Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Diana

I hate the designation of “business casual.”

Growing up on a ranch, we never thought much about clothing. I probably thought more of it than my younger sister, Brianna. She was happy in jeans, a western shirt, and sparkling cowboy boots.

That’s all we wore around the ranch when we were working. I may come from money, but we all were taught the value of a dollar and a hard day’s work.

But I was the one who enjoyed fashion. Brianna couldn’t care less about any of that. Once I got into high school, I’d go into the city on wild shopping sprees, looking for the latest and greatest dresses that I could wear at school dances.

Then, when I got to college and began to study architecture, I went for more of a professional look. I wear a lot of suits with either pants or pencil skirts complete with a blazer and basic pumps.

I assembled an entire closet full of beautiful business clothes, only to find out that my new firm—the biggest architecture firm in the state of Colorado—has now gone business casual with an even looser dress code on Fridays.

If I show up in one of my Diane von Furstenberg suits, I’ll look like a complete outsider.

I spread several outfits out on my bed. Am I overthinking this?

Probably, but tomorrow will be my first day, and I need to make the right impression. Most of my suits would look way too zipped-up and unapproachable.

But a casual sweater and a pair of black slacks might not be enough.

“Ugh!” I shout out loud.

I don’t like any of the clothes I’ve picked out.

I go back to my large walk-in closet and scan the racks once more.

What do you wear to the most sought-after job in any young architect’s life—especially when you want to be assigned to their biggest project?

The office is business casual, and you don’t want to look uptight.

My gaze finally falls on a pair of slacks. They’re dark gray, and I hadn’t considered them before because they’re actually yoga pants made to look like slacks.

But man, they do accent my ass like nothing else. Those with a pair of black patent-leather pumps—or maybe I should go for regular pebbled leather—and a crisp white blouse might just be perfect.

But which white blouse? I decide on a fitted cotton number that is actually meant to be worn untucked. Because these pants are actually yoga pants, I can’t wear a belt with them, so any other blouse wouldn’t look right.

I heave a sigh of relief.

It’s not perfect, but it will do. During my several interviews, I took note of what the other women were wearing. Very few of them wore dresses or skirts. I thought about going shopping and buying a whole new wardrobe for this job, but that seemed outrageous. Just because I can doesn’t mean I should.

I’m happy with the outfit I chose, but then I start to panic again.

That’s just for tomorrow. There are four more days in the week. Plus…casual Fridays.

Wearing jeans to work in a downtown architecture firm doesn’t sit well with me. Sure, I grew up wearing jeans, but that was on a ranch.

I traipse through my walk-in closet, again pulling on various pieces of clothing and considering them. Is this how it will be now? Panicking until I know what I’m going to wear for every day of the week?

I finally hang everything back up. I’ll worry about Tuesday’s outfit tomorrow night.

If only I could just wear the same thing every day.

I walk out of my bedroom and into the kitchen to see what I can make myself for a quick supper.

The door opens, and I look over my shoulder to see Dragon walking in. He’s carrying something. It looks like a paper of some sort.

My nipples harden, and I say a silent thank-you that I chose a padded bra today. I wish I knew what to say to him.

I settle on, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says.

“I’m fixing some dinner. You want anything?”

“No, I’m fine.” He glances toward the fridge and frowns. “I’ll have a sandwich or something.”

“I’m just making some pasta and sauce. It’s no trouble.”

He sits down at the counter, setting the paper he’s carrying down in front of him. “Yeah, okay. If it’s no trouble.”

“What’s that?” I gesture to the papers.

“Some sheet music. I stumbled upon this music store while I was out walking. Over on the edge of town.”

“That must be Antonio’s store.”

“What?” he says.

“I told you this. The guy I met last night, he’s the owner of a music store on the edge of town. It must be the same one you found.”

“Oh, right. I left my name and number with the girl working the cash register,” he says. “But I don’t expect anything to come of it.”

I grab my phone. “I can call Antonio. Or Teddy. They’re cousins.”

“No.” He crosses his arms. “I don’t want anyone getting a job for me. If they want to talk to me, they will.”

“All right.” I shake my head. “But I’m happy to help if you need it.”

He looks down at the music. “You’re already doing enough, letting me stay here.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I say nothing and turn back to the stove.

I feel Dragon’s eyes on me as I heat up a jar of spaghetti sauce on the stove and boil water for the pasta.

I slice up some mushrooms for the sauce.

It’ll be a veggie sauce tonight since I didn’t get any ground beef out of the freezer. Guess I’ve been preoccupied about the new job.

Not to mention all the sex with the man I’m now cooking dinner for.

I look up. Dragon is getting up from the counter.

I hope he likes mushrooms. I should have asked before I added them. I love a good mushroom sauce. It’s as savory as meat with a lot fewer calories.

Plus, I ate more pizza than I should have last night. Luckily the excess cheese didn’t bother me much, but unlike my sister, Brianna, I have to watch my weight. And yeah, that pisses me off.

Once everything’s ready, I grab a couple of plates and place a hearty portion of pasta on one for Dragon, cover it with sauce, and add a few slices of Italian bread from the store. He’s in the living area, looking at the music he bought.

“It’s ready,” I say. I set it on my small kitchen table.

Then I plate my own dinner, fill two glasses of water, and bring them all over to the table.

Dragon takes a seat in front of his plate. “Looks great.”

Before I sit down, “I forgot napkins. Just a minute.” I head back in the kitchen, grab the napkins out of their holder, and bring a few back to the table. I hand one to him. “Here you go.”

He nods and places the napkin on his lap.

Then he twirls the spaghetti onto his fork like a champ.

I’m a little mesmerized by it.

I never mastered that. I cut my spaghetti and eat it with a fork.

“Where did you learn to do that?” I ask after he swallows.

“Do what?”

“Twirl your spaghetti on a fork like that.”

He thinks for a minute. “My mother. She’s Italian.” He frowns. “Or was Italian. I don’t know if she’s alive or not.”

I nearly drop my jaw. Did he just open up to me about something?

He looks back down at his plate. Apparently he’s done talking.

“So your parents…”

“I don’t talk about my parents,” he says to his plate.

“Oh, okay,” I say. “Sorry.”

Then I berate myself internally. What am I sorry for? He brought it up.

“I could never master it. My aunt Marjorie’s a chef, and she does a mean Italian dinner. She’s tried to show me time and time again since I was a little kid how to do it. But every time I tried, I either got a bunch of spaghetti strands hanging down, or the amount on my fork would be way too big to fit into my mouth.”

Dragon doesn’t respond. Just twirls more spaghetti on his fork and brings it to his lips.

God, those lips…

He does have gorgeous lips.

“I’m glad you like mushrooms,” I say.

“Yeah.” He twirls another forkful of spaghetti.

Now I’m curious. Curious about his Italian mother. Curious about his parents. About his childhood. About all those things that he never talks about.

About that tattoo on the back of his thigh.

About why he gave money to a freaking hooker.

I get feeling sorry for the woman. But he had to know exactly where that money would end up. It wasn’t going to help her. It was going to help her pimp.

But Dragon is not going to answer any of my questions.

He’s simply going to live in my house, eat my food, apparently, and keep to himself.

Unless we’re fucking like bunnies.

Though I doubt that will happen again.

I’d like to tell him that it meant something to me. That he fulfilled a need, and I’m grateful.

I can’t bring myself to talk to him at all.

So I finish my spaghetti, sop up the excess sauce with my slice of bread, wipe my lips with my napkin, drain my glass of water, and take my plate to the sink.

Dragon is finishing up as well.

“There’s more if you’d like another helping,” I say.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

I walk to the table, take his plate, serve him what’s left over, about half a helping, and hand it back to him along with another slice of bread.

He doesn’t say thank you, but I don’t expect it.

I don’t think he means to seem ungrateful. I just don’t think he knows how to act. He’s always been quiet and dark. And he’s probably embarrassed by what happened between us.

He doesn’t need to be embarrassed about that. I enjoyed every minute of it. In fact, I’ve had a hard time not thinking about it.

Worrying about my wardrobe didn’t get it out of my mind. I tried to sit down and read, which also didn’t help.

Nothing’s going to get my mind off him.

Nothing until I start that job tomorrow.

Then I’ll have so much to think about, I won’t be able to give Dragon Locke a second thought.

At least I hope not.

I wipe my mouth with my napkin again. “Put your dishes in the sink when you’re done. Or better yet, rinse them off and shove them into the dishwasher. I only run a load when it’s full.”

He nods, grunting.

I leave the kitchen, head back to my bedroom, and turn on the television.

As usual, with nearly six hundred channels, I can’t find anything to watch.

I don’t know why I pay for cable anymore. Most of my friends only get streaming services. Mental note—call the cable company first thing tomorrow and cancel everything.

My phone rings with a number I’m not familiar with.

Normally, I ignore numbers I don’t know, but after yesterday and Dragon’s call, I can’t. What if it’s another emergency? Someone who needs me?

“Hello,” I say into the phone.

“Hi, Diana. It’s Antonio Carbone.”

I nearly drop the phone. I certainly didn’t think that I’d be hearing from him again, not after last night.

“Hi, how are you?”

“Good, good. I dropped by my store for a minute this evening to check on a few things, and my cashier told me your friend Dragon had been in looking for a drumming instructor job.”

“He told me he stopped by a music store. I figured it might be yours.”

“My cashier was pretty smitten. She wants me to hire him. But given the fact that you had to bail him out of jail last night…”

“Right. You want my opinion on the matter.”

“Let’s just say I’m going to need a reference. What can you tell me about him?”

Despite the fact that he gave me the best sex I’ve ever had, I barely know him. Still, I want him to get the position, so I tell Antonio what I do know.

“He’s my sister’s husband’s best friend. You know about their band, Dragonlock. You know how they opened for Emerald Phoenix.”

I leave out the tidbit that Dragon wasn’t part of that tour—at least not after the first night.

“And he’s your roommate. And he was arrested last night.”

“Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”

“I’d like to give the guy a break,” Antonio says. “But I’m a little apprehensive given the fact that he was caught soliciting.”

“He claims he wasn’t. He said he was just giving the woman some money out of the goodness of his heart. She gave him some sob story about getting in trouble with her pimp, so he gave her the money he had on him. And then of course the cops thought… I guess I don’t have to spell it out.”

“You believe him?”

I don’t even have to think about my response. “Absolutely, I believe him. He’s been through a rough time, and he’s trying to get back on his feet.”

“Rough time?”

Uh-oh. I said too much. I can’t tell Antonio that Dragon is an addict. That would really be breaching a confidence. Dragon never said it was a secret, but it’s not my place to tell anyone about it. Certainly not a potential employer.

“Yeah. I don’t know all the details. And I didn’t ask. I don’t consider any of it my business.”

“Diana, the guy lives with you. Don’t you have a right to know a little bit about him?”

I know more about Dragon Locke. Biblically, at least. But the man who was trying to make out with me last night probably doesn’t need to know that.

“I know all I need to know about him,” I say. “He’s a truly gifted percussionist, and I trust the opinions of my brother-in-law and sister. They adore him.”

Antonio sighs into the phone. “Well, it’ll make Annalise happy. She was a giggling schoolgirl over him when I stopped in the store earlier tonight.”

Annalise? I don’t ask. She must be the cashier Antonio mentioned.

“I don’t think you’ll be sorry. He truly is gifted. My brother-in-law says he’s the best at drums he’s ever seen. I mean, if Emerald Phoenix was impressed, wouldn’t everyone else be?”

Antonio chuckles through the phone. “You got me there, Diana. Right. I’ll give him a call first thing tomorrow and tell him he’s got the job if he wants it.”

My heart leaps. Why I’m so excited for Dragon is beyond me, but I am. I want what’s best for him.

“And while you’re on the phone,” Antonio continues, “would you like to have dinner with me Friday night?”

And there it is. A lump in my throat. Because Antonio is a nice guy, and I like him. But damn… Dragon and I…

Except Dragon and I are absolutely nothing.

He made no promises. Made it clear he could make no promises.

Antonio is Teddy’s cousin, and he owns his own business. I didn’t think we had much chemistry at first, but maybe I’m wrong. “You know? I’d like that, Antonio.”

“Great. I can probably find your place again, but give me your address anyway. I’ll pick you up there around seven on Friday.”

“Perfect.” I rattle off my address. “See you then.”

“I look forward to it.”

I end the call.

Good. I have a date with a nice guy. A handsome guy. A guy who owns his own business, makes a decent living, doesn’t seem to have any baggage.

I should be thrilled.

So why am I longing for a drummer with baggage the size of Texas?