Larissa's POV
Carson slid behind the wheel and pulled into the flow of evening traffic. The silence stretched between us until he finally spoke.
"You've gone quiet on me."
"I'm processing."
"Processing what exactly?"
"Processing how completely insane this entire situation has become," I said, shifting in my seat to face him. "You're the man who signs my paychecks. You've just proposed a marriage deal worth more money than I'll see in a lifetime. And tonight you invited me to your penthouse for dinner-"
"My chef prepared the meal," he interjected smoothly.
"That's not the point. The point is none of this makes any sense."
"Sense is overrated," Carson replied, his gaze flicking to mine as he maneuvered through the relatively empty LA streets.
"So is speaking in riddles," I countered. "But you seem to excel at it."
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. "You consider me cryptic? I'm actually the most direct person you'll encounter."
