Larissa's POV
"Naturally. Just dinner." Carson moved closer, his body heat making my skin prickle with awareness. "Though if you were to say yes, this wouldn't be our residence. The Gary family compound is roughly five to ten times the size of this penthouse."
"Good God," I breathed, struggling to picture anything grander than this sprawling apartment. "What's next, your own postal code?"
"Not exactly, though we do own a private lake."
The chef appeared quietly in the kitchen doorway, clearing his throat with practiced discretion. "Mr. Gary, your meal is ready."
Carson's palm settled against my lower back, steering me toward a dining space I'd somehow missed earlier. A intimate table for two waited by the floor-to-ceiling windows, soft candlelight dancing between pristine place settings.
"You really pulled out all the stops for 'just dinner,'" I observed as he drew out my chair with old-world courtesy.
