Rebate King: Every Beauty I Spoil Makes Me a Billionaire

Seeing Stan choose the lamb, Maya frowned in confusion as she looked up, not getting why he had done that.

”You’re not getting your favourite?”

”I felt like trying something new,” he replied with a smile.

”Well it’s quite surprising for you not to order your favourite...”

”Well, I’m branching out.”

She watched him with quiet amusement, as though this was yet another small detail that didn’t quite fit the version of him she’d spent the drive trying to make sense of.

”It’s good to try new things every once in a while,” he said.

She tilted her head. ”That’s surprisingly philosophical.”

”Is it?”

”It is.” She grinned. ”Try new things every once in a while. That’s exactly the kind of sentence they’d print on an inspirational poster in a dentist’s waiting room.”

”It’s just an observation.”

She laughed. ”That’s just you, isn’t it? Stan Harrison. Philosopher. Distributor of motivational poster quotes.”

”Philosopher with an apparently excellent skincare routine.” She then pointed at him. ”Which you continue to refuse to explain.”

”There’s nothing to explain, Maya.”

”That,” she said with satisfaction, ”is exactly what someone with a secret would say.”

Before he could answer, the waiter returned. Stan placed his order. The waiter turned to Maya.

She glanced at the menu for only a moment before choosing one of the least expensive dishes, a small chicken pasta.

Stan set his menu aside. ”Maya.”

She looked up. ”Yes?”

”Order what you actually want.”

”I will.”

He held her gaze. ”No, you’re ordering what costs the least.”

She opened her mouth, then hesitated.

”You don’t want me paying for something expensive.”

Silence lingered between them for a moment. Then she looked down with a sheepish smile. ”...Habit.”

”You never have to do that with me.”

She looked back up.

Without making a production of it, he turned to the waiter.

”We’ll have two of the lamb shanks instead. And a bottle of chilled sparkling water to start. For drinks, bring us something cold that pairs well with the meal, your recommendation.”

”Certainly.” The waiter collected the menus and walked away.

Maya watched him for a moment before shaking her head with a quiet, affectionate smile.

”You do this every time.”

”What?”

”You decide what’s best for me before I do.” She laughed softly. ”Then you make it happen before I’ve had the chance to argue.”

”I corrected one order.”

”You corrected it before I’d finished speaking.”

”You were about to spend the whole meal wishing you’d ordered something else.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. ”That’s a very convenient interpretation.”

”It’s also the accurate one.”

She laughed again, softer this time, and leaned back against the booth.

”I suppose we’ll find out.”

The chilled sparkling water arrived a few moments later.

They poured themselves glasses, took a sip, and let the easy silence settle between them before the conversation turned to the reason Stan had asked her to dinner.

...

A gentle silence settled between them, the kind that carried the weight of unspoken things. Stan set his glass down, leaned forward slightly, and met her eyes across the table with quiet intensity.

”So,” he said, his voice low and steady. ”Are you really not going to let me help with the company?”

The teasing warmth of their earlier conversation evaporated. This was the moment he had brought her here for.

Maya’s gaze faltered. She tried to hold his eyes but couldn’t quite manage it. Her attention drifted to her water glass, then to the soft glow of the window, before settling somewhere near the sharp line of his jaw. A delicate flush rose along her neck and cheeks.

Stan reached across the table without hesitation.

With the gentlest touch, he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning her face toward his. The gesture was unhurried, confident, and achingly tender, the touch of a man who had learned every nuance of what she would allow, and how deeply she responded when he took exactly that much.

She let him.

”Look at me,” he murmured, his voice velvet-soft. ”Look at me, Maya, and refuse me to my face.”

Their eyes met.

He held her there, steady and unwavering. He could feel her resolve beginning to melt beneath the weight of his gaze. Maya, with her favorability already soaring past one hundred and still climbing, was simply not built to deny him for long. Not when he looked at her like this.

But she had prepared for this.

She drew in a shaky breath and, despite the fluttering in her chest, gave him the smallest, most stubborn pout, a sweet, defiant expression that made her look impossibly young and endearing. She shook her head slowly.

”I can’t, Stan.”

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. He leaned across the table. There was only a heartbeat’s warning before his mouth found hers.

The kiss was soft, deliberate, and devastatingly romantic. His lips brushed hers with warm, unhurried pressure, tasting of the wine they’d shared and something deeper, something uniquely him.

The faint, clean scent of his skin, fresh and intoxicating, like cool mountain air and warm sunlight on clean linen, wrapped around her senses. Beneath the familiar warmth of his mouth lay a new, refreshing coolness that made her toes curl.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, yet it sent a shiver of pure pleasure down her spine. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world to savor her, like he was committing every sigh and tremble to memory.

Maya’s thoughts scattered. She had kissed him before, but never like this. This kiss felt like a promise. Like possession wrapped in devotion. Like coming home to something she hadn’t known she was missing.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead lightly against hers, her eyes were dazed and her lips slightly parted.

”Okay,” she whispered, before her mind had even caught up with her heart.

Stan’s smile deepened, small, warm, and utterly satisfied.

”My sweet Maya,” he murmured, brushing his thumb tenderly across her flushed cheek. ”I told you I’d convince you.”