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He laughs and motions to the door and I give into the inevitable. I’m going to be spending time with Dash Black. Somehow, I can’t be sorry about this realization but I warn myself to be careful.
Dash Black could be trouble.
The kind I won’t handle any better than the last time I found trouble, and almost married him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The moment Dash and I exit the bookstore, the wind whistles with a wicked cold front moving across the city, and the promise that winter is arriving.
I shiver and huddle into my coat. “It was so much warmer yesterday and even this morning. How are you not cold? You have no coat on. And how is this Nashville? I don’t remember it being like this.”
“I read there was some sort of weather phenomenon going on,” he replies. “And it’s not going away any time soon.” He indicates right. “We’re headed this way.”
We fall into step together and I say, “Well then you might need to actually wear a coat.”
“Nah,” he says. “I’ve spent some time in hellish cold climates. This is nothing.”
When he was in the FBI, I assume, which clearly, from his whipped cream story, was a big part of how he created the incredible character of Ghost. I’m eager to know this man and his creative process, but I’m sure he gets those types of questions incessantly. Instead, I wonder about him, just him, and all there is to know about the man, not the author. “Are you from Nashville?” I ask.
“Boston,” he replies with an exaggerated accent and a smile. “And now you know how I know bitter cold.”
“You hide that accent well,” I laugh. “I would never have guessed. But then again, I’ve never been to Boston either. I know the East Coast though. New York is the hottest and the coldest I’ve ever been in my life.”
“But you want to go back?” he asks as we halt at an intersection.
“I don’t know,” I say, and I can’t believe how easily being indecisive on this topic comes to me. “I should. I really should be eager to get back.” I hug myself against the wind, or maybe, the storm of confusion that is my life right now, eagerly changing the topic. “What do you think about the venue?”
“I’m more interested in what you think,” he replies, glancing down at me. “Your opinion will either validate what I think or prove me wrong.”
I’m fairly certain that means he doesn’t like it, and I wonder why in the world Hawk Legal chose his charity and didn’t want him more involved. Or maybe he simply had deadlines and didn’t have the time to be involved when this event originated, but he and Tyler just have such a tense vibe with each other it’s hard not to read into anything involving the two of them.
The light turns and we walk another block to the venue. It is, indeed, a big, modern, fancy hotel. A few minutes later, Dash and I are standing in a very basic event room with a woman named Evelyn, the pretty blonde event coordinator who can’t stop batting her lashes at Dash. For his part, he either doesn’t notice, or he’s immune to such attention. I mean he’s famous and good-looking. He probably gets a lot of attention from everyone and often.
As for the event room, I’m not impressed. “Do you have vault services?” I ask.
Evelyn blinks and forces her gaze from Dash to me. “No, but you can hire private transport and security.” Her cellphone buzzes in her hand and she glances at the screen. “I have to run up front,” she says. “I’ll swing back here in a few.” She offers Dash her card. “If I miss you, my cellphone is on the card.”
She doesn’t offer me a card. She simply turns on her heels and starts walking. I watch her exit the room and when I glance back toward Dash, he’s not watching her. He’s watching me.
He steps closer to me, almost intimately so, and hands me the card, “What do you think, cupcake?”
His silly nickname for me is actually rather charming, but I resist a smile that will surely encourage him to continue the game. “Well, buttercup,” I say, sticking the card in my purse. “I think it’s impersonal and it doesn’t feel special. We want people to feel that they’re attending something highly exclusive and unique. And we have to have a vault on site.”
“Exactly my thoughts,” he concurs. “What if we had the event at Riptide? I know it’s New York City, but it’s certainly attention-grabbing.”
“Unfortunately, Riptide can’t accommodate the timeline needed,” I say, “but we don’t need fancy and elite to make this auction special. Intimate and exclusive could work just as well.”
“Have you seen the rooftop at the Hawk Legal offices?”
