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“Look,” I say, “I know this all exploded and badly, but I do want to do this job. I’m making progress and excited about the outlook. I want you to know that.”
“And if it does, and you so desire, the job, and perhaps even the house, could be yours long term.”
“Because you don’t think Allison is coming back?”
“Because you can make your own path and establish your own worth.”
“But she’ll want the house back.”
“Are you saying you want to stay?”
“I don’t know what I want right now.”
He studies me a long moment and leans closer. “That’s a dangerous place to be when you’re playing in someone else’s playground.”
I don’t have to ask whose playground he’s talking about. “Is that what happened to Allison?”
He goes ramrod still, seconds ticking by before he eases back into his leather chair. “What do you want to know, Ms. Wright?”
“I’m a little worried about her. She won’t return my or Katie’s calls. And I have something of hers I think she might want.”
His eyes narrow. “What would that be?”
“It’s highly personal. Can you try to reach her for me?”
A beat passes before he says, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.” I stand and head to the door.
“Ms. Wright,” he says, as my hand touches the knob.
I turn to face him. “That playground is a minefield. There’s more to Dash Black than meets the eye.”
He’s not wrong, of course. I’ve seen the shadows in Dash’s eyes, I’ve felt the wall between us at times, but I’ve simply passed the point of no return. I’m swimming in the dark water of Dash Black’s life, most likely water filled with dangers, but my own life isn’t exactly a crystal clear, blue perfect ocean, as proven by my father showing up Friday night.
Which is exactly why I don’t comment on Tyler’s warning. I turn and find my coat on the hanger of his door, which somehow feels as personal as this conversation, which is a bit too personal for my comfort. I grab my coat and leave his office.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
My mother calls me almost the minute I’m at my desk and of course, she wants to talk about Dash. “I need to know what is happening with you and that gorgeous man.”
Just like that, my irritation over everything that happened with Tyler and my father ticks down a notch with the smile in her voice.
“He is gorgeous, isn’t he?” I ask.
“We were very surprised by his visit. And that cupcake nickname, honey. It’s adorable.”
Adorable. She just had to use that word. “Don’t read into it, Mom. It’s new and I go back to New York in January.”
“Unless you don’t,” she says. “I vote that you stay here and marry Dash Black.”
I face-palm and navigate her questions about me and Dash for about ten solid minutes, which is still easier than talking to her about my father. She doesn’t need to know he’s in town. It won’t do anything but upset her. When we finally hang up, I type a text to Dash: My mother called. She loves the way you call me cupcake.
Of course, he won’t get that message until he’s on the ground, but I still smile as I press send and get to work.
***
I eat lunch in my office as I manage what turns out to be an excellent donation day. The auction is coming together. I’m sipping my afternoon coffee when my desk phone rings. “Allison Wright,” I greet.
“This is Marshall,” the man on the other line says. “I’m trying to reach Allison, the other Allison.”
“She’s on leave. Can I help?”
“On leave,” he repeats. “That makes absolutely no sense to me at all.”
“I’m sorry. I—who are you to Allison?”
“Her brother. Who can tell me what is going on?”
I’m sitting up straighter now. “I don’t know. I’m filling in for her and I’ve left her a few messages myself. She doesn’t reply to messages or calls. And no one seems to know how to reach her.”
He’s silent a moment. “Okay. Thanks.” That’s all he says and then he hangs up.
My brows dip and I dial Tyler’s office. “Ms. Wright,” he answers.
“Marshall, Allison’s brother, just called. He’s looking for her.”
“He’s always looking for her. He’s a troubled man. Ignore him.”
“If he’s troubled is that a good idea?”
“He’s not a serial killer. Just a pain in the ass.”
“But he can’t reach her. Should that concern us?”
“She feels about him the way you feel about your father.”
I digest that with what can only be understanding. “Did you try and call her?”
“Patience is a virtue. One I’ve mastered. Have you?”
I don’t know what that means, but I let it go. “I’ll pretend Marshall didn’t call.”
“Good decision.” He ends the call.
My cellphone buzzes with a text. I return the receiver to the office phone to the cradle and grab my cellphone to find a text from Dash: I need a cupcake. One that tastes like you.
