Page 66 of Risk

“Please tell me you put them on my black card.” I don’t want Leah spending her money if she can spend mine instead.

“No way.” Leah hooks the straps with her fingers and swaggers over to me, carrying her shoes. “I need business write-offs too, buddy.”

She hands the heels over and lifts her leg, pressing her foot to my chest, and waits expectantly for me.

I think I’m in love.

Fastening her ankle strap takes me no time at all. I kiss the top of her foot before letting her put it down again. She switches feet and I fasten the strap and kiss that one, too.

“Ready, Big Tech Daddy?”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Leah grabs my hand and yanks me out of the suite. “It’s a surprise.”

Chapter 21

Leah

If I could just wipe this dopey, lovey-dovey, freshly fucked smile off my face, that would be great. But I can’t. And I really don’t even want to. Is it preposterous to feel like we’ve been together forever?

I don’t even know his middle name.

Hooking my arm with Mason’s, I lead him down the sidewalk and no matter how many guesses he makes, I refuse to tell him where I’m taking him. Three blocks down and around the corner is a bakery I passed earlier this morning.

“Here we go!” I open the door and sweep my arm. “After you.”

“Thanks.”

I beeline to the display of colorful cupcakes. “Pick your poison.” Practically pressing my face against the glass, I eye fuck every single one of these delicious treats. “Vanilla, chocolate, coconut.” I look over at him, suddenly terrified. “Please don’t tell me you’re a carrot cake man.”

Mason laughs. “What’s wrong with carrot cake?”

“Veggies do not belong in sweets.” I shiver dramatically. “I’m still traumatized from the time my mother snuck zucchini into our brownies one summer.”

“Chocolate,” Mason says. “The darker, the better.”

Perfect. I knew he had good taste.

“Excuse me, may we have that one right there?” I tap the glass directly over a row of decadent looking cupcakes with shaved chocolate curls and edible gold leaf flakes on top.

The employee carefully boxes the treat in a pink container and rings us up. “That’s seven dollars.”

I tap my credit card and grab the box. “Thank you. Have a nice day!”

Mason follows me out of the bakery, and I clasp his hand, swinging it happily while we walk down the street. I take him over to a shaded bench and plop down first. Presentation is key when you have a cupcake, so I carefully dig it out of the box and hold it gingerly in my hands. The sucker is big and heavy and smells like a glucose overdose.

“Wait. What’s your middle name?”

“Why?”

“I need to know.”

Mason rubs the back of his neck. “Elijah.”

“Cheers to you, Mason Elijah Finch.” I raise the cupcake to his face. “May this be the beginning of many more successes to come your way.”

I can’t read the look on his face. Maybe what I’ve said surprises him. Maybe he’s wondering why I’m making this dramatic and silly toast. Maybe he thinks he should have gone with vanilla.