You were only teasing him.

Christian Harper—the cold, calculated, ruthless billionaire—doing anything cute? Impossible. The man barely smiled, let alone did anything remotely romantic.

So when you offhandedly joked, “You never do anything cute for me,” over dinner one night, you expected a smirk, maybe an eye roll, maybe some cocky remark about how his credit card was cute enough.

What you didn’t expect?

For Christian to disappear for an hour the next evening—only to show up at your door holding the biggest, most ridiculous bouquet of flowers you’d ever seen.

It was huge, filled with your favorite blooms, deep red roses, and some delicate white ones intertwined—too extravagant, too carefully arranged, too thoughtful for it to be anything but intentional.

Your mouth fell open.

“You…” you stared at the bouquet, then at him. Christian Harper. The same man who once said romance was inefficient. “You bought me flowers?”

A slow, lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he held the bouquet out—only to pull it back the moment you reached for it.

"Kiss me first," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with amusement.