Boss On A Leash: A Single Dad Billionaire Romance Kara Hart (100 books to read .TXT) 📖

“Wylan. Two,” he shouts over heavy, raucous laughter.

The hostess doesn’t flinch. She appears ready for us. “Right this way, Mr. Wylan.”

I look up at him like he’s some kind of celebrity, like an actor or something. This is the ultimate privilege. “Not too bad, right?” he asks.

“This is… incredible,” I mutter.

He leads me through a maze of seating options and pushes open the entrance doors. The interior is a blast from the past. Through a heavy glass door, and down a corridor. After some time, I start to wonder where the heck we’re even going. This building is bigger than I thought.

“Just wait,” he says. “There’s more.”

More? How on Earth is that possible?

The hostess rounds a corner, leading us right into the kitchen. Stopping to open the freezer, she doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to us anymore. “Marc, what’s going on?”

The waitress motions toward the inside of the freezer. “Your table awaits,” she says.

I squint among the bright lights and heavy chill. “She can’t be serious,” I say.

Marc steps inside the freezer, offering me his hand. “In the mood for something different?” he asks.

Um, well, I didn’t think we’d be eating inside a freezer. This is… new.

The hostess closes the freezer door.

“Let’s hope you know what you’re doing,” I mutter.

“I thought you’d trust me by now,” he says.

I take his hand. “You haven’t let me down, yet.”

He blows hot air between our hands, but I’m surprised when the cold disappears entirely. At the other end of the freezer, the light shifts. That’s when I realize it’s not a freezer at all, but a narrow corridor leading to a secret section of the restaurant. It’s a secret path to an even more secret area!

Resembling a French courtyard, the center is open to the night sky’s seductive moon. There are a variety of flowers, plants in large pots, and vines that wrap around every inch of scaffolding. A rather large oven sits in the corner, metal rods blazing and creating a tall tower of smoke as its chef governs over it.

Last, but not least, a man comes out and sits in the corner, lightly playing a mandolin. Without even sitting down, this is the most romantic setting I’ve ever been in.

The hostess waves us to our seats, where a bottle of wine rests next to two full glasses. It’s not a standard table. Rather, it’s cut in half between the chef and the guests.

“Please, sit down. Our chef has been instructed to serve you with the utmost care,” the hostess says.

“Is that so, Maestro?” Marc asks.

The chef bows and throws a slab of meat onto a burner of butter. He tosses a carrot into the air, catching it onto the blade. Then, tossing the knife behind his back, he grabs a slice of bread. Placing it atop the blazing meat, he bakes it slowly.

I clap among Marc’s pleased laughter. While we watch him cook each meal, we get the chance to talk. Marc scoots his seat closer to me, placing his hands around my thigh. He’s especially touchy tonight, and I love it.

The chef serves a plate of caramelized asparagus with raisins. Yum.

Marc raises his glass of wine. “I want to say a little something.”

I hold my wine glass near my lips, falling deeper and deeper into the moment. The hazy glow of the courtyard, sweet with the smell of food and love, really sweeps me off my feet. All I want to do is have him hold me here all night.

He tilts his glass near mine. “I used to think I’d be alone forever,” he starts.

“Boo,” I chant.

He chuckles, but he’s being serious. “Ever since I met you, I’ve been wondering about a lot of things. I’ve had to take a step back and reevaluate what I want my life to be,” he says. “I’m thankful you came into my life, Ali. I see you with Sammy, and I know she can be a handful, but you really know how to talk to her.”

“Sometimes,” I say. “I tried to get her to open up earlier, but I think she’s a little angry with me.”

He places his free hand on my arm and slides down to meet my palm. Teasing my fingers around his, I listen to what he’s saying and really soak it up. “Ali, are you listening to me?” he asks. “I really like you.”

I tap my glass against his, sighing with great relief. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” I say.

For me, these are bold words to tell a man. It’s still hard for me to say it, too. But the point is that I do feel strongly for him. No, I can’t predict the future, but this is starting to feel like something that can’t be ruined. At any rate, it would have to be something pretty big.

We kiss, drink, and eat more food. Each dish is better than the last. Once we’re finished, we’re both a little tipsy and laughing at every word.

“Remember when we first met?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Ragamuffin vs. Rowdy. If you hadn’t pulled over for gas, you would’ve won the King Charles.”

I frown, but then I remember his face when he saw me on the freeway next to him. He was so shocked. “You were acting like a Formula-One racer on the freeway to the breeder,” I say, cackling.

“I whooped your butt, and you know it.”

I wink. “My station wagon did an okay job at keeping up with your Mercedes.”

He nods, stuffing his nose into his wine glass. His lips are stained red, but it’s cute. His positive drunken swagger is more endearing than it should be.

“In any case, you lucked out. Ragamuffin is crazy. Rowdy is a sweetheart,” he says.

I stick out my tongue. His eyes are focused on my mouth.

“Fate is crazy sometimes,” he breathes.

“Truly,” I say.

He leans forward, taking both hands into his. “I know you hate Valentine’s Day,” he says.

I take a sip of wine. “The worst of the holidays.”

“Usually, when someone doesn’t like