Page 11 of Have To Be Mine

We talked for another few minutes, him filling me in on the drama at the retirement community before I had to let him go.

“Love you, kid,” Dad said before we hung up. “Make me proud.”

“Always do.”

The screen went dark and I was alone again.

I picked up the hand lotion and squirted some into my hand. I rubbed it in and then brought it to my nose to inhale.

“Mom,” I murmured.

It was floral, but not too sweet. Elegant. I closed my eyes and was immediately flooded with a memory of her reading me a bedtime story.

I shook it off. I didn’t have time to be melancholy. I looked at the bed with the many gorgeous outfits and decided not to bother. I was only meeting him. We weren’t doing anything official.

I stood in the hotel lobby, checking my watch for the third time in five minutes. He was late. Of course he was late.

I’d positioned myself near the cafe entrance with a clear view of both the main doors and the elevator banks. Old habits. Always know your exits, always control the sightlines.

The lobby was crawling with beautiful people. Models and influencers and just pretty faces in general, everyone looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine. Meanwhile, I was wearing cargo pants with enough pockets to carry half my tactical gear and a simple black tank top that was already sticking to my skin in the Athens heat.

The elevator chimed. The doors opened. And there he was.

Dash Blackwell looked exactly like he had at the wedding, irritatingly attractive. Dark hair perfectly tousled, designer sunglasses pushed up on his head, linen pants and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. He looked like he’d just stepped off a yacht.

He wasn’t alone. Two women flanked him, both tall and willowy with high cheekbones and flawless skin. Obviously models with legs that reached their ears. Perfect, shapely legs.

I watched them cross the lobby. Dash hadn’t seen me yet. Or maybe he had and was making me wait on purpose. Did he know it was me?

No.

I couldn’t wait to see his face when he realized I was the consultant tasked with chasing him around Greece. Adrian had warned me Dash was not happy about the idea of a consultant on his job.

They headed straight for the cafe.

I gave him thirty seconds, then followed.

By the time I reached their table, Dash was already charming the waiter, ordering champagne and orange juice. Mimosas. At ten in the morning. Why was I not surprised?

“Mr. Blackwell,” I said.

He looked up, and I saw the exact moment recognition hit.

“You,” he said.

“Me.”

“Are you following me?” It was almost funny that he looked alarmed.

“Yes, I’m being paid to follow you.”

It took him a few seconds to put it together. “Oh shit… you?”

“Still me.”

He recovered quickly, that playboy smile sliding into place like armor. The two models looked at me with mild curiosity. I could feel their assessment, the quick up-and-down glance that took in my simple clothes, my lack of makeup, my hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. They dismissed me as insignificant. I was used to it.

“Krista Hedley,” I said, extending my hand. “Your logistics consultant.”