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He shoves a fistful of fries in his mouth and grins around them at me, the brief intimacy forgotten. “But if you’re wondering why Zelda cares so much about me finding my soulmate and living happily ever after…”
“Your socially-appropriate, salad-eating, peak-fertility soulmate,” I correct him, happy to lighten the mood.
He smiles. “Exactly.”
Suddenly, there’s a tap at the window. “Dash?” an excited voice squeals, as he rolls it down. “I thought that was you!”
“Missy, Buffy, Cat,” Dash greets the improbably named trio of women with his typical charm. “Now what are you classy ladies doing in a parking lot like this?”
Missy (or Buffy, or Cat) lets out a trill of laughter. “Shh, don’t tell, but I had a hankering for something juicy.”
“Don’t you always,” Dash winks. “Sorry,” he adds to me, “I should really say hello.”
“Go ahead,” I tell him. “And get me a soft serve while you’re in there.”
“Coming right up!” He gets out of the car to escort the women inside, and I’m shocked to feel a pang of jealousy, watching him laugh with them in the setting sun.
Jealousy?
Nope. No way.
Absolutely not.
I’m here as part of a business deal, nothing more. We aren’t actually dating. And even on the off-chance that Dash decides he’s ready for a relationship, this little trip to Palm Beach should make it crystal clear that I’m not the type of woman he’s looking for.
And, sure, the chemistry between us is dangerously hot, and the more time I spend with him, the clearer it is that Dash is concealing some hidden depths behind that playboy attitude… Either way, I need to be on guard.
Because the last thing in the universe I need is to catch feelings for this man.
9
Callie
After our fast food adventure, we find out that Zelda has plans with her wine club for the evening. Dash suggests a movie, but I claim I’m exhausted from antiquing, and head up for an early night.
Netflix and chill, with our record of impulsive kisses?
As Marilyn Monroe herself said in one of my favorite classic movies: I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid.
I get a glorious nine hours sleep on that fluffy cloud of a bed, and awake filled with a new determination to resist Dash’s kissable lips, wow Zelda, and return to New York with a big fat check to start building my future.
We only have twenty-four more hours left of this trip, I decide, pulling on another grandma-friendly sundress. How much trouble could there possibly be?
There’s a knock at my door. Dash? I try to ignore the way my stomach skips at the idea—especially when I open it to find Piper there, instead.
“Oh good, you’re dressed already!” Piper beams. “Want to go get breakfast? Zelda’s in full gala-planning mode, and if we hang around here too long, she’ll have us dealing with centerpieces and chandeliers.”
“In that case, lead the way to bacon!” I exclaim.
We head out to one of Piper’s favorite spots. “The best waffles in town, hands down,” she says, leading me into a funky café with a cute back garden area, dotted with colorful art pieces—and not the million-dollar kind. “Once, I bet Dash he couldn’t finish their tall stack in ten minutes,” she adds, as we take a seat at our table. “He just had to prove me wrong.”
“That does sound like Dash,” I agree.
“Of course, he wound up hyped up on syrup, with the worth indigestion for the rest of the day,” she grins. “He never can think things through.”
Like pretending he’s on the brink of proposing to his fake girlfriend.
“So, what about you?” I change the subject away from Dash’s little white lies. “Tell me about your studies.”
