Page 17 of The Billionaire's Vow

The abrupt change in topic threw her.

She blinked."What?"

"Food," he repeated.

Her stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl.

Dimitri chuckled and the change transformed his features, softened them ever so slightly.He was an incredibly handsome man, but when he smiled…goodness!

Giselle wrapped a hand around her stomach, trying to silence it."I’m fine," she lied.

"You’re not fine," he countered, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes."And you’re working overtime to help me."

He pushed away from the doorframe and stepped farther into her office, his size making the space feel smaller.

"Shut down for the night, grab your purse, and let’s go."

Her lips parted slightly in confusion."Go?"

"Out to dinner.I’m going to take care of you, since you aren’t taking proper care of yourself."His dark eyes gleamed with amusement."Is that a foreign concept?"

Heat rushed to her cheeks.

When was the last time someone had taken care of her?Not in the casual, meaningless way, but in a way that actually mattered.

And “out to dinner”?Did that mean to a restaurant?She hadn’t been out to eat in years.The last time had been in college when a guy had taken her to a fast-food place for tacos.It had been terrible.

However, she wasn’t comfortable with the idea of the owner of her company taking her out to eat.That wasn’t professional, was it?

"You don’t need to take me out, sir.I’m just doing my job."

Something flickered in his expression, unreadable but undeniable.His jaw tightened slightly.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned down just a fraction.Not enough to invade her space, but enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Giselle," he said, his voice lower now, edged with quiet authority."When I say, I’m taking care of you, it’s not a request."

She swallowed hard and looked up, losing herself in his eyes.For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.Then, she nodded slowly.

"Good," he murmured.

And just like that, he turned and left her office, as if he already knew she would follow.

She sat frozen for a long moment, her skin still tingling from his presence.

He poked his head back in the doorway and lifted a dark eyebrow, the movement subtle but potent.For a moment, the sharp angles of his face, combined with that quiet, assessing stare, reminded her of Cary Grant—if Cary Grant had been rougher, more dangerously handsome, and infinitely more intriguing.And with a sexy beard!

Hopefully, without the hallucinogenic addiction.

"Do you always work until eight o’clock at night?"His voice was smooth, but there was an underlying edge to it, like the question alone annoyed him.

Giselle stared back at him, then shrugged."Yes."

His mouth tightened, his dissatisfaction clear, but he waved a hand dismissively."We’ll discuss it over dinner.How about pasta?Or would you prefer steak?Seafood?"

She shook her head quickly."No, really, sir.You don’t need to—"

"Giselle."