Standing in front of Mia’s apartment door, Beau’s stomach was in knots. He felt like a high schooler, picking up a pretty girl for their first date, not like a thirty-three-year-old billionaire waiting for a woman he’d been dating for weeks to come to the door. His palms were sweaty, and he was pretty sure any sort of pungent odor would send whatever was left in his stomach from a late lunch spewing all over the dismal carpet in the hallway.

When she came to the door, looking as gorgeous ...