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“I helped you win, so I’m not sure that counts.”
“If a client tells you how to seal a deal, does that contract still count?”
Thorne hated Dash being right. “Fine. You win.”
“Trust me, my winning is you winning. Next week we follow my plan.”
Thorne didn’t like how self-satisfied he looked. “Just what is that plan?”
“I have no intention of spoiling the surprise.”
Thorne glared at him. “I hate surprises.”
“You’re not thinking of reneging, are you?”
“No, I am not.”
“You’ll love it.” Dash shifted off Thorne. “Should I go now?”
Thorne pondered the question. “I should work, but I don’t want to.”
“Do you always do what you’re supposed to?”
“Yes. Well, most of the time. This evening would be an example of not doing as I should.”
“Hiring me?”
“Yes. But you are a want not a should.”
“I hope so. I’d hate to find out you were being required to pay for a fuck every Friday night.”
Thorne laughed. “I wonder who exactly would be giving these orders?”
Dash tilted his head like he was thinking hard. “I’m not sure, but I bet we could create a very hot role play around it.”
Thorne considered the idea.
“You look intrigued.”
“Maybe.”
Dash’s grin was positively filthy. “I’ll file that away. You want to share anything specific?”
Thorne shook his head. “Not now. I should shower and get back to work.”
Instead of moving out of his way, Dash sat back down, straddling Thorne’s lap. “What if you didn’t work tonight?”
“Look, I—” For once, just do what you want. Let him stay. “What would you propose if I said you could stay?”
“More cupcakes and then more of me.”
Thorne considered the offer. “Have you had dinner?”
“Wait, you haven’t?” Dash looked horrified.
“I’d only been home from the airport for about twenty minutes before you arrived.”
“Then you must be starving, even after the cupcakes.”
“I am rather hungry,” Thorne said. “I’m assuming from your continued needling about my lack of a life that you’re free for the rest of the night.”
Dash nodded. “I am.”
“Then let’s go get something to eat.”
“I like this plan. How late is the Austrian place open?”
Oh shit, could he take Dash there? Or would their being out together scream desperate man out with his male escort? Why should it? He was being paranoid. “As late as I want it to be, but the atmosphere is rather stuffy and formal despite the waiters’ flirtatious attitude.”
Dash rolled his eyes. “This isn’t Pretty Woman. I know all my utensils, and I can even order us a decent wine.”
Fuck. He’d just insulted Dash; again. “I didn’t mean—”
Dash waved away his apology. “My mother was very into appearances. She even made me do cotillion. They wouldn’t let me dance with the other boys, though. It was most disappointing.”
Thorne rolled his eyes. “I bet.”
WHEN THEY ENTERED the restaurant, Thorne held the door for Dash. It was a simple gesture, but Dash appreciated being treated like a date rather than hired help. Despite how late it was, there were people waiting for tables, but as soon as the hostess saw Thorne, she offered to show them to a private corner table and left them with menus and a wine list.
Dash couldn’t resist the urge to tease. He leaned forward and looked at Thorne over his menu. “These napkins are made of actual cloth. How fancy.”
“Am I never going to hear the end of this?”
“I might eventually let it go.” Or not. Thorne’s assumption that he might not be comfortable at a fine-dining restaurant had stung, but not so bad that he couldn’t dismiss it. He simply liked keeping Thorne off guard. He glanced at the list of entrees. “What do you recommend?”
Thorne was watching Dash. He’d yet to touch his menu. “I always order the sauerbraten.”
“Then I challenge you to order something else.”
Thorne glared at him, but a waiter approached before he had a chance to reply.
“Hi, I’m Jordan, and I will be assisting you tonight. Would you like to hear about our special?”
“Yes, very much,” Dash said, smiling at the waiter in a way he was certain would ingratiate him. He might not have Thorne’s money, but he could often use charm to get what he wanted, a great quality to have in his profession.
Dash smiled at Jordan as he described the special—beef rolled with carrots, onions, and bacon. Dash glanced at Thorne just as Jordan finished speaking. He studied Dash, probably not even listening to the server. Thorne didn’t approve of him flirting with someone else. Dash rather liked that, and he was also going to use it to his advantage.
“We’ll both have the dinner special, and we’ll have the kartoffelpuffer to start. We haven’t chosen a wine yet, but bring us each your best bourbon, neat,” Dash said.
The waiter glanced at Thorne who looked stunned. “Mr. Shipton?”
Thorne made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “That’s fine. Thank you.”
When Jordan walked away, Thorne stared at Dash with what appeared to be a mixture of shock, annoyance, and humor. “You ordered for us.”
