So as much as I knew I needed to turn him down, my pulse was already pounding; the excitement was skittering across my nerve endings, making me feel electric.

“I insist.” He pushed the box closer to me.

A girl could only resist so much.

It would be rude to turn him down.

Or, at least, that was what I told myself as I slid a nail across the little golden sticker seal, then pulled up the lid.

I realized too late that I probably should have just thanked him and opened it later in private.

Oh, well.

Too late to go back.

I reached in, pulling apart the tissue paper to reveal…

“Wait,” I said, my gaze and smile—surprised, maybe even charmed—directed at him. “Is that…”

“The same mug as I have at my office. You said you liked them.”

“I did. I do. And it’s—“

“Covered in strawberries,” he said, something dancing in those deep eyes of his. “Kind of like you.”

He said that last bit so softly that I was sure I’d misheard him as my gaze went to the mug again, this time as I pulled it out, testing its perfect weight in my hand.

“This was really thoughtful,” I said, surprised by the rush of wetness in my eyes. For once, I was glad for my short stature. It allowed me to rapidly blink that nonsense away without Soren noticing. “Thank you.”

I slipped it back into the box, then took the box from his hands.

“If we’re both ready to move forward, I’d like to get the paperwork drafted up to sign. I can send it over to your attorney by mid-week.”

Right.

An attorney.

Had Renzo set that up yet?

If not, he had to get on it. Or, I guess, I did. Did we even have an attorney? Or would it be better to have someone completely outside our circle?

“I’ll have Bastian send that information over to Teresa,” I told him.

“Perfect. Then we can set up a meeting to discuss the next steps.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Have a good day,” he said, leaning closer for just the two of us to hear, “Saffron.”

With that, he slid into his backseat, closed the door, and the driver pulled off.

While I stood there watching the car disappear for an embarrassingly long time before shooting off texts to Renzo and Bass, and decided I needed to go home and fall into a good book to avoid thinking about Soren Vale.

So, yeah, it had to be a book heavy on the stabbing and low on the spice scale.

But it was hard to focus on all the bloodshed when I kept picking up his annoyingly thoughtful mug to sip my coffee with, thinking about what he’d said when he’d given it to me.

Covered in strawberries. Kind of like you.