the first time in my life, that this was a man I could see a future with. That I could see myself marrying him. Sharing a life with him. It was an amazing feeling.