Chapter 3

THREE

ROWE

I was so getting the hang of this lying thing.

Okay, yes, there’d been a hairy moment or ten back there when I’d been sweating rivers into my tuxedo and my blood had rushed away from my brain so fast I’d felt faint. And yeah, I’d let myself get caught up in the moment like I sometimes did, staring a little too long, and laughing a little too loud, and talking way, way too much. But I hadn’t accidentally lit myself on fire or randomly blurted out my real name and social security number, and the police hadn’t come to escort me out, so all in all, that made this a win . Right?

If I’d known before I’d arrived that I’d have to hold a whole-ass conversation with someone who was meant to be my fake employee— a twelve-foot-tall, male-model look-alike fake employee, no less, who wore a tux so perfectly fitted it had to be custom-made, who was armed with a snarky smile and a mischievous eyebrow, and whose cologne made my cock stiffen every time the air-conditioning blew a delicious whiff of him in my direction—I might have said it was impossible and called the whole thing off.

But in reality, even though Bash had made me forget my damn name—the real one and the fake one—talking with him had been kind of… fun. Like the roller coasters my twin sister had dragged me on as a kid, where stark terror had yielded to a rush of euphoria because I’d done the impossible and survived.

But you still haven’t actually done anything tonight, Rowe Prince. You came here for a purpose, remember?

I blew out a breath. Right .

I was not at the gala for fun or to get flirty with a personal assistant who probably made more per year than my parents’ house was worth. I was here because I needed someone—I didn’t care if it was Justin Hardy, or one of his competitors, or the freaking Tooth Fairy, if she had the right resources—to give me a meeting so I could show them Project Daisy Chain. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if I actually got a chance to pitch someone the project, they’d see how amazing and life-changing it could be. And once they’d committed, once they’d promised to make this dream into a reality, I’d hand over the amateur-level tracking and communication app I’d taught myself to code and the mountains of data on hospital workflows and case studies of healthcare outcomes I’d compiled over the years, and I’d be satisfied to let them take it from there.

Then I’d go back to Linden knowing I’d done my very best—more than I’d ever thought I was capable of—to make shit happen. I’d draw a deep breath for the first time in a decade. And maybe I’d stop missing my sister with every beat of my lonely heart.

“That’s not going to happen,” a young woman’s voice said firmly.

Given the direction of my thoughts, maybe it wasn’t surprising that when I wheeled around, I half expected to see Daisy standing there somehow whole and alive, self-assured and sassy as ever… and magically transported from rural Indiana to this glittering room in New York.

But the young woman standing by the buffet table was nothing like my twin. She was blonde and statuesque as a Greek goddess, where my sister had been a ball of mischievous energy even shorter than me. Not to mention, this woman was wearing a dress encrusted with far more sparkles than my sister ever would have tolerated.

“Miranda, darling, I’m only suggesting—” the older woman standing beside her argued.

“That I starve myself while there’s a buffet of food right here?” Miranda interrupted around a mouthful of food. “Do the eligible bachelors of New York enjoy women who fall at their feet from low blood sugar?”

It was exactly the sort of thing my sister would have said, and I couldn’t hide my smile. Unfortunately, Miranda noticed and immediately pointed in my direction.

“You, there,” she said before I could move away. “Do you think women should starve themselves at a gala simply to keep up appearances?”

“I, uh… No?”

“No.” Miranda tilted her head toward her mother triumphantly. “See?”

“Miranda, must we do this now?” Her mother, whose name badge read Constance Baxter-Hicks, glanced around the room and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I simply reminded you that this season’s styles are all quite formfitting and that I want you to be happy—”

“Yes. And I’m telling you prosciutto and brie make me happy.” She nodded down at the plate she held, where an absolutely delicious-looking bread-and-cheese thing sat.

My stomach, which had lately subsisted on microwaved oatmeal and free employee burritos, chose that moment to rumble. “ Oooh ,” I said, glancing longingly at the buffet table. I was a man on a mission, yes, but I could pause for prosciutto.

Constance flicked me a disapproving glance, but when she caught sight of my name tag, she straightened like she’d been goosed with a cattle prod. “Sterling Chase?” One immaculate eyebrow rose in disbelief. “ The Sterling Chase? Of… Sterling Chase ?” She waved a hand toward one of the signs listing the names of the gala’s sponsors.

Ah, shit. This again.

I cleared my throat. “Yes! It is I, Sterling Chase,” I agreed magnanimously. “Lovely to meet you, my good woman. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

I attempted to dart around her toward the delicacies on the buffet table, but she sidestepped, neatly blocking my path. “Mr. Chase, I’m Constance Baxter-Hicks, and this is my daughter, Miranda. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Er. No.” I found myself sweating again, and now that I’d acknowledged my hunger, my stomach was nearly cramping with the need for food. “That is to say, I rarely mingle in society—”

“Wish I could rarely mingle in society,” Miranda muttered.

I feinted left in another attempt to get to the food, and once again, Constance blocked me more effectively than any softball player covering home plate.

She wrinkled her nose and gave me an up-down look, from my hair to my borrowed magician’s tux, no doubt tallying up the total cost of my ensemble. I fought the urge to curl my toes, like that would somehow hide my cheap shoes from her perusal.

Then I heard Joey’s voice in my head. Brass balls. Belong. Own it.

Right. Okay.

I straightened and returned her appraisal with a superior-ish look of my own, then turned to Miranda. “These events are deadly dull. I, too, prefer something a bit more…” Shit, what was a fancy word for secondhand thrift store? What word had Bash used earlier? “Avant-garde,” I said smoothly, gesturing to my ensemble. “It’s… one of my billionaire quirks. Why waste money on couture when you can put on any ole thing and pass it off as the next big thing?”

Miranda blinked. She took a deliberate bite of her prosciutto morsel— dear god, that looks tasty —and grinned. “I love that.” She leaned toward me. “And I fucking hate this dress.”

“Mir- an -da!” Constance pursed her lips and turned her ire on me. “You’re much younger than I thought you’d be, Mr. Chase.”

“Oh. Well. The wonders of healthy living, you know.” I eyed the array of artery-clogging meats and cheeses over her shoulder with glee.

She narrowed her eyes. “And I hadn’t heard that you were such a style connoisseur.”

“No? Well. Sterling Chase is a bit of a Renaissance man. If you’ll pardon me, please, madam—”

“Sterling!” a way-more-familiar-than-it-should-be voice called.

Shoot . My stomach trembled with excitement, and my dick perked up as Bash appeared at my side. “I got you a drink. Sterling Chase’s favorite. Beluga on the rocks.”

Oh. Great. We were still doing the third-person-talking thing.

Bash grinned at me, eyes dancing, which made it hard to breathe or swallow, let alone talk. Instead, I looked down at the glass of clear liquid he handed me.

“Right,” I managed. “Of course. Many assistants would think Sterling Chase prefers an ice-cold beer, but you know me so well. Sterling Chase appreciates that.” I took a sip without thinking, hoping it would calm my nerves, but when the straight vodka hit the back of my throat with a stark burn, I choked.

Bash looked at me in concern.

“Good,” I gasped out. “ Hngh . So tasty.”

Bash’s eyes went unfocused for a second, which helped neither the breathing situation nor the situation in my pants.

“Constance, you’re looking just as ravishing as you were earlier this evening! I see you’ve met Sterling Chase? Have you been regaling him with tales of your magnificent topiaries?” Bash asked.

“Bash, dear, you and Mr. Chase are… acquainted?” Constance said, more of an accusation than a question.

“Indeed,” Bash said easily. “Sometimes it feels like I’ve known Sterling Chase for as long as he’s lived.”

“Hmph. Well then, you’re in luck. Mr. Chase was just about to enlighten us with his thoughts on style .” Constance raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting me to embarrass myself.

I felt my face go hot and fought the need to squirm. “Uh. Well. I think…” I cleared my throat. “That is to say…”

“You don’t need to do this,” Bash said, bending his head so he was nearly speaking in my ear. His voice was low and steady. Almost soothing… Or at least it would have been if his proximity hadn’t made my pulse stutter out T-A-K-E-M-E-N-O-W in Morse code. “Sterling Chase doesn’t owe anyone his precious opinions, does he?”

My eyes met his, and for a moment, in this sea of fakeness and impostors, it felt like I’d found a friend. An ally. Someone who stood on my side of a huge divide between the people who had and the people who needed .

The handsomest man in the room—this man who was all mocking eyebrows, and intelligent glances, and plush, kissable lips—was reminding me that I could stand up to someone rich and entitled. And it felt so damn good, so empowering, I found myself rooted to the spot when I should have fled and talking when I should have kept my mouth shut.

“I, uh… I think style is about… honesty?” I blurted, the statement coming out more like a question. I took a deep breath. Brass balls, brass balls, brass balls. “Rather than replicating what you see on the runway or on social media and doing what you think is expected of you, take the time to figure out what you actually like. What makes you happy. What makes you feel most comfortable and… you .”

“So we should all just wear pajamas in the ballroom, then?” Constance tittered. “How amusing.”

“N-no,” I protested. Her quick dismissal fired something in my blood. “That’s actually the opposite of what I’m saying. I’m saying don’t be lazy. Don’t take the path of least resistance. Don’t make excuses about not having the time, or the money, or the skills to make your clothes, or your home, or your dreams what you want them to be. Put in some effort. Acquire the skills. Make it a priority. Take a risk. Question things and know why you’re doing what you’re doing. It’s hard and uncomfortable a lot of the time. Sometimes you’ll misstep. Sometimes you’ll look foolish. Sometimes you’ll even feel foolish. But you only get one life, and if fear holds you back from living it the way you want, you’re wasting it, as my sister used to say. And, uh…”

Thinking of Daisy made my thoughts stumble for a fraction of a second, which was just long enough for me to emerge from whatever fugue state I’d been in. The knowledge of where I was and what I’d been doing—soapboxing in the middle of a ballroom to a bunch of rich socialites, sounding a whole lot more like Rowe Prince than Sterling Chase ever should, while “my” personal assistant stood right there, hearing the whole thing—crashed over me like icy lake water.

Constance stared at me with wide eyes. Miranda gaped like I’d been speaking in tongues. And Bash…

When I finally scraped together the courage to lift my head, I found him staring at me with a kind of laser-beam, crawl-inside-my-brain intensity that made me want to melt into a puddle and tell him all my secrets.

Shit .

Abort mission, abort mission! There was no way I could stick around tonight. Not with Bash around. Not when it was so impossible to think clearly in his presence.

“And. Um. Miranda should wear dresses she likes,” I concluded lamely. I desperately wished I had Joey’s magician’s wand to go with his tux so I could hocus-pocus away all memory of this conversation. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, miladies—”

I bowed deeply, then darted around Constance while she was still stupefied by my ridiculous speech. I set my mostly full drink on the buffet table and made a beeline for the exit, praying that Bash wouldn’t follow me and, please, oh please , that I wouldn’t slip on the marble again.

I’d blown my cover, no doubt. Blown it to smithereens. I’d been a hairsbreadth from talking about Daisy, and my love of thrift stores, and fucking Linden, Indiana , all of which was as out of place at this party as… well, me . Now Joey was going to kill me because I’d wasted this whole opportunity he’d handed me, and I didn’t even have time for prosciutto, goddamn it, because I needed to escape before—

“Rowe!”

Mother. Fucker .

“Sorry,” I called over my shoulder, finding Bash hot on my heels, damn his excessively long legs. “Must dash. Very busy. I need to—”

“You need to find Justin Hardy,” Bash said when I was a mere twenty feet from the exit. “I can help with that, Mr. Chase!”

I stopped in my tracks.

Damn, damn, damn it all. I couldn’t turn that down. And he’d called me Mr. Chase, so maybe…

“Here.” Bash came up beside me, a bit breathless, and handed me a small plate filled with prosciutto bites. “I grabbed you some of these… sir .”

I took the plate, staring up at him blankly, and he shrugged. “You watched Miranda eating them so closely I figured either you were attracted to Miranda…”

I made a startled noise, and Bash smiled warmly.

“—or you were attracted to her prosciutto bites.”

I couldn’t resist sneaking one in my mouth, and when the salty flavor hit my tongue, I closed my eyes and moaned. “I think I might be a whore for prosciutto bites,” I mumbled, telling another truth before I could stop myself.

But when I darted a glance up at him, the look on Bash’s face wasn’t mocking or disapproving. It was intent. Heated.

“Another of your quirky billionaire eccentricities, Rowe ?” The low, intimate rumble of his voice reached down into me, and for a second, I wished I hadn’t told him my real name. Something about the way he said it—like he knew the actual Rowe Prince—made me think things I had no business thinking. “Thank you. For the food.”

“All in a day’s work for your intrepid personal assistant.” He looked away. “So. Justin Hardy?”

I nodded. “Right. Yes. You said you could help me find him?”

“Yes… and no.” Bash’s lips twisted as he imparted this devastating news. “He’s not here tonight.”

“But I thought…” I shook my head, unwilling to believe this. “He always attends charity galas, especially ones that benefit children. I read online that he donated thousands to fund after-school programs. And there was a picture of him on the Daily News talking about a plan to create an endowment…”

Bash’s eyes shuttered. “Yes, I’m sure his picture is on all the gossip and news sites. The fact remains, he’s not here.”

“Oh.” I tried to hide it, but that single syllable contained a metric ton of heartbreak.

Justin Hardy was my last great hope. The meager savings I’d put aside working extra shifts at Bobby’s Tech Barn last winter were nearly gone. My parents were barely making ends meet without my support, and I couldn’t keep crashing on Joey’s futon, delivering burritos to pay my share of food and utilities for much longer.

I needed to make that meeting happen, damn it. Because if I went back to Linden with nothing to show for my time, how could I ever justify taking a risk like this again?

“But I may have another idea of where you could find him,” Bash went on.

“Really?” I demanded, clutching this dangling thread of hope. “What is it? Let’s do it!”

Bash’s lips quirked. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be up for it after what happened with…” He lowered his voice. “Bubbles.”

“Who?”

Bash bit his lip. “Bubbles. Your one true love? Who died? On your trip to Mount Kinabalu?”

Oh. Shit.

“Bubbles didn’t die,” I said firmly. “No, indeed.”

“But you said…”

“When I said I lost him, I meant…” I licked my lips. What had I meant? “I meant literally lost. Poor chap took a right instead of a left and wandered that mountain for days.”

Bash’s eyes widened. “And then what?”

“Then he was found, obviously. By a… a villager. Who nursed him back to health. And they fell in love. Got married in a very quiet ceremony.” I sucked a bit of brie off the side of my finger. “Very disappointing, naturally, but I’m sure we’ll all remain friends in the end.”

Bash shook his head. His smile gleamed bright white under the light of the chandelier, beautiful and dangerous and knowing . “You amaze me, Sterling Chase,” he said, but it sounded like he was saying something different.

Before I could wonder too much about it, though, he cleared his throat and went on. “Well. As long as you’re feeling up to it, why not try to find him at the polo match tomorrow out at Hollow Brook? Since it’s the second part of this fundraiser, I assume you’re still planning on attending.”

Polo? The glittering whirl of the gala was already leagues outside my comfort zone. I couldn’t imagine attempting to navigate a gathering of people who played sports involving animals that cost more than a car. But you survived this , I reminded myself. And if these people had more money than sense, that was their business. Getting one of them to spearhead a project that could literally save lives was mine.

I nodded slowly. “Yes, of course! Polo. Sterling Chase loves polo. Sterling Chase was a polo champion back in high school! And you’re saying Justin will be at the match?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Bash said modestly. “I’m only a personal assistant, of course. But there’s a strong chance. And Devon McKay will be there, too. He’s…”

“On the Sterling Chase board of directors,” I mused, remembering his name from my research on the company. “I mean, uh… my board of directors. Though I haven’t met him in person yet, either.”

Bash nodded before looking away as if searching the crowd. “As you’re probably aware, the people on your board have lots of connections, if you’re looking for funding from outside the company.”

I chewed my lip. I hadn’t been looking for an investor, per se, because money alone was not what I needed. I needed someone with experience, with the in-depth knowledge of how businesses worked that I hadn’t been able to acquire no matter how hard I tried.

But… maybe money was better than nothing.

“I’ll make your usual arrangements for the match, then,” Bash went on, turning back to me. “The town car will pick you up at noon, and I’ll let your teammates know you’re planning to play.”

It took me a minute to process what he’d said. “Play? You want me to play polo?” My voice rose an octave. “You want me to ride a horse ?”

Bash grinned. “You’re funny, Rowe. Don’t worry. You can wear your street clothes, and I’ll have your riding gear brought to the stables. There’s a nice dressing room there, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Riding gear?” I squeaked. “Like… horse -riding gear?”

Bash patted me on the shoulder, a move unexpected enough to nearly send me careening into a server carrying a tray of drinks. “You’re such a kidder. I remember you telling me how much you love a good polo match. I’ll send the car to your Park Avenue address—it’s 740 Park, right?—and after you play, you can tell Devon all about your project, assuming you don’t find Justin first.”

My mind had stopped processing this after hearing that Sterling Chase lived on Park Avenue. Because of course he would live someplace swanky and so far from Joey’s place it’d be nearly impossible to get there if I worked even part of my Burrito Bandito shift.

“W-wait.” I gulped. “Will you be there tomorrow?”

“Maybe.” Bash shrugged. “I’ve attended matches in the past. Would you like me to?”

“Yes!” I blurted before he’d finished speaking. Getting through the match without committing a horrible etiquette mistake would be impossible without someone I could trust to guide me. I wasn’t sure when the hot fake employee I’d known for thirty minutes had become that someone, but like Joey said, beggars couldn’t be choosers. “In fact, I insist that you accompany me. In case I require my assistant.”

Fake-Sterling Chase needed all the fucking assistance he could get.

“In that case, of course I will. I’ll have the car pick me up first, then.”

“Good. Yes. Thank you, my good man.”

Bash’s lips twitched. “Sleep well, Rowe,” he said softly, taking my empty plate before turning and losing himself in the crowd.

Oh my stars and garters. What did I just agree to?

My phone dinged as I made my way toward the exit.

Joey: Dude, you didn’t tell me the rivalry in this fast food delivery game was so fucking intense. So help me, if that Sandwich Shark gets up in my grill with his doo doo doo song one more time…

Me: Can you cover my shift again tomorrow? I will owe you BIG TIME.

Joey: Yeah, I can do that. Guess that means we’re not celebrating yet?

Me: No. Ha. Definitely not.

Joey: Damn. Well, could be worse, cuz! At least you’re not drowning.

I wasn’t so sure about that. I’d felt like I was in over my head even before learning I’d need to become a polo expert overnight. And when Bash looked at me, I got a breathless adrenaline rush, like I was in danger and sinking fast.

My supposed personal assistant was seriously magnetic. The kind of man who made me want to empty my pockets and give him everything I had… which was a problem since I had absolutely nothing to give. And if and when the man found out I wasn’t actually his mysterious, world-traveling boss, he would not be happy.

If we’d been any other two people, at any other time, I’d have pushed the gorgeous man up against the wall in that tiny, shadowed alcove and kissed the smile off his lips. I’d have caressed the broad shoulders hidden under his tux, and done—

Shit . Considering how little experience I had with guys, I wasn’t sure what I’d do, exactly. But I had a laundry list of dirty fantasies, so maybe I’d bring them to life one at a time. Sink to my knees on the hard floor while he kept the hot force of his attention on me the entire ti—

“Good heavens !” a woman yelped in a high-pitched voice as I crashed into her, too lost in my fantasy to realize where I was going.

Cold champagne seeped through my shirt, down my pants, and onto the floor, then splashed back onto the frothy skirt of the woman I’d nearly mowed down.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” I gasped in horror. That dress probably cost more than I earned at Burrito Bandito in a year.

I pulled the handkerchief from my breast pocket to soak up the liquid… and kept pulling… and pulling. Brightly colored gossamer scarves spilled out, along with the stack of white business cards I’d stuck in there. For a moment, they soared through the air like butterflies, then flitted to the damp ground, where they landed in a soggy heap… along with my dreams of leaving the party without causing another scene.

Several people around me clapped politely.

My face flamed, but I gathered all of the cards and scarves as quickly as I could and sketched another bow, like this had all been a part of my act.

“Sterling Chase bids you all a good night,” I announced as I swept out of the room, raced for the building’s exit, and made my way to the subway that would bounce me back to Queens.

What had I been saying to Joey earlier about a little embarrassment being worthwhile? I’d lied. Surely there had to be a better, easier way to get this meeting with Justin. Something with fewer lies, less electrically charged lust-haze, less promise of impending disaster.

Or you could live a little, Rowe . My sister’s voice in my head was snarky and loving in equal measure, just as she had been in life, and I couldn’t help pressing on the tattoo on my hip—the one that I’d gotten for her. Do the brave, exciting thing. Don’t be scared.

Daisy would have laughed herself breathless over tonight’s events, but she’d never get the chance, and that was why I had to live for both of us.

For her sake, I could do anything. Be anything.

A burrito deliverer.

An accidental magician.

Even a fucking polo player if I had to be.

“I’m Sterling Chase, Quirky Billionaire,” I whispered and willed myself to believe it.