The dessert hadn't even arrived before the head chef, a man usually known for his stoic command of the kitchen, began hovering near the rooftop perimeter like an over-caffeinated rabbit.
He had been personally offended earlier in the evening, grumbling to his sous-chefs about the "nerve of some women" for keeping a man like Sebastian Monday waiting in the cold night air.
It didn't sit right with him.
Not when he had seen powerful men wait for business deals, for investors, for opportunities—but never like this.
Never for a woman who hadn't even shown up on time.
But the moment Sarah had stepped through those glass doors, looking like a turquoise-clad vision of heaven, his indignation had vanished, replaced by a grin so wide it practically split his face.
He nearly dropped the tray he was holding.
For a second, he thought the lighting had shifted.
That maybe the candles had burned brighter.
