“I just had one,” he says, but he’s preoccupied with what I’ve told him. “Maybe I will reread it.”
“When’s your deadline?”
“Three months. I have time. If I get my shit together.”
I motion to the computer. “Read.”
His cellphone rings and he snags it from his pocket. “My agent,” he says. “Otherwise known as my sister. She does it all these days. I’ll be right back.” He stands and walks away, but the earthy wonderful scent of him lingers.
Oh how easily I’m affected by everything about him. I’m in trouble with Dash if I’m not careful. And I’m not foolish enough to pretend I’m not a little vulnerable right now. Which is how I got in trouble once before. Timing matters. This is also why I’d like to eat my food while he’s gone and not watching me make a mess. Turns out I have plenty of time. I finish off my scrumptious croissant just as he returns.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “She likes to yell. A lot.”
“Isn’t that what sisters are for?”
“I suppose it is,” he says. “Do you have siblings?”
“I do not,” I say. “But I’ve seen how you sibling teams roll. Does she represent your father as well?”
“We’re half-siblings. He’s not her father and they don’t get along. So, no. She doesn’t represent my father.” There’s a sharpness to his tone at this reply that I don’t take offensively at all. It’s not about me. It does tell a story, that it would be inappropriate for me to ask for now. “Is your father here?” he asks.
“No,” I say, and I can almost feel myself clam up, a little as he did. “New York. He lives in New York.”
His eyes register my reaction and he says, “I’ll leave that alone. Tell me something I don’t know about you, Allie.”
There’s something about this man saying my name that does funny things to my belly. “I love country music, chocolate, books, coffee, cupcakes, and high heels.”
His lips curve. “Good choices. I too like country music, chocolate, books, coffee, cupcakes, and high heels. Just not on me.”
I laugh and there is this easy comfort between us that I really don’t know that I’ve ever experienced with a man, that defies how attracted I am to him. “I don’t think that would suit the assassin-writing author image.”
He smiles and it’s truly a charming smile. It’s right then that Jackson reappears with two coffees and sets them on the table. One of his staff slides a cupcake next to me and takes the cold coffee sitting next to Dash. “You two enjoy,” he says, smiling his goodbye and departing.
“In case you didn’t hear, I told them to bring you more coffee,” I say. “I interrupted your caffeine fix and you’re writing today.” I glance at my watch. “But you don’t have me much longer. I have to go by the venue. I want to know what the event will look like while I’m setting it all up.”
He sips his coffee. “They do make a damn good coffee,” he says.
I follow his lead and sip mine as well. “God, I’ve missed these. There are some perks to being in town for the next few months.”
“There are definite perks,” he says, his voice warm, almost flirtatious, but I can’t really read him. “Why do you like the red mugs?” he asks.
“I have no idea. I just like the red. I have to have the red. It’s silly, I know, but that’s just how I roll.”
“It’s not silly,” he says, his eyes warm with a mix of friendliness and amusement. “It’s adorable. You’re adorable.”
Adorable again.
I’m adorable.
I’m that girl he doesn’t want to date.
Who am I kidding? He’s told me twice now how he really feels about me and it’s not what I’d secretly hoped for.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Dash’s eyebrow inches up. “You don’t like being adorable,” he says, no question. He read me like I read his books, all too easily.
“It’s not that,” I say.
“I think it is.”
“Puppies are adorable. And kitty cats. And this cupcake.” I point to my plate. “It’s really cute. I also think the flowers on this red cup are adorable as well, which is part of the reason I love the red mug.”
He smiles a charming smile and says, “Now you sound like me reading the reviews on my first book, picking at words and making bad out of good. What would you want me to call you?”
“No description, remember? We talked about this. I don’t want to know what you think of me.” I pick up my fork and take a bite. I mean, why do I care how I look eating in front of Dash? I’m the adorable, sweet girl you’re friends with but don’t date.
“Okay,” he reasons. “Let’s try this another way. When I say a woman is adorable, what does that woman, any woman, think?”
I hesitate, but we’re past anything romantic so there’s no reason I can’t be straight-up with him. “When I was growing up, my best friend was gorgeous, blonde, Swedish. Everyone called her beautiful. I was cute, which is basically adorable.”
“And what if I told you you’re both?”
“I’d say good save and eat your cupcake, but thank you for trying.”
His eyes are alight with a smile, but his cellphone rings again and he grimaces. “That’s going to be my sister again.” He grabs it from the table and says, “Yes. My sister.” His eyes meet mine. “And for the record, I never say anything I don’t mean. More on that later.” He doesn’t give me time to reply. He answers the call with, “Have I told you how much you irritate the hell out of me?”
He’s teasing, of course. It’s in his voice. He and his sister are close, able to tease each other in a way that only siblings can tease each other. I take another bite of my cupcake while they chat. I’m not sure what all is said, but my cupcake is gone by the time he starts to wrap up with, “Good. Then we’re even.” He listens a moment. “I’m not moving the deadline up. Don’t ask again. And yes, I’ll come by later.” He hangs up.
My brows lift. “Was that about the book you’re struggling with?”
“Yes. Hollywood wants the manuscript. They’re considering a Ghost TV show and they want all they can get from me, but giving them the book too soon doesn’t serve them or me well.” He scrubs his jaw. “And now you know why I want you to read it for me.”
“First, the TV show is exciting. Congratulations. And second, now I know why you think you need me to read it. You’re feeling pressure that isn’t normally there. You have to remove yourself from that pressure, not add more by having someone, me, critique your work. Your writing is always magnificent.” I lean in a little closer, a smile on my lips as I add, “And for the record, I never say anything I don’t mean. I hate liars and fakes. I’m not that.” I ease back and sip my coffee. “And with that brilliant advice, and it is brilliant advice, I probably need to go.” I scoot my chair out slightly. “I’m going to take Katie and the team back a box of cupcakes. Katie’s really eager to help with this auction.” I stand up. “I’ll be right back.”
I hurry to the counter and Adrianna greets me. “It really is good to see you.”
“And you,” I say. “This feels like home. And I’m recruiting you some new customers. Can I get a mixed dozen sent to Hawk Legal to Katie and the team from me?”
“Of course. Today?”
“Yes, please.”
“You got it. I’ll have them there in an hour,” she says, and then gives me a coy look. “Interesting to see you with Dash.”
“I’m working on a charity auction he’s involved with. In fact, I might want to contract you guys for cupcakes.”
“We’d love that. Just let us know. I thought you were working in New York?”
“I am, but this is in partnership with the company I work for there, so it’s perfect. A little at-home holiday time.”
“Good. Good.” She eyes something over my shoulder—Dash, I assume—and says, “He’s an interesting guy. Kind of famous, and so very good-looking. Don’t you think?”
Seeing wher
e she’s going with this, I hold up my hands, “We’re friends. That’s all.”
“That’s not how he looks at you, darlin’, or the way you look at him.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, and I don’t. At least not where Dash is concerned but she’s hooked me with that tease and now I’m curious. I ease closer and whisper, “How does he look at me?”
“Like you’re a cupcake he wants to lick.” She grins. “Cupcakes on the way. And they’re on Dash. He said to put whatever you want on his tab.” Her grin widens and she walks away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
My heart thunders in my chest. Adrianna thinks Dash looks at me like I’m a cupcake he wants to lick? No. That’s ridiculous. Isn’t it?
I turn to face the seating area and find Dash watching me. I wave like a silly school girl.
Shoot me now, I’m an idiot.
His response is the slow curve of his sexy mouth into one of those perfect smiles of his. Probably because I’m just so adorable and not in a good way.
I draw in a calming breath that is not really calming at all. Not when I’m walking toward the table and Dash isn’t even pretending to look away. He watches my every step and when I slide into the seat, I nervously fill the space with conversation. “I got Katie two cupcakes and me ten.”
He laughs. “I might have to demand at least two for me.”
“Hmmm,” I contemplate. “Maybe one. Two really is a little demanding.”
“I can be very demanding,” he replies, his eyes alight with what reads like flirtatious mischief, but once again I dismiss such an idea. He’s just playing around.
“You won’t be at the office to claim your one little cupcake.”
“Two,” he rebuts.
“One and I had them delivered, so you’ll have to come to the office to claim your order. Actually, I think you paid for my order, which was quite kind of you. I owe you cupcakes.” My voice softens. “Thank you for everything.” I sigh. “But alas, on that note, I should go.” I glance at the time on my watch. “Yes. Definitely.”
He slides his computer inside the black leather bag on the chair.
“What are you doing?” I ask, pushing to my feet at the same time he stands up and pulls his bag to his shoulder.
“Going with you.” He rounds the table and grabs my coat.
“Why are you going with me?” I ask, now worried that he believes me destined to mishandle the auction.
“Because I want to go with you, Allie,” he says, his voice low and velvety while his blue eyes glint with a hint of green in the overhead lights.
I dare to step closer to him, lowering my voice to ask, “Why?”
“When something matters to you, you act like it.”
“You know I’ll do a good job, right?” I ask and not defensively. Not at all. His name is attached to the auction and I know how mishandled it’s been thus far.
“I do know. Me being involved is actually a reflection of my trust in you, Allie.” He holds open my coat.
“Thank you,” I say, before I slide inside it, and turn to face him. “But I don’t understand that answer. You weren’t involved. Now I’m involved and you want to take time from your writing to go look at the venue?”
“You’re holding my cupcake ransom, cupcake. Remember?”
I laugh. “Cupcake?”
“Yep. It’s pretty adorable, right?”
“No. No, my new nickname is not cupcake and it is not adorable.”
“All right then, beautiful,” he says and that velvety quality to his voice is back. “Let’s get to that meeting.”
My cheeks heat with his obvious reference to my name preferences. “I’m never going to live down the whole adorable thing, am I?”
He retrieves my bag from the back of my chair. “Eventually,” he promises with a wink. “But in the meantime, I’ll have some fun with it.”
He indicates my bag. “I see you got a new one.”
“An old friend,” I say of the well-worn Coach bag. “It works as a purse and a briefcase since I still haven’t taken my broken bag to the store to get it repaired.” I take it from him. “It doesn’t match your shoes.”
He laughs and motions to the door and I give into the inevitable. I’m going to be spending time with Dash Black. Somehow, I can’t be sorry about this realization but I warn myself to be careful.
Dash Black could be trouble.
The kind I won’t handle any better than the last time I found trouble, and almost married him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The moment Dash and I exit the bookstore, the wind whistles with a wicked cold front moving across the city, and the promise that winter is arriving.
I shiver and huddle into my coat. “It was so much warmer yesterday and even this morning. How are you not cold? You have no coat on. And how is this Nashville? I don’t remember it being like this.”
“I read there was some sort of weather phenomenon going on,” he replies. “And it’s not going away any time soon.” He indicates right. “We’re headed this way.”
We fall into step together and I say, “Well then you might need to actually wear a coat.”
“Nah,” he says. “I’ve spent some time in hellish cold climates. This is nothing.”
When he was in the FBI, I assume, which clearly, from his whipped cream story, was a big part of how he created the incredible character of Ghost. I’m eager to know this man and his creative process, but I’m sure he gets those types of questions incessantly. Instead, I wonder about him, just him, and all there is to know about the man, not the author. “Are you from Nashville?” I ask.
“Boston,” he replies with an exaggerated accent and a smile. “And now you know how I know bitter cold.”
“You hide that accent well,” I laugh. “I would never have guessed. But then again, I’ve never been to Boston either. I know the East Coast though. New York is the hottest and the coldest I’ve ever been in my life.”
“But you want to go back?” he asks as we halt at an intersection.
“I don’t know,” I say, and I can’t believe how easily being indecisive on this topic comes to me. “I should. I really should be eager to get back.” I hug myself against the wind, or maybe, the storm of confusion that is my life right now, eagerly changing the topic. “What do you think about the venue?”
“I’m more interested in what you think,” he replies, glancing down at me. “Your opinion will either validate what I think or prove me wrong.”
I’m fairly certain that means he doesn’t like it, and I wonder why in the world Hawk Legal chose his charity and didn’t want him more involved. Or maybe he simply had deadlines and didn’t have the time to be involved when this event originated, but he and Tyler just have such a tense vibe with each other it’s hard not to read into anything involving the two of them.
The light turns and we walk another block to the venue. It is, indeed, a big, modern, fancy hotel. A few minutes later, Dash and I are standing in a very basic event room with a woman named Evelyn, the pretty blonde event coordinator who can’t stop batting her lashes at Dash. For his part, he either doesn’t notice, or he’s immune to such attention. I mean he’s famous and good-looking. He probably gets a lot of attention from everyone and often.
As for the event room, I’m not impressed. “Do you have vault services?” I ask.
Evelyn blinks and forces her gaze from Dash to me. “No, but you can hire private transport and security.” Her cellphone buzzes in her hand and she glances at the screen. “I have to run up front,” she says. “I’ll swing back here in a few.” She offers Dash her card. “If I miss you, my cellphone is on the card.”
She doesn’t offer me a card. She simply turns on her heels and starts walking. I watch her exit the room and when I glance back toward Dash, he’s not watching her. He’s watching me.
He steps closer to me, almost intimately so, and hands me the card, “What do you think, cupcake?”
&nb
sp; His silly nickname for me is actually rather charming, but I resist a smile that will surely encourage him to continue the game. “Well, buttercup,” I say, sticking the card in my purse. “I think it’s impersonal and it doesn’t feel special. We want people to feel that they’re attending something highly exclusive and unique. And we have to have a vault on site.”
“Exactly my thoughts,” he concurs. “What if we had the event at Riptide? I know it’s New York City, but it’s certainly attention-grabbing.”
“Unfortunately, Riptide can’t accommodate the timeline needed,” I say, “but we don’t need fancy and elite to make this auction special. Intimate and exclusive could work just as well.”
“Have you seen the rooftop at the Hawk Legal offices?”
“I haven’t seen it but I’d say my primary concern is a need for a vault service.”
“Tyler has a vault with lockboxes he uses for valuables and contracts.”
“Oh. Well, that’s unexpected.”
“From what my sister tells me when you’re dealing with their kind of clientele, there are times when those people want to protect assets and do so off the books.”
The remark makes it clear that he doesn’t see himself as one of those people. I like this about Dash. There’s a lot I like about Dash. “Okay, so we have the event at Hawk Legal. I like it. But I’m sure Tyler won’t like losing the money he put down at this venue.”
“I doubt he’ll lose it,” he replies. “Hawk Legal is nothing if not powerful and resourceful.”
My cellphone rings and I snake it from my purse to find an unfamiliar local number. Concerned for my mother, I quickly answer with, “Allison Wright.”
“Ms. Wright.”
At the sound of Tyler’s sharp tone I stiffen and meet Dash’s gaze as I reply with, “Mr. Hawk,” I say, not pushing the name issue, not when I can hear the displeasure in his voice.
“When will you be returning to the office?” he queries. “We need to talk and set a few boundaries before I head to a meeting.”
What If I Never Page 9
