Melanie: No, but thanks for the food. It'll come in handy once we can eat again.

I cringe.

Me: Yikes. Well, my offer still stands if you need anything.

Melanie: Thanks, girl. I'll let you know if something pops up.

I load the cupcake boxes into my car and head to work. It doesn't take long to get to Cartwright Enterprises. I make my way through the building, saying my good mornings to the security guards and other people I've started to get to know within the last few days. When I get up to our floor, I take the boxes back to the break room and start separating them on the platters for the different meetings.

Victoria comes in, peeks over my shoulder, and asks, "Oh, what do we have today?"

"Black Friday cupcakes. They're double chocolate fudge with dark chocolate frosting," I inform her.

She snatches one out of the box. "I shouldn't, but I couldn't get through the pumpkin pie yesterday. So I deserve this."

"Oh? Why not?" I question.

She huffs. "I couldn't stop comparing it to your pumpkin pie cupcakes you brought in on Wednesday."

"Really?"

She nods. "Yep."

"Well, sorry I ruined your pie," I offer.

She shrugs. "No biggie. How was your Thanksgiving?"

"It was great," I lie before I ask, "How was yours?"

"Oh, lots of family drama. You know how it is," she says.

I just smile. Actually, I don't know. My family didn't really have drama. It was only the three of us. I was a good kid, so I didn't cause my grandparents any problems. I always wondered what it would be like to have a big family. But I guess I'll never know. I pick up a platter and reply, "I'm going to get the room ready for the first meeting."

"Later," she says and gives a small wave.

When I get to the conference room, I run smack into Sebastian. Several cupcakes smash into his suit jacket. I exclaim, "Oh no! I'm so sorry!"

He glances down at the frosting stain, then back at me, scowling.

I set the platter down and try to wipe the dark concoction off with my finger, but it only makes it worse.

"Stop," he demands.

A shiver runs down my spine. It's the same way he spoke to me in one of my dreams. I slowly glance up. His intoxicating scent teases me, sending tingles to my core and heat rushing to my cheeks.

He locks his blues on mine, then clasps his fist around my hand. He moves my frosting-covered fingers near his mouth and asks, "What is this?"

"Dar—" I clear my throat. "Dark chocolate frosting."

He repositions them in front of my mouth. "Do you smell that?"

My insides quiver, but it's not from fear. Zings ping-pong around my body like a professional game. I swallow hard, trying to find my breath, and manage, "The frosting?"

"The sugar," he states.

Confusion fills me. I answer, "Yes."