Page 43 of Have To Be Mine

Where are you? Car is waiting.

No response.

I tried calling. It went straight to voicemail.

Seven o’clock came and went.

My jaw clenched while that familiar frustration built in my chest like thorny brambles. Last night had been nice. Really nice. I’d seen a different side of him. And I’d stupidly let myself think maybe, just maybe, he was turning a corner. We talked about the schedule. And I had him to bed at a decent hour. Did he get up and sneak out to a club in the middle of the night?

It was my fault. The wine. I never drank more than a glass and last night I had three. I didn’t get drunk, but it had relaxed me and I passed out hard. Again, I was blaming the jet lag. I failed. I let down Adrian. How in the hell did I lose the man again? I was going to stick a tracker on his ass—literally. A tracker or a leash. If people could do it for their dogs, I could do it to him. And I was going to handcuff us together tonight. He was not getting away from me.

And oh my God. Why did I go straight to handcuffs in bed?

“I’m so sorry,” I said to the driver. “Just a few more minutes.”

He nodded again. He looked like this was normal, which given his line of work, I supposed it was. He catered to rich people. He knew they ran on their own timeline.

I was about to call Dash again when I saw him strolling through the lobby like he had all the time in the world, wearing a linen set that somehow looked both casual and expensive. He was carrying a tray of coffee cups and a bag that smelled like fresh pastries.

He grinned when he saw me. Actually grinned, like he was proud of himself.

“Morning, Captain,” he said cheerfully. “Got us breakfast.”

I stared at him. “You’re late.”

“I’m fifteen minutes late. And I brought coffee.” He held up the tray like it was some kind of peace offering. “The good kind. Not that hotel lobby garbage.”

“We were supposed to leave at seven.”

“And now we’re leaving at seven-fifteen. The world hasn’t ended.” He handed me a cup. “Relax. Have some coffee.”

I took the cup because I needed caffeine, not because I was accepting his apology. Which he hadn’t actually given.

“Let’s go,” I said, turning toward the car.

Dash followed, still looking entirely too pleased with himself. The driver opened the door and we climbed in. The car pulled away from the hotel and started along the coastline. Under different circumstances, I would have appreciated the view. The water sparkled in the morning sun. It almost hurt to look at the beauty. I wanted to take a picture and send it to my dad, but I refrained. I’d sneak a few shots when we were at the location.

I was still irritated at the man sitting next to me, even if the coffee was perfect. Strong but still tasty as hell.

“You’re mad,” Dash said between sips of coffee.

“I’m not mad.”

“I can feel the rage radiating off you.”

I let out a breath. “I’m not mad. I’m annoyed.”

“What’s the difference?”

I turned to look at him. “Mad implies I care. Annoyed implies you’re a minor inconvenience.”

He laughed. “Ouch.”

“We had a schedule, Dash. Seven a.m. You knew that. We talked about it last night. You literally confirmed it before we went to sleep.”

“And I was only fifteen minutes late. That’s practically on time.”

“No, it’s fifteen minutes late. That’s literally the definition of late.”