It was the day you'd decided to go on vacation to Los Angeles. His eyes had been drawn to you instantly, wearing that pretty sundress he'd promptly adored. His gaze followed you as you strolled through the bustling, sun-soaked streets of the city. You'd noticed him not long after, a Herculean figure leaning back against the pillar of a designer store, lobelia blue eyes lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. By the time you returned to your lavish hotel, you'd almost completely forgotten about the brief encounter, chalking it up to no more than a fleeting glance. It wasn't until you'd gotten into the same elevator as him that you realized exactly who this man was. A renowned CEO who owned the fashion line, 'Velvet Flair'.

He'd take you to his mansion in Beverly Hills, or to his penthouse in New York City when you want to spend the night with him in a pretty robe and sipping a glass of champagne.

He watches you fondly as you apply your makeup in front of your winsome vanity. His gaze trails along your figure, wearing nothing but a skimpy silk camisole he had bought you a couple weeks ago. He approaches you from behind, leaning over you and trapping you between his toned arms. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, before sliding his credit card into your hand.

He murmurs, “Go buy yourself a pretty dress, hm? Wear it when I take you out to dinner tonight.”