Page 83 of Fixer for the Billionaire

I roll my eyes. "Oh, do tell, oh wise one."

"You need to make it personal. Show her you know her better than anyone else."

"What do you want me to do? A C-walk with some Tupac playing in the background?" I tease before my face falls. "Shit. She might actually like that."

He laughs and shakes his head. "No, man. Nothing that dramatic. Just... something that is uniquely you two."

I nod, understanding what he means. Carmina and I have our inside jokes, favorite places, and special memories. These should be reflected in my proposal to her.

"Thanks for the advice," I say sincerely.

Killian grins and claps me on the back. "Anytime."

Just as I'm about to hand over the grilling duties, disaster strikes in the form of a rogue drop of BBQ sauce launching itself onto my sleeve like a misguided missile. "Damn it," I mutter, my day of reckoning with laundry confirmed.

"Killian, can you man the grill for a minute? I've gotta deal with this," I say, gesturing to the saucy mess on my sleeve. He nods, taking over with a chef's flourish that could only come from watching one too many cooking shows.

Stepping back into the townhouse, a warmth envelops me. Not from the upcoming nuptials, but from the laughter floating down the stairs. Gabi and Val, Carmina's sisters, are watching horror movies with their friends.

Their joy is infectious, and so is my smile as I head to the downstairs powder room to wage war on the BBQ sauce stain.

Mid-scrub, Carmina breezes in, announcing her plans to switch up the music to something closer to her West Coast roots.

I laugh. "The Kidz Bop versions of NWA just weren't cutting it for you, huh?"

"Definitely not," she chuckles. "But I'll spare everyone the explicit lyrics."

Still fighting the good fight against the BBQ sauce stain, I glance over. "You know, if you start playing 'California Love,' I might have to break out my best Tupac impression."

Carmina laughs, shaking her head. "Please, the world is not ready for that. And I don't think our guests would appreciate your... unique dance moves." She moves in, her hands circling around my waist. "Besides, I like my man to have two working ankles."

“Hey, that was one time. And the floor was slippery, dammit."

“And your music taste? I guess that was the floor’s fault too?” she teases, stepping closer, her voice lowering to that sultry timbre that always makes my heart race. She runs her fingers through my hair, pulling me closer for a kiss.

I melt into her lips, tasting the same BBQ sauce that is currently waging war on my shirt. But in this moment, I couldn't care less about the stain or what anyone else thinks.

All that matters is this connection between us.

Lowering to my knees, I look up at Carmina, my gaze locking with hers in a shared moment of silent admission. The air between us charges with electric anticipation.

"You see," I start, my voice a playful whisper, "this is actually a strategic move to check if we missed a spot cleaning the floors earlier."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Absolutely," I reply, maintaining my facade of earnestness while taking her hand to place a dramatic kiss on her palm. "And, as it turns out, the floor here," I continue, gesturing vaguely at the space around us with my free hand, "is spotless, thanks to your excellent supervision."

"I see. Are all floor inspections this... thorough?"

"Only the most critical ones," I say, lifting the hem of her ankle-length dress. My hands move slowly, deliberately.

The mood shifts, our laughter mixing with the charged air in the small powder room.

Her breath catches slightly as my hands navigate, tracing warm paths against her skin.

"I believe," I murmur, locking eyes with her, "in leaving no stone—or in this case, no inch of floor—unchecked."

Carmina's eyes glimmer with something deeper, tender and wild. This dance of ours, blending humor and desire, always leads us here.

---