The only plus to the outfit, as far as I was concerned, was the fact that I got to wear blue ballet flats instead of heels.

“Miss Amato,” Teresa greeted me as I was tugging at the neck of my dress that felt like it was choking me, even though it wasn’t even close to a turtleneck.

“Sorry. This material is awful,” I confessed. “It has absolutely no give.”

“I prefer separates myself,” Teresa admitted. “They tend to be more comfortable during a long shift.”

“I don’t know how you do those heels all day.”

“Oh, you’d have to pry my heels off my cold, dead body,” Teresa admitted. “I heard that the young girls these days are wearing sneakers to the club. Can you imagine? Mr. Vale is in the conference room. Your attorney arrived just before you. Can I bring you coffee?”

“I don’t know if this dress will stretch enough to let me drink it, but please.”

I made my way toward the conference room, still annoyed by the dress.

Until I stepped into the doorway.

And Soren’s gaze cut to mine.

I became so aware of each inch of me that I suddenly felt naked as his eyes tracked down me, then slowly back up.

Slowly, he rose to his feet.

Then, when neither of the lawyers—and whoever the third guy was—moved to follow, he barked out a quick, “Stand.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I said, holding up a hand. But it was too late. The men were already on their feet.

I wouldn’t admit it aloud, but it was kind of hot how he made them stand and show me a little respect. I was so used to fighting for that.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said, going toward the empty seat at the side of my attorney. Which thankfully put him between me and Soren.

Who’d managed, with just one look to undo all the ‘stress relief’ I’d gotten over the past three days from a fun alien sex book and a battery-operated boyfriend.

“You’re right on time,” Soren said as Teresa came in with a tray of coffees. “Ready to make this official?”

“Yes.” If nothing else, it would get Renzo off my back. Once things were all finalized, even if something went really sour with me and Soren, we were locked in. He would have nothing to worry about.

The next half an hour or so involved both lawyers going over the same paperwork we’d already discussed in length, then passing papers around for us to sign, initial, and date.

By the time it was done, the stacks looked like one of those thick romantasy books Renzo’s wife, Lore, was always reading.

“Congratulations,” Soren’s lawyer, Mitchell something-or-other, said. “You’re in business.”