Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

ROWE

My hands were shaking, rattling the cardboard box of burritos I carried through the gleaming front door of the office building. Avoiding Bash Dayne was supposed to have been easy—no matter how badly I missed him, our paths were never destined to cross, right? Except apparently, the universe had other plans because suddenly here I was, wearing my freaking sombrero and making a special lunchtime catering delivery to Sterling freaking Chase. And my presence, according to Lea, was not optional.

Certain people did not seem to care that there was no part of the fairy tale where Cinderella was forced to bring lunch to the palace.

This whole past week had sucked. I hadn’t been able to eat, and I’d barely slept since leaving Philly the other day. Instead, I’d been working double shifts in an effort to make up for lost time and tips. I’d even stayed up all night figuring out how to repack the trick pocket square in Joey’s tux. And when I should have spent every damn minute preparing to ambush Justin Hardy with my project proposal, I’d found myself daydreaming about Bash. It was like all my focus had evaporated the minute the man had touched me, and I wasn’t sure how to get it back.

The only thing that had kept me from sending Bash a text begging him for one more night was the knowledge that I’d done the right thing by walking away so Bash wouldn’t have to. But being so close to him now—just a few floors away, probably—made the ache in my chest swell until I was nothing but a giant blob of want .

“Rowe! Don’t drop those burritos!” Lea warned, marching along behind us, carrying her own box of food.

Correction: I was a giant blob of want and burritos .

“You got this, cuz,” Joey muttered. “We get in, we sing, we set up the burritos for the nice folks, we collect our tips, and we’re out, okay? I told you, you don’t have to do the toe-kicking. And even if someone here spotted you at the gala, nobody’s gonna recognize you in that mustache and sombrero.”

I gave Joey a look that said listening to him was exactly how the trouble at the gala had started. “Yeah,” I said softly. “Let’s just get it done, okay?” Hopefully, with no Bash-related run-ins this time.

The receptionist on the ground floor gestured us toward the conference room, which was filled with an assortment of corporate types and computer geeks, laptops and whiteboards. No Bash.

I mentally crossed myself and hoped for the best. Jesus, if you exist, please help a bandito out…

Joey, bless him, didn’t hesitate, jumping immediately into the song, and all I had to do was sing along. “My name is Burrito Bandito…”

Several people turned their heads to stare at us, which should have been fine—that was part of the job, and I was used to it—but suddenly, I felt anxious. I held my box of burritos so high it blocked half my face. I’d never known true anxiety until I imagined someone recognizing me as the guy Bash Dayne had been hanging around with all weekend.

Joey finished his dance with a truly epic twirl that had the businesspeople clapping, and it was time to pass out the food. Nearly home free. And then you can go back to preparing to impress Justin Hardy. Focus, Rowe—

“Oh my god, I love burritos.” A woman stood on her tiptoes in front of me, trying to peer into the box. “Could you maybe lower that a bit?”

I swallowed. “Oh, uh… of course.” I set it down on the table and adjusted my mustache. “Help yourself.”

“Austin, this lunch was the best idea,” she called to a man down the table who wore a high-end three-piece suit.

The man turned, and I recognized him as Austin Purcell, the head of development, from his corporate photo on the company website. A guy who worked directly with Bash. Shit.

“As much as I’d love to take credit for it, I can’t,” Austin returned. “Remember my college roommate Bernard? He kept raving about this place. Orders from here once a week. Claims he and one of the delivery people watched polo together this weekend.” He looked Joey up and down. “Don’t suppose it was you?”

“Nah, man, I don’t do polo,” Joey said easily, but he darted a shifty look at me that might as well have been a giant neon sign saying, “ but my cousin Rowe does .”

Before I could duck under the table, or lower my sombrero, or melt into a puddle of embarrassment, Austin followed Joey’s gaze toward me. “Oh.” He frowned. “Wait, I know you, don’t I?”

“Me?” The word came out incredibly high-pitched. “N-no. Nope. Not unless you’ve gotten a burrito delivery recently.”

He shook his head. “That’s not it. I saw your picture somewhere, I’m almost sure. I never forget a face.” He tilted his head. “What’s your name?”

“Ha. Ha . No. I don’t give that information out to customers,” I lied. The truth was, no one had ever asked. “Would you like a burrito, sir?”

“I bet you’ll give out your name if it’ll mean a bigger tip,” Austin said with a smile that managed to be friendly and weirdly menacing at the same time. What a fuckwad. This was the guy who’d turned down Project Daisy Chain?

“Nope. He definitely won’t. Company policy,” Joey interjected. “We are alllll the Burrito Bandito, senor . Isn’t that right, everybody? Sing it with me! And free burrito coupons for whoever sings loudest! Our name is Burrito Bandito… ”

Austin scowled at Joey but refused to be distracted by his singing. I could sense him searching his memory banks, and I second-guessed my decision not to triple-swipe my deodorant this morning. Would it be worse for him to remember me being with Bash? Or for him to somehow figure out my name and remember I was the guy he’d sent that rude rejection email, even after I’d taken the time to send him all my project notes?

Oh, who was I kidding? Both would be equally awful . I needed to get out of there, immediately.

I ducked behind the table so I could lean closer to my boss. “Lea, I’m really sorry, but I need to find a restroom. I’m not feeling so great.”

“But, Rowe—” she began.

Joey sent a quick glance in my direction and must have seen that I was planning a retreat. He danced around the table without missing a beat, jammed his sombrero on Austin’s head, then grabbed Austin’s hands and pulled the man into an impromptu burrito jig.

I didn’t wait for Lea to finish speaking. I ran out of the conference room and headed left down the hall past conference rooms and offices, all of which seemed to be occupied. It wasn’t until I got to a bank of elevators that I realized I had no idea where I was going. When the elevator dinged and the doors began to slide open, I skidded around the corner and found myself in a little reception area with a single sofa, an office phone, and a giant potted tree in the corner by a curtained window. Without pausing to think, I squeezed into the space between the tree and the curtain and took a deep, shuddering breath.

Who knew burrito delivery could be so hazardous to your health?

I pressed a hand to my stomach, turned my face to the wall, and told myself to calm down. I was fine. I wasn’t injured. Even my mustache was intact. All I had to do was stash my sombrero, and then I could escape—

“Another impressive move,” a deep, sexy, way-too-familiar voice said from behind me. “But Rowe, sweetheart, we’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and locked down my muscles as every single cell in my body tried to jump backward into Bash’s arms. “I’m imagining this,” I told myself sternly. “When I turn around, I will be all alone. Or, possibly, the tree is speaking to me.”

“You’d rather talk to a tree than to me?” Bash asked softly.

I inhaled sharply and nearly whimpered when the fresh, expensive scent of his cologne assaulted me. I didn’t know shit about science, but I knew it had to be impossible for that smell to have imprinted on me in just a couple of days or for it to be so instantly arousing. I was glad the pantalones de charros I wore were constructed of thick enough fabric to hide my rapidly growing interest.

“Rowe, can we please talk? Look, if you don’t wanna talk about us, that’s fine. But I have questions for you about Project Daisy Chain.”

That got me to turn around. “Daisy Chain?” I repeated in surprise, scanning his face, searching for a hint that this was a trick.

His eyes roamed over me at the same time, from the bits of curl escaping my sombrero, down the exposed skin of my neck. Every place his eyes landed felt like a physical touch. And when his gaze finally landed on my mustache, his lips twitched up in that amused-against-his-will smile that would never not make me want to fall to my knees.

“Hi,” I breathed. I sounded besotted.

“Hey,” he replied, the lip twitch becoming a full-on smile. He darted a glance out to the corridor, where the burrito song was growing louder and louder, as if his employees had started roaming the halls in a lunchtime conga line. “Come with me so we can speak privately.” He held out a hand. “Trust me?”

This was an absolutely terrible idea, but there really was no decision to be made. If Sebastian Dayne held out a hand for me, I was going to take it.

He threaded our fingers together and pulled me toward the elevator, taking a second to check that the hallway was clear first. The elevator was already occupied, but the passengers’ conversation quickly cut off when they realized they’d been joined by someone from the board of directors… and a man in a fake mustache.

Bash swiped his key card and hit the button for the top floor, then leaned against the wall, facing me. His eyes met mine, sending a hot flush racing across my skin that made my clothes itch.

The woman beside me darted a look up at my sombrero—which was taking up a significant amount of space—before quickly glancing away.

“I brought burritos,” I explained.

I carried a watermelon.

Belatedly, I realized this didn’t really explain my presence since there were no burritos on my person. The woman snorted softly. The man next to her hid his laugh behind a cough.

Bash’s lips quirked like I’d been talking to him. “Thank fuck you did. You’re a hard man to get hold of.”

Was I? Since I was forcibly restraining myself from jumping into his arms, I didn’t think that was accurate.

I glanced at the woman and swallowed hard. “Yes, they are good burritos,” I said with a strangled laugh. “It was very kind of you to offer a tour of your office, Mr. Dayne.”

Bash shook his head, still wearing that little smile, still lounging against the wall with casual elegance. His eyes caught the light in the elevator, and I thought for a minute I might turn into a sombrero-topped puddle right there at his feet. It would serve me right for being harebrained enough to go with him when I should have buzzed right out the front door and burned off my need with a long-ass walk back to Queens.

The silence in the elevator was electrically charged and excruciating. I couldn’t imagine what the people stuck with us were thinking.

“If you ever wanna see the inside of the Burrito Mobile,” I went on, “just let me know, and I’d be happy to repay the favor.” My nervous babbling was reaching entirely new heights.

Thankfully, the elevator doors opened before I could say anything more, and the other passengers hurried off. Unfortunately, it turned out to be our stop, too.

“Where are we going?” I asked, following Bash down the hall to the right when the others had turned left. “I should probably get back downstairs before I miss my ride. Lea doesn’t take kindly to rogue banditos.”

When he passed the open door to an office, a dark-haired man jumped up from his desk and called out. “Bash, did you get a burrit— oh ,” he finished when he clocked me trailing along in Bash’s wake. “Well, damn.”

“Kenji, hold my calls,” Bash said without slowing down. “I’m about to get some answers.”

“Okay, but—” Kenji began.

Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off when Bash dragged me into his office and slammed the door shut. His hand shoved my chest until my back hit the closed door, and then his mouth crashed down on mine like a lightning strike. My sombrero went flying… and so did all the reasons why being in Sebastian’s space was a tragically terrible idea. Bash was hard and hot and strong, pressing me into the door with his hips and chest, grappling with me until he had my arms crossed above my head, wrists clasped in one of his large hands. His other hand gripped my throat just firmly enough to tilt my face the way he wanted it.

I kissed him with a hungry intensity I seemed to only feel in Sebastian Dayne’s presence. The room spun wildly around us as his scent and touch and the sounds of our desperate kisses filled what little space remained between us.

When he finally pulled his head back, it was only so he could run his thumb over my fake mustache, his eyes sparkling with silent laughter.

I’d forgotten I still had the damn thing on, and my face went hot. “Shoot. Sorry.” I peeled it off and stuffed it in my pocket. “Was it weird kissing a man in disguise?”

Bash’s voice rumbled with sensual promise. “Kissing you always feels incredible, no matter what identity you’re using.”

The man needed to stop saying such sweet things. How was I supposed to convince myself that none of this was real when he looked at me like that?

“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about u-us,” I accused.

“I lied.” He leaned closer again, running his nose along the edge of my jaw and inhaling deeply. I prayed he was smelling soap and not extra-spicy red sauce.

“Bash,” I protested, feeling my knees go weak. I needed to leave or for him to throw me down on the nearest surface and have his way with me and then leave. At this point, I wasn’t sure which would hurt more.

He heaved a heavy sigh. “I very much want to talk about us , Rowe. But first…” He let me go, then stepped back. When he gestured me toward one of the chairs in front of his desk, I was finally able to get a glimpse of his office. One whole wall was windows, looking out over the city. Reflected light from the nearby buildings made the whole office sparkle. On the wall by the door was a large seating area with a couch. And in front of the window sat an enormous black desk. It was stylish and modern without being cold. Very perfect for Bash.

Instead of going around the desk to his office chair, Bash dropped into one of the visitor chairs and pulled me into the other. But he gripped my hand in his, like he thought maybe I’d run away if he let go.

“I’d like you to tell me about your project. About Daisy Chain. I should have let you tell me last weekend, and I regret—”

I started shaking my head before he could finish. “No. You said you didn’t want that between us, and I agreed. I still agree. I’m desperate, I admit that. But I didn’t spend time with you because I wanted an investor, Bash. I didn’t h-have sex with you,” I stammered, “because I wanted you to put in a good word with the Sterling Chase people—”

“I know.”

“I don’t want money from you. Not even for Daisy’s project. I spent the weekend with you because you’re fun and smart and seriously fucking kind. Because when I’m with you, I feel like you see me, even when I’m not being me. Because you make me laugh, and you don’t get impatient when I babble like an idiot. Because I like you… mmmph .”

Bash grabbed me by the back of my neck and hauled me in for another kiss, even more drugging than the last. Oh, god. The taste of him, the feel of his tongue brushing against mine, turned my spine to liquid. By the time he pulled back, I was slumped in the chair.

“You really need to stop kissing me, Bash Dayne,” I whispered.

“Then you need to stop being so fucking kissable, Rowe Prince.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. My brain spun like a Tilt-A-Whirl at the fair. “What do you want from me?”

When I peeked up at him, Bash’s lips were wet and red, and his eyes were intent, like he was giving the question a lot of thought. “For now? Exactly what I said. Tell me about the project, Rowe. Please.”

“You want a… a pitch?” I asked anxiously. “Because I’m still working on some revisions to that. After our conversation, I realized I needed to focus on how it could be profitable, so I started making a PowerPoint—”

“I don’t want a presentation.” He slid his chair closer to mine and took my hand again. “Just talk. I really, really want to know.”

In general, I never needed coaxing to talk about Daisy Chain. In fact, my mom sometimes said I was like a person who’d just come back from a vacation and needed to show everyone his photos, “even though I don’t understand above one word in ten that you’re speaking, Rowe, dear.” I usually tried to stop talking about it.

Bash was different. He was maybe the best listener I’d ever met, which made it hard to hold back, even when I’d had every reason to keep my mouth shut. Now, with him holding my hand in both of his and his eyes locked on mine intensely, I didn’t need much convincing to spill my guts.

When he looked at me like that, like the whole world could fall to ashes around us and he’d still be hanging on to my hand and my every word, it was beyond my capability to deny him anything he wanted.

I took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out in a whoosh . “Right. Okay. Project Daisy Chain is my idea for an emergency response communication system that connects EMTs to medical records, local hospitals, and physicians to improve trauma response outcomes—”

Bash inhaled sharply—the exact inverse of the breath I’d just exhaled—and I could feel his tension ratchet up in the way his fingers clenched on mine. “Well, fuck .”