Darcy may have gone a little overboard with the food prep. Not so much with the dinner part of it (chicken parm with her homemade pasta sauce), but more so with the desert. She might have made entire peanut butter cheesecake.

From scratch.

That part was probably overkill. It was a desert she usually only made for special occasions, and if this didn't qualify, well then she didn't know what did. She was in full-on seduction via food mode.

Don't judge. Food was her weapon and she wielded it well.

And now for the completely girly question of what to wear.

Okay, calm down, you can do this. She straightened the flour stained t-shirt she was wearing and went to stand in front of her closet. Maybe something would just pop out at her and scream this makes you look like an adult and not at all like a loser.

She stared hard at her clothes. Nope, that didn't work. Hm. Okay, start with pants. Pants are a good idea. Pants that she would be taking off later, were a better idea.

Darcy decided on dark wash skinny jeans because they made her ass look fantastic. And, after staring down her shirts for entirely too long (shit, what time was it?) she decided on a black blouse with a slight off-the-shoulder neckline. It made her feel dainty and feminine and she loved it.

In other words? She felt like a confident motherfucker.

She wandered back into the kitchen and debated drizzling more chocolate over the cheesecake when the doorbell rang.

Okay, so those nerves that had abated just a few minutes ago? Yeah, they abruptly came back at the sound. Considering how she spent a sizeable part of yesterday trapped in a closet and doing things with this man, you'd think the nerves would go away.

Haha. Yeah, no.

She vaguely wanted to throw up. Okay, be cool. He's already seen you naked, and that's the worst of it. Chill the fuck out.

The second she opened the door she realized she had forgotten to put shoes on. Damn! And she had a cute pair of boots, too. She glared down at her feet.

"What did the floor do to you?" Phil asked, hooking his finger under her chin.

Swear to god, just that little touch was enough to drive her crazy. What is wrong with you?

"I'm not wearing shoes," she pouted as she looked up at him. Oh, he looked good. She may have licked her lips.

He grinned and let out a chuckle. "I don't think no shoes are a deal breaker, sweetheart."

Yeah, he can call her that all day long. All night long. Among other things. Dirty things.

And she really needed to stop thinking about what those things could be.

"So, can I come in?"

Shit. "Yes, yes. Sorry. I, um, yes, please," she stumbled over her words as she quickly backed up and let him in. She wanted to smack herself.

"Here," he said, holding a bottle of wine out to her, "I brought this for you. You never really answered my question about what to bring, but I know you like it so…" he trailed off and Darcy realized he was embarrassed.

Holy shit that was fucking adorable.

Smiling softly, she took the bottle and turned it around to read the label. Her eyes went wide. "This is my favorite! How did you even get it?"

Darcy was stunned. Seriously, how did he get this in twenty four hours? She was holding her absolute favorite bottle of wine and it wasn't super local to New York. It was an absolutely amazing blackberry wine from a small vineyard in Rhode Island. She had discovered it on a road trip through New England a few years ago, and she may have made pilgrimages back that way to stock up. And, since she knew he had been at work all afternoon, she was starting to wonder if he sent one of his minions to go get it, but that would be ridiculous…right?

Which reminded her that she needed to go back. Unless Phil was going to share his wine sources with her. That would save on so much gas.

How he could smirk and look pleased at the same time, she didn't know. But he did and that did things to her. "I have my sources," was all he said.

Apparently he wasn't going to give up his wine sources. Damn.

"Thank you," she breathed. What? She really liked this wine. "Here, I'll go open this if you want to go sit at the table. Just toss your jacket anywhere," she made a vague motion towards the couch or the back of a chair. It was a very vague motion.

Phil simply took the bottle back from her and walked to her kitchen. "Just direct me to the wine opener and some glasses."

Darcy resisted the urge to salute him. "Yes, sir. Opener is in the drawer next to the sink and the good glasses are in the second cabinet over from the fridge." The good glasses she only used once in her life. They were a gift from Jane when she moved into the tower, but she figured drinking wine out of plastic cups on her date with Phil wasn't going to look so great.

He had rolled up his sleeves to his elbows by the time he handed her a glass and Jesus, even his forearms were sexy.

She took a fortifying sip (she resisted the urge to gulp at it because she was a lady) and promised herself she'd at least get through dinner before tearing his clothes off. But judging by the hungry look in his eyes, she didn't know how successful she'd be.

Best intentions and all that.