CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The office buzzes with weekend fever, but for me, it's a different kind of energy that sets my nerves on edge.

Bash sent me a text earlier telling me to ‘dress fancy' for our date tonight.

The butterflies are back, raging in my stomach while I worry about what defines ‘fancy'.

We're currently in a meeting with a potential client, and I keep stealing glances at Bash.

Knock it off, Wyn!

But even my internal scolding can't stop my wandering gaze. The man's too damned sexy for his own good.

He catches my stare, and there's an unmistakable twinkle there.

The moment is like a shared secret between us that no one else realizes, and it sends my heart racing.

When the meeting finally ends, I stand up to shake the client's hands.

They thank me as I welcome them to Boggleworks.

After they leave, I scoop up my presentation documents while Bash makes his way toward me.

"Great job, Wyn. I hope you're proud of all the hard work you've done."

"Thanks," I mumble, trying not to blush at his words or proximity.

An intern walks over to talk to Bash, and I slip out to go back to my office.

I push a lock of hair behind my ear as I check emails, trying not to reflect on my relationship.

But it's impossible.

On Tuesday evening, when I got home from work, a new fridge awaited me in my kitchen.

Mrs. Jenkins has never looked so happy about allowing strangers into my home, but Bash The Smooth Talker conned her into signing for everything.

Right down to the grocery delivery that stocked the entire fridge and freezer.

Jake had damn near lost his mind when he opened and saw all the goodies inside—things I would normally never buy on my budget.

And when he asked who did this, and I confessed it was Bash, my son only nodded.

To him, the fridge was no big deal because friends are supposed to help one another.

Of course, I know differently, but my heart does a flip every time I think of Bash's gift.

As the week progressed, little things began to pop up in my office, too.

My favorite snacks, cups of expensive coffee, and a single red rose to name a few.

My phone vibrates—it's a text from my monster date reminding me to be ready by seven.

As soon as it's quitting time, I scramble home to get ready.

Jake jumps on the couch, watching his favorite cartoon while I shower.

When I get out, the last golden rays of the day bleed out of the sky, casting shadows along my walls.

I stand before my mirror, staring at my reflection, unsure.

The dress was a splurge I hope I won't regret considering it was money that should've been going to—

No, not thinking of that tonight.

Instead, I focus on calming my breathing while checking that there are no wrinkles on my dress.

It's a simple enough gown, the color a rich emerald.

This coupled with the rather daring neckline—not to mention the heels—makes me feel pretty.

Sexy.

Desirable.

And goodness knows how badly I want to be these things for Bash.

When I come out into the living room, Jake looks up from the TV, his eyes widening.

"Mom, you look like a fairy without wings!"

I laugh at the compliment. "Thank you, sweetheart. Now, remember to mind Mrs. Jenkins."

He nods, but his attention is back on his show, and I bend over to plant a kiss on his cheek.

There's a knock on the door, and I walk over to let my neighbor in.

Her eyes do the same thing as Jake's did as she takes in my evening wear.

"My word, Wyn, you look breathtaking!"

"I was told to dress ‘fancy', but I wasn't sure…"

Mrs. Jenkins waves a hand. "Dear, you're so fancy that his tongue will be tied in knots all night."

Before I can say anything, there's another knock on the door.

When I sweep it open, Bash stands there in a black suit, holding a dozen white calla lilies.

"Oh, these are gorgeous!"

I take the bouquet as Bash steps in, eyeing me up and down.

"Not as gorgeous as you are, deoring."

Jake barrels off the couch and wraps his arms around my boss's legs.

"My new best friend! I got an A on my report about Boggarts! Mine was the coolest of them all!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah! Levi Weirman said so, and he has the most superheroes of us all."

Which clearly makes him the authority in Jake's class.

"Ready to go, Wyn?"

Bash's voice is a low rumble that rolls through me like a physical force.

Liquid heat pools inside of me, and all I can do is nod.

Jake kisses me goodbye, and Mrs. Jenkins positively beams as Bash sweeps me away.

Outside, instead of his silver Porsche, a sleek black limo waits, and I gasp.

"Are you kidding me?!" I hiss at Bash as the driver gets out to open the door for us.

"I don't want to drive tonight. I prefer to keep my hands free—just in case."

"Just in case what?"

"Use your imagination."

Bash chuckles when I blush, and I scowl at him as I slide into the plush interior of the limo.

He follows, sitting close—too close. Our arms brush, and I can feel the heat radiating from him.

"Champagne?"

Pulling out a bottle from a bucket of ice, Bash presents it to me.

"What are we celebrating?"

"Our first date."

He pours two glasses, and we clink the sides gently together.

"To us," he purrs, and I bite my lip.

"Such a charmer, but it takes more than champagne and fancy cars to sway my affections."

"Guess I'll have to try harder…maybe recruit your neighbor and Jake."

"That's cheating!"

"All's fair in love and war, deoring."

Evil man.

Bash places his hand on my knee, sliding it up slowly and proving me right—pure evil.

We cruise through downtown, the city's lights flashing left and right.

But I can't take my eyes off Bash's striking profile.

The tips of his hair are wispier tonight, an electric, ice blue that looks cold enough to burn.

I reach out hesitantly before touching the tops. He stares at me, his pink gaze vivid as my fingers explore.

"It's like smoke," I breathe more to myself than anyone.

"Mmm, Boggarts came from Shadows, and it's still our most basic, truest form."

"And you can become a Shadow at any time?"

"Yes, but Shadows symbolize the less friendly nature of my kind. I prefer to remain corporeal as much as possible."

"You're beautiful."

The words are out, surprising us both with the wistful tone of my voice.

"Thank you."

Bash accepts my compliment graciously, running a finger along my cheek.

Unfortunately, the moment is interrupted when the limo pulls up to a restaurant.

"Damn. Should've instructed the driver to take the long way."

He shoots me a crooked smile, but I'm too busy staring at the name of the restaurant.

It's one of the most expensive and prestigious in NYC—their waiting list is like two years long!

"How…how did you get a reservation for this place?!"

"Another Boggart trick."

"You threatened the owner with his worst nightmare unless he gave us a table?"

"Yep. I told him I would send you over to help with the marketing."

I mock gasp. "Are you saying I'm someone's nightmare?"

"Absolutely, you are. Don't worry, deoring, you're my dream come true."

"Smooth."

"Oh, just you wait."

True to his word, the second we enter the restaurant, we're swept away by a gaggle of waiters to a secluded table bathed in candlelight.

A private quartet plays softly in the corner, the classical notes soothing my frazzled nerves.

On the table, another giant bouquet sits—a spray of wildflowers—along with a bottle of wine.

Purple pasqueflower peeks out among the blooms, and I wonder if Bash knows what they mean to my people.

What they mean to me.

The ma?tre d' appears, holding out my seat for me before bowing to Bash.

"Monsieur Ettin, so wonderful to see you again!"

"Again?" I whisper under my breath, but Bash just winks.

"I apologize I wasn't at the door to greet you. Allow me to pour you a glass of our best Cabernet."

When I try the wine, I groan, closing my eyes. It's heady and sweet—just like this evening.

"That good?"

Bash's question jerks me back to the present, and I squirm a bit.

"It's amazing. Thank you," I direct at the ma?tre d'.

"Excellent. I will leave you both in Luc's capable hands."

A waiter—presumably Luc—hands me a huge menu with engraved, gold cursive writing.

It's entirely in French, and I squint, trying to call up my rusty memory of the language.

Nothing—how embarrassing.

"Erm, I can't read this."

Bash looks up, no judgment on his face from my confession.

"I'm happy to translate for you, or I can recommend their best dishes?"

"I'm not picky. I like a good steak, where are those."

He points to a section on the menu, and the words ‘filet mignon' are the only familiar thing.

"Um, where are the prices?"

"You'll never see them listed at a place like this."

"Why—because they're so exorbitant, it'll ruin everyone's appetite?"

Bash laughs. "Stop worrying about money. This is my date, my treat."

My lips pucker, and I try to suck back the pout that starts to form there.

"It was my turn to treat you."

"You treat me every time you let me be with you."

Tears unexpectedly prick my eyes. "Gah, why are you such a sweetheart?"

"Only for you, Wyn," he whispers, staring at me in earnest. "You know that, right?"

My heart lurches at what I think he's trying to tell me.

That I'm special.