“What’s your favorite place in all of New York?”

“Central Park. Conservatory Garden.”

“Flowers? Of course. I noticed you were quite taken with some we passed by the other day.”

I smile, impressed he remembers. “The Conservatory Garden isn’t just any flower garden. There are no cyclists or runners allowed there, so it’s peaceful. I went there all the time as a little girl. It was my favorite spot in all of Manhattan.”

“Do you have a necklace for the gardens?”

I shake my head. He presses a kiss to the hollow of my throat where the metal apple rests. “Maybe someday you’ll find that to replace the taxicab.”

I shudder and murmur maybe.

He raises his face and squeezes my hand, shifting gears. “How was your day?”

And that’s not sexual at all. He asks curiously, his eyes locked with mine, never straying.

“It was . . . a day. How was yours?” I say, eager to segue away from mine. “Did you translate for the Danish king or something?”

He laughs. “A group of stockbrokers. It was great, and a wonderful reminder that, though I miss the highs of business, I like the freedom of my lifestyle more.”

“In what way?”

“I can’t seem to stay away from business for long, but I like doing it on my own terms. Translating for them gave me a fun peek into what they’re working on but also allowed me to not get caught up in it.”

“Did you feel caught up in it before?”

He nods. “I did. It’s addictive. The rush and thrill of profits, of bigger and bigger returns on investment.”

“Is that why you retired so young?”

He nods. “Partly, I think. I’d earned enough and wanted to live life on my own terms, but I also didn’t want to be consumed by the constant pressure of the deal, and the next one, and the next one.”

That word resonates with me. Consumed. “I think we’re both trying to find more balance in our lives.”

He arches a brow in curiosity. “Are you as well?”

“Yes, but not so much in business. I don’t mind if business consumes me for a bit.”

“Did it consume you today?”

The waiter arrives with a full tea service, a steaming pot, fine china, and teacups. We thank him after he pours.

Christian raises his teacup. “To red skirts I want to peel off.”

I grin. “To blue button-downs I want to unbutton.”

His eyes brim with mischief as he drinks. When he sets down his cup, he returns to the topic. “What consumed you at work?”

I sigh, remembering Dominic. “I met with a former contractor for lunch, and he behaved like a complete jerk.”

“What happened?”

Part of me wants to cordon off my business life from him, but I remind myself that telling him about my day, like I did on our first date, is not akin to letting him distract me from my focus. I give him a few details about the project I’m pursuing, mentioning it’s in the travel sector. “I wanted him to do some analysis, and he basically said no, but thanks for the free lunch, and he’s now working for the competition.”

“He’s a total fuckwit.”

“Precisely.” I take a drink of the lime tea.

“Do you have anyone else who can do the work?”

“I’ll find someone.” But that could be hard. Dominic has a particular skill, and as far as I’m aware, it is unmatched. I’ll have to look harder.

Christian raises his cup to drink. “Let me know if I can help.”

The comment is so offhand and casual that it throws me off for a few seconds. “How could you help?”

“You said the job was in the travel sector.”

“I did.”

“A lot of my holdings were in travel, finance, and the green sector.”

“Interesting mix.”

“They were my favorites so that’s what I pursued. I’d be happy to offer any market guidance if that’s what you need.”

It’s exactly what I need. “Really?”

“I’d love to.”

I’m eager to toss out details right now, but I don’t know that I should accept, because accepting would create more obligations, and obligations have a way of confusing matters of the heart and libido. I also don’t want to entwine him in my business life.

“I can’t take advantage of you like that,” I say, though admittedly I’m intrigued by his offer.

We chat more about his background, and I’m fascinated to learn of the work he did, the deals he engineered, and the investments he made.

“Think about it. I’m not claiming to be the expert Domi-dick was,” he says, and I laugh.

“I do appreciate the offer, but I don’t think we should mix business and pleasure. Do you?” I ask, since it’s not that I don’t want his help—it’s that I don’t want us to confuse what we are.

“If pleasure’s on the table, I like to mix it straight up with more pleasure.”

“Of course you do.”

“But keep it in mind, okay?”

“Sure,” I say, though I know it’s best if we don’t commingle the two worlds. If one person is getting more from an arrangement, it becomes uneven, and starts to teeter under the weight.