Chapter 5

FIVE

ROWE

I freaking hated polo.

I’d figured as much last night while I was reading article after article on polo rules and etiquette while simultaneously watching highlight reels of the “Ten Most Amazing Feats in Polo History”—which, by the way, was a massive oversell since as far as I could tell, they all involved men playing croquet on horseback.

My suspicion had only deepened when we’d pulled up to this polo club with its huge green fields that looked plusher than my mom’s living room carpet and made me shudder at the memory of muggy weekend mornings as a teenager pushing a mower around my parents’ front yard.

And now, as the mediocre tipper from one of the accounting firms where I delivered serenaded me with the Burrito Bandito song loud enough to draw a crowd, I could one hundred percent confirm that I hated, hated, hated polo, and I absolutely should not have come here no matter how badly I wanted to meet Justin or how tempting it was to spend an afternoon with my gorgeous “assistant.” My stomach clenched, and the microwave oatmeal I’d eaten for breakfast threatened to make a reappearance.

My accuser’s face fell. “You were supposed to say ‘ olé ,’” he said, aggrieved that I wasn’t playing along.

“Uh. P-pardon me?” I stammered, cool as a cucumber trapped in boiling oil. “I don’t understand this ritual, I’m afraid.”

Polo was worse than the gala. Infinitely worse. Lying about being a mysterious rich guy no one knew had nearly killed me—literally, since I’d almost dived face-first into a potted plant. Lying about belonging at a polo club while Bash , the personal assistant sent to tempt me to sexy, sexy hell, stood by choking on laughter was bound to finish the job.

I fixed my face in a grimace of disapproval and hoped it was far enough from my usual friendly smile that my accuser would second-guess himself. But, just my luck, the man was drunk enough to stick to his guns… and get belligerent about it.

“You’re the burrito guy! I work at 201 East Sixty-Fifth Street, remember? Dos burrito Mexicanos, extra red sauce? That’s me. I didn’t know you guys delivered this far out of the city.”

My cheeks burned. Extra red sauce, indeed .

Bash stopped laughing when he noticed my distress and took a protective step forward. I made a mental note to give him a fake raise as long as I was acting as his fake boss.

“I’m…” I swallowed. “I’m quite confident I don’t know what you mean, friend. Sterling Chase does not eat burritos.” I kicked my grimace up a notch, and the man cocked his head like a confused puppy.

“Nahhhh. Dude, I know you. Come on. Do the little toe kick.” He leaned around me and grabbed my arm before Bash could intervene.

Bash instantly bristled with anger, growing taller and broader right in front of me. His eyes narrowed like he was shooting laser beams at my accuser’s hand, and the anger coming off him made the air tremble.

Under other circumstances, it might have felt nice to have someone—especially a funny, kind, Bash-like someone—sticking up for me in this crowd of rich folks. But in that moment, I envisioned Bash throwing a punch to defend his “boss” and getting kicked out, or arrested, or even injured if this dude managed to land a blow before Bash destroyed him. I couldn’t let any of that happen.

Of all the mortifying ways I’d envisioned this charade ending, I’d never imagined it would be with a command performance of the Burrito Bandito song on a polo field to avert a fistfight. Massive oversight on my part.

“Bernard Hennicker,” an imperious, feminine voice said. “For heaven’s sake, stop accosting Sterling Chase! Remove your hand from his person this instant.”

All heads in the vicinity, including mine, turned to watch the blonde tornado bearing down on us, dressed in a drop-waisted floral-print dress with enormous shoulder pads.

“Constance! M-Ms. Baxter-Hicks! You’re looking… fabulous,” I managed to choke out when she paused beside me.

“Thank you, dear.” She leaned in and added more quietly, “I thought quite a lot about what you said last night, about how style should reflect what makes you feel most confident, and this morning I decided to it was time for this little number to make a reappearance.” She tweaked the skirt of her dress, making it flow around her shins.

Constance Baxter-Hicks felt most confident in late-eighties Laura Ashley. Good to know.

“Ma’am, this man is not Sterling… whoever,” my accuser—Bernard—insisted. “He’s the man who delivers my lunch.”

Constance turned toward him and raised a single eyebrow. Apparently, Bash wasn’t the only one who knew how to wield those like swords.

“ This man?” Constance flung a hand toward me. “This gentleman wearing a vintage tweed St. Laurent blazer and last-season Ferragamo loafers delivers your lunch? Really ?”

Beside me, Bash leaned back to scan me up and down, like he was appreciating my outfit for the first time. If he knew how many visits to Second Chance Savers it had taken for me to find these loafers for a steal or how many hours I’d spent polishing them, he might have appreciated them even more.

Before Bernard could utter another word, Constance spoke again. “Which is more likely, Bernard: that I don’t know Sterling Chase, the billionaire founder of Sterling Chase , when I see him? Or,” she said in a withering tone, “that this is a repeat of that unfortunate incident at Olivia’s birthday party, where you tried to force Lord Piers Bishop to sing ‘Rocket Man’?”

Bernard’s mouth opened, then shut again. Several onlookers tittered. Bernard looked at me, frowned, and shrugged. His shoulders slumped.

Constance made a tsk ing noise. “Honestly, dear, you smell like a brewery. Your poor father will be incensed . Apologize to Mr. Chase for grabbing him without permission.”

“Sorry,” Bernard mumbled like a petulant child.

I stared at Constance in shock. I’d have bet money last night that she’d seen right through me. Instead, she’d come to my defense… magnificently . So fuck Joey and his “big brass balls” talk. From now on, when I needed confidence, I’d be channeling Constance Baxter-Hicks.

“Hon. Est. Ly,” she said, watching Bernard walk away. She visibly shook herself, as though clearing away her negative emotions, then turned to me with a brilliant smile. “Now, Mr. Chase, you must come to the clubhouse with me.” She pointed toward the low white building nearby. “I have some people who’d absolutely love to meet you. And Miranda, of course—”

I took an instinctive step toward Bash. I couldn’t possibly go with Constance. I was already tired of playing this character, and I hadn’t even encountered Dev or Justin Hardy yet. But how could I say no politely when she’d been so kind to me?

Fortunately, I had an assistant for this sort of thing. “I’m afraid Sterling and I are overdue at the stables,” Bash said briskly, taking my hand to pull me away. “Perhaps another time.”

“Bash.” She inclined her head regally and eyed our joined hands, confirming my suspicion that this was not your average billionaire-and-assistant behavior. “I’m spearheading an equine therapy endowment…” She lifted an eyebrow. “I assume I can count on your support? Yours and Mr. Chase’s?”

“Of course.” Bash’s words came out more like a sigh, like he was used to being hit up for donations in a casual conversation.

Honestly, rich people were worse than Bobby’s daughter hitting up all the people at the Tech Barn every time her Scout troop wanted to go on a field trip. I could only imagine how often people hit up an actual billionaire like Sterling Chase.

“Come along, Mr. Chase.” Bash marched resolutely down a dirt path toward the stables, his long strides eating up the dirt the only sign that he was annoyed by the encounter. With my hand in his, I had to trot to keep up, but it didn’t occur to me to pull away, either.

He didn’t say anything for a full minute, and neither did I.

Then, finally, “Are you alright?” he asked in a low voice.

“Y-yes.” No . “I’m really sorry about that. I hope you don’t feel obligated to donate any money to Ms. Baxter-Hicks’s endowment thingy,” I blurted.

I had no idea how much money Bash had, and it was none of my business. I figured it was more than me if his mom was vacationing someplace Constance Baxter-Hicks liked to go, but it couldn’t be very much if the man was working as a billionaire’s personal assistant. I really hoped he hadn’t agreed to make a donation just to get me out of an awkward situation.

Bash blew out a long breath. “Nothing you need to apologize for. I’m sure it’s an excellent cause, and I can afford it.” He shot me a glance. “Sterling Chase pays me well.”

I would hope so. “Doesn’t matter. It’s still wrong to, like, expect someone to contribute just because they have money.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he gave me another of those side-eyed looks. His fingers clasped mine more firmly, and he slowed his pace so we were strolling, almost like… friends. Almost like lovers .

I could feel my pulse in my cheeks and knew my face had to be a concerning shade of puce now. Sadly, puce was not my color.

My conscience screamed at me to come clean. To tell Bash I wasn’t Sterling and admit everything. To tell him exactly how naive and desperate and foolish I was. Bash seemed like a person who knew how to get things done, and he had a great sense of humor. If he could handle working for a man he’d never met until last night, whose mother scheduled his dates and who enjoyed coffee so full of carbohydrates it might evolve into a new life form, maybe he could handle the truth. He might even help me.

But on the other hand… what if he didn’t? What if he was so loyal to the real Sterling Chase that he got angry at my impersonation? What if I’d cleared this many hurdles, gotten so close to achieving my goal, and lost it because I trusted the wrong person?

I thought of my sister and touched the tattoo on my hip. I couldn’t take that chance.

More than that, the idea of confessing my lie to Bash made my whole body go cold with humiliation and fear. I liked him—liked the sound of Bash’s laughter and the way he looked at me so intensely that my heart plinked around like pennies in a jar. Liked the way he’d protected me when he’d thought I was someone who deserved protecting and the soda pop fizz that had sparkled through my veins when he’d leaned close to me in the car.

I didn’t want to lose any of that.

I didn’t have a lot of experience with guys. Back home in Indiana, I’d shared a few longing looks and a couple of handjobs behind the bleachers with guys who’d gone on to very loudly proclaim their straightness by dating women. After I’d come up with the idea for Project Daisy Chain, I’d been too consumed with my research to spend time figuring out how to meet other gay men in rural Indiana. And since I’d arrived in New York, I’d been way too busy delivering burritos and trying to finagle a meeting to bother with Hornet or Grindr or any of the other apps Joey kept encouraging me to try.

But I knew that I was close to having a very real crush on my very fake employee. And, maybe selfishly, I wanted to keep talking and laughing and holding this sexy man’s hand as long as I could…

Assuming, of course, that I didn’t vomit on his shoes in the next ten minutes from nerves.

“I was a bit worried back there, honestly,” Bash said after we’d walked in silence for another moment.

I looked up at him in surprise. “Worried… about me?”

“Obviously not,” he scoffed. “Worried about Bernard. I was afraid you were going to let loose with the martial arts.” He dropped my hand and mimed some sort of move that looked more like a person having convulsions than any of the karate moves I’d learned through after-school enrichment programs.

I snort-giggled inelegantly and pressed a hand to my mouth, startled by my own laughter… and by the fact that I could laugh so soon after the almost-debacle.

Bash glanced at me, and his lips twitched, exactly as they had last night. Then he repeated the action, jumping into an exaggerated crane pose before doing a high kick… right there on the track to the stables, where anyone could see him.

“Sterling Chase does not tolerate your disrespect!” he fake-yelled.

I burst into laughter then, so hard I doubled over and my stomach cramped with it. It was so silly —all of it, nearly every moment of the last two days—and my life had had a distinct lack of silliness for so long. The simple pleasure of laughing with him was like rain after a drought, soaking into all the dried-up parts of me, washing away the dust, and making me feel like something could grow there again.

Even if nothing else came of this weekend—of my whole damn trip to New York—I could almost, almost convince myself that this wonderful moment with Bash was enough to justify the cost.

I’m going to kiss this man , I promised myself. Somehow, some way . He is going to be my first real kiss.

When we neared the stables, Bash grabbed my hand again and gestured for me to follow him halfway down the row of stalls to the spot where a pretty brown horse with a white starburst on her forehead stuck her head out curiously, like she’d been waiting for us.

“Ohhhh,” I breathed. “How gorgeous.”

“She is.” Bash reached out to stroke the horse’s nose. “These stables house more than the polo ponies. Several people keep their thoroughbreds here because of the trainers and facilities… Hey, sweet girl. I want you to meet a friend. Rowe, this is Starlight. Starlight, Rowe.”

“How do you know her?” I asked before reaching out a tentative hand to rub the side of her neck. “You said you liked polo, but do you ride?”

“I do.” He hesitated. “Silas and I have been friends with Dev since college, and Dev’s a renowned horse trainer… among other things.”

“Oh.” Bash’s answer explained why he’d been able to introduce me to these guys. It also probably explained how he’d gotten the job with Sterling Chase in the first place. He had connections to two of Sterling’s— my— trusted board members.

“Where’d you go to college?” I asked just as Starlight swung her head around and pushed it into my face.

I hadn’t realized how close I’d gotten to the horse while following Bash’s lead, and I stumbled backward with a little yelp. Thankfully, Bash grabbed me before I got accidentally knocked down by another horse being led down the center aisle of the stables.

“Fuck,” I croaked, trying my best not to let my fear of the giant animals overwhelm me. “That horse is really exceptionally large.” I’d never been comfortable around livestock despite living near lots of farmland, a fact that Daisy used to tease me about constantly.

“Woah. Easy,” Bash said, grabbing me out of the aisle and pulling me close. The warmth of his breath landed on my cheek, causing all the little hairs on my body to stand on end, and when I tried to suck in a breath to calm myself, I ended up inhaling Bash’s expensive cologne… which had the opposite effect to what I’d intended. “Starlight,” he chided the horse softly, “didn’t anyone ever teach you to play hard to get? You can’t just get right in a man’s face and try to kiss him like that.”

“Can’t you?” I mumbled without thinking, taking another deep, drugging lungful of Bash’s delicious scent.

A loud bang came from a stall door down the aisle, making me jump and Starlight blow out her cheeks with a disgruntled noise. My lips accidentally grazed the edge of Bash’s jaw when I startled, and Bash’s arms tightened around me in response. Our eyes met, and the air thickened around us.

What is this? I wanted to climb him, to kiss him, to full-out beg him to touch me anywhere and everywhere. My brain was clearly not looking out for my best interests since the last thing I needed to do was fuck things up with this guy and his rich friends, but I couldn’t help myself. I brushed my lips across his jaw again, so softly it was almost like a phantom touch.

Suddenly, Bash’s mouth crashed down on mine with firm possession, stealing the breath from my lungs and sending every drop of blood on the express train out of my brain and into my pants.

“Oh,” I whimpered against his mouth. “Oh.”

All I could think was yes. This. Now I understand .

This was what all the fuss was about.

This was what I’d been missing.

Kissing Bash was like having a portal open up to another world. A world where things were brighter, more colorful, and just all around… better.

My hands fisted in his shirt, and I realized I was pressing myself against him as desperately as I could. Was that bad? Was it okay? Was he having a kind of mental situation in which he was no longer in control of his own lips? Otherwise, why would a man like that be kissing a man like me? It made absolutely no sense.

“You’re killing me,” he murmured under his breath before his tongue snuck into my mouth and took ownership of the place.

My dick was leaking. It had to be. I was going to humiliate myself further with a giant wet spot on the front of the clearance rack designer jeans I wore. I was going to get arrested for public indecency, and the stupid story would get picked up by that tabloid that people read on the subway, and I’d be ruined. Burrito Bandito Gets Extra Spicy on the Polo Field.

I honestly didn’t care. Kissing Bash was worth any creepy headline, especially when his hands moved down to cup my ass and pull me even closer. I groaned into the kiss and ground my hardening dick into his thigh. This was pure nirvana.

But when Bash’s hand moved down to cup my hip, I froze. His fingers had brushed over my tattoo, the exact same spot I always touched to ground myself, and when my sister’s image flashed through my mind, I pulled sharply, guiltily away.

Where the fuck are your priorities, Rowe Prince?

“Sorry,” I said, pulling back and heaving in some air. “Fuck. I—”

“That was a mistake,” Bash said in a low, gruff voice. He backed up half a pace. “Won’t happen again.”

I blinked. I mean, yes, he was right; it shouldn’t happen again. Not while I was lying. Not while I still needed his help. But I had to wonder why he was pulling away.

“Did I… do it wrong?” I wondered. “It’s okay. You can be honest.”

If it was possible, Bash’s eyes darkened even more. I felt like he wanted to devour me… which was incredibly inconvenient because I really wanted to be devoured against my better judgment.

“No. Not even close.” He pushed a curl out of my eyes, but his fingers lingered on my hair, chafing it between his fingers like he was assessing the texture… and then he stepped even further back, out of touching range. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just… unwise. You’re Sterling Chase, after all.”

My eyes widened in realization. “Oh, god. Oh, I am. I’m your boss , aren’t I?”

Bash’s mouth opened, then shut. His lips were swollen and shiny from our kisses, and I couldn’t help tracing them with my gaze the way I wished I could with my tongue.

He growled and took another giant step away—at this rate, he was going back himself all the way to Cleveland—but it did nothing to break the thread of pure want between us.

“I meant that you have business to attend to, sir. You’re hoping to see Justin Hardy. You wanted me to introduce you to Dev. You were eager to talk to them about an opportunity. Remember?” Bash pressed his lips together and stared at the ground for a beat before looking up at me with fresh conviction. “So we should go do that and not allow ourselves to be distracted by… other things.”

“No, of course,” I said softly.

His hands were fisted by his sides, and I wondered what I could have possibly done to make him look almost angry, but maybe it didn’t matter. I’d gotten the kiss I’d promised myself, and it had been better than I’d ever dreamed. It would be greedy to want more. And Bash was right—I did have a higher purpose.

“Nothing I love more than talking about an exciting new piece of technology,” I assured him with a fake smile.

But for the first time in a very long time, when I said I was excited to talk about my project… I was lying.