A hushed murmur ripples through the restaurant. The forbidden word is on everyone’s lips. For a moment I fear I will be forced to wear a giant scarlet letter C on my dress for the rest of the meal.

“Can you stand?”

Brad shakes his head. “My ankle. I think it’s broken.”

“I’m an EMT. Can I take a look?”

Brad nods and I examine his ankle. “It’s not broken. Just slightly sprained,” I tell him. “You need to rest, elevate, and ice it.”

The manager arrives at the scene of the crime. He and Max have a hushed conversation, and then he helps Brad to his feet. He obsequiously assures us no one is at fault and he will call a cab and send Brad home with his full pay for the evening.

Max holds out his hand to help me up. I rise from the floor, and my throat thickens. My beautiful dress is stained red with beet juice and covered in mashed potatoes. My shoes have fared no better.

“I’m so sorry.” I stare down at the disaster that is my dress. “I’ve ruined everything. I’ll pay you back—”

“I don’t care about the dress.” Max cuts me off and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest, stained clothes and all. “If you like it, I’ll buy you another one. And you don’t have to worry about Brad. I’ve taken care of everything.”

He pays the bill and walks me to the limo, his hand firm on my lower back. I stare straight ahead so I don’t have to see anyone laughing.

When we reach the limo, Lewis looks me up and down and frowns. “Are you okay, Ms. Delaney?”

Hmm. Maybe I was too harsh in my initial assessment of Lewis. “Yeah, I just look pretty bad.”

Max strokes my hair. “You couldn’t look bad if you tried.”

“I just tried pretty hard.”

Lewis starts up the limo and we pull away from the curb. The city lights blur as we purr down the street away from the site of my latest humiliation.

“I’m not good with first dates,” I say to Max. “I always screw them up.”

Max winds his fingers through mine and squeezes my hand. “This isn’t a first date.”

My heart sinks. Did I totally misinterpret this evening? The dress? The compliments? Did I botch it up so badly he wants to pretend it was something else? “Um. Yeah. Sure. I didn’t really think—”

“Makayla, look at me.”

His voice compels me to obey. I look up and an amused Max enters my line of vision. His lips twitch into the semblance of a smile. “This is our third date.”

My brain kicks into gear and my face heats with a rush of blood. “Third date?”

“First we had a picnic. Then we had pizza. This time we almost had mashed potatoes.”

“We seem to do a lot of eating together.” Three dates? He thinks we’ve had three dates. Except for today, the time we spent together was more like two friends hanging out than fingernail-biting, heart-stressing dates.

“We’ll have to do something else for date number four—or even tonight.”

“Not tonight.”

Max’s face falls and he gives me a sideways glance. “Not tonight?”

“I just…today wasn’t so good, and now I’m covered in potatoes and beets. I’m not really feeling my best. I just want to go home, take a shower, and go to bed.”

“We’ll go to your place, you can shower, and then—”

“No, Max.” I pat his warm, broad hand. “Another time.”

“But—”

Does he never give up? “Please. Just let me go home and wallow in my misery. If you change your mind about date four, that’s okay. I get it. I’m sure that was just as humiliating for you as it was for me. You need to be with someone classy and sophisticated. Someone who doesn’t throw beets around fancy restaurants.”

“Actually, it was pretty damn funny.”

“Seeing Brad fall?”

“Your German accent.”

Snorting a laugh, I twist my hands in the shawl I’ve used to cover my stained dress. “You have to stop me when I do things like that. Amanda says my sense of humor gets a little quirky when I have too much to drink.”

Max slides one hand under my hair and strokes my cheek. “I think your sense of humor is very refreshing. You are very refreshing. You have no guile. You put it all out there. What you see is what you get with Makayla, with a big dose of compassion thrown in.”

All too soon, Lewis stops outside my apartment building and I step out of the limo and onto the sidewalk. “I’m sorry I ruined the evening. Like I said, I’ll understand if you don’t—”

“Is that what you want?” Max follows me out and walks me to the front entrance.

“I…don’t know,” I admit in a whisper. “The whole money thing makes me uncomfortable. I don’t fit in.”

Max smoothes my hair from my temple and tilts my head back with a finger under my chin. His warm, brown eyes study me until my cheeks burn, and I am forced to look away.

“If I’d taken you for pizza on the Agusta, and we were standing here in our leathers, would your answer be different?”

“Yes.” I give him an honest answer. “You would have been more relaxed. I would have been more relaxed. I also wouldn’t be covered in food.”

“You don’t like me this way?” His voice is hoarse, barely audible.

“Of course I do. It’s just—” I stroke my hand down the cool, silk of his tie. “You’re different in your suit. More focused and businesslike. You fired questions at me like I was a potential investment, and you gave me almost nothing back. When you’re at the club, you seem more comfortable with yourself. Business Max makes me nervous. I guess it showed.”