Page 25 of Have To Be Mine

Still nothing useful.

I sat back, forcing myself to breathe. Think. What am I missing?

Behind me, someone was arguing about lighting angles. Someone else was on the phone, voice rising with panic. The clock was ticking.

I went back to the email, this time sorting by sender. Delivery companies. There were plenty of shipment confirmations that came in over the last couple of days.

But one caught my eye. The confirmation of delivery was dated six days ago. It was unopened, of course. Six days ago, the crew wasn’t here to receive it. So, where did it go? I felt my jaw clench so hard my teeth ached. I clicked it open.

The email was brief. It confirmed delivery of three boxes containing swimwear pieces and accessories. It listed the tracking numbers with a short note about no one available to accept delivery. And where the delivery had been stored.

Dash hadn’t opened the goddamn email.

I stared at the screen. Frustration made my cheeks burn. It was hot as hell out and we had all been running around like maniacs while the stupid fucking boxes were sitting in storage. This entire morning—the panic, the chaos, the models freaking out—could have been avoided if he’d just checked his email. If he’d done the most basic part of his job.

I wanted to scream. Or throw something. Or find Dash and shake him until his perfect hair stood straight up. Instead, I took a screenshot of the email, forwarded it to my phone, and stood up.

“Where can I find one of those golf carts?” I asked the nearest person who looked like they knew their way around.

They pointed down the path where a small fleet of carts was parked near the entrance.

I didn’t run, but I was moving fast. It was the kind of walk I perfected in the military when I needed to move fast without looking like I was in a hurry. The area Blackwell had booked included a venue along with several outbuildings. Hopping in a golf cart, I zipped over to the outbuilding mentioned in the delivery notification. The door was locked, and I punched in the code included in the email. The email that Dash never saw.

Inside, stacked neatly on metal shelving, were three boxes. Each one labeled with the Blackwell Couture logo. I wanted to laugh. Or cry. Maybe scream. But I didn’t have time for any of that.

I grabbed the first box, lighter than I expected, and carried it to the golf cart. Then the second. Then the third. I secured them as best I could and drove back toward the main venue, faster this time, not caring if people noticed me now. All that mattered was getting the tops where they needed to be.

I pulled up next to the wardrobe tent and honked the horn twice. Annika’s head appeared through the tent flap, her expression shifting from confusion to shock when she saw what I had in the cart.

“You found them?” she breathed.

“They’ve been here for six days sitting in a storage shed.” I shook my head in disgust.

Her eyes went wide. “They’ve been here the whole time?”

“It would seem so.” I grabbed the first box and handed it to her. “Can you get the girls ready in time?”

Annika nodded without hesitation. “On it.”

The wardrobe tent exploded into noise and movement. People were pulling pieces from boxes, checking sizes, matching accessories. Mary Jo appeared with her makeup team to do the touch-ups.

I stood back and watched it all come together. The models slipping into the swimwear, the stylists adjusting straps and fixing hair. It was like watching a machine come to life, every piece clicking into place. I might have judged the models a little harshly. I watched them get taped top and bottom and immediately felt bad for them. That had to hurt when it was time to take it off.

Ten minutes. That was all it took once they had what they needed. It was impressive. But Dash was still missing.

I called him but he didn’t answer. Of course. Poking my head out of the wardrobe tent, I checked around the venue, looking for him among the crowd of crew and media. He’d gone to deal with the backdrop situation, but that was at least thirty minutes ago.

Where the hell was he? If he had bailed, I would personally remove his balls and throw them into the Mediterranean.

This was exactly what I’d been hired to prevent. I was supposed to be watching him, keeping him on track and making sure he didn’t drop the ball at critical moments. And here I was, having solved the missing swimwear crisis while he was God knows where doing God knows what.

I felt like I was failing. Not at the logistics. I’d handled that. But at keeping Dash Blackwell in line.

I came back to the wardrobe tent and looked at Annika. “Are we ready?”

She glanced around the tent, doing a final check. “Ready.”

I nodded at her. “It’s nice to work with a proper professional for a change.”