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I shake off the thought—and the fact that nope, we still haven’t had The Conversation—and freshen up. Then I follow Dash’s voice down to the main living area, where he’s pacing near a long desk, nodding along and talking to someone on his cellphone. He brightens when he spots me and points to the kitchen, where there’s already a spread of bagels and schmear from my favorite shop.
Don’t have to ask me twice.
I beeline for the kitchen, picking up speed when my nose informs me that there’s fresh coffee in that fancy schmancy espresso machine next to the bagels. Dash detours his pacing to drop a kiss on my cheek before returning to his call.
“… Uh huh… Yeah, one point five is along the lines of what I was thinking too. Glad we’re on the same page…”
I pause, idly schmearing my bagel. One point five… million?
“I agree. I could go to one-point seven if they need more capital for the next quarter, I know expanding so fast puts a strain on things…”
He’s serious.
Distracted, I knock over my coffee, and have to scramble for a paper towel to stop the flow. Shit! I mop up the mess with paper towels while my mind reels. Surely, I misunderstood. No one talks that casually about millions of dollars… Right?
“… OK, let’s get this rolling. If the due diligence checks out, we’re good to go.”
Apparently so.
My hands shake as I throw away the paper towels and then straighten the espresso maker. After reading the articles about him, I’m obviously aware that Dash is a serious investor.
I guess I just never realized he was invest a million dollars at the drop of a hat serious.
I look around, reeling. He probably has an office somewhere. And employees. And free soda machines and a snack room. And meanwhile, I have credit card debt up the wazoo, and make my lipsticks on my dining room table, begging machine time for my packaging at my uncle’s brother-in-law’s college roommate’s print shop.
How am I supposed to compete with his other, legitimate companies?
I thought bargaining for his investment in my company was a smart move, but now I wonder if I haven’t wound up way over my head.
I panic, abandoning the bagels and grabbing my discarded clothes from where he’s politely hung them over the back of a dining room chair. Wait, they’re already laundered? Did he wave a magic wand or something? Either way, I pull them on again, grab my bag, and rush by him.
“I need to get to work!” I blurt, blowing him a kiss as I leg it to the door. I don’t stop running until I’m down the street, and realize, I’m already late.
Dammit.
“So, what you’re saying is you spent all night having spectacular sex, and then you woke up this morning and bolted.” Lorelei leans against the makeup counter and arches her expertly darkened brows.
“No!” I protest. “I mean, not exactly. I, um, ate one of those cinnamon-crunch bagels he grabbed for us first.”
She laughs. “You ate the breakfast he so thoughtfully provided and then did your best impression of a sorority girl slinking out of the loser frat house. You’re right, that’s so much better,” she smirks
“Oh god, it does sound bad, doesn’t it?” I drop my face into my hands.
“I mean, not if the guy is just in it for a hookup. Otherwise…”
My head pops up. “That’s just it, though! I don’t know what’s going on. We have insanely good sex, but apart from that, I still have no idea where I stand.”
I’m too restless to sit still so I grab a spray bottle and start wiping down the counter. In my absence, absolutely nothing at Fleishman’s has changed. Same twenty-square feet of counter space to sell. Same athleisure-clad ladies browsing $300 face-creams on their lunch break.
Same Lorelei, giving me a look like she knows exactly what’s going on in my Dash-addled brain.
“Okay. And from this sudden display of cleanliness, can I assume that you’d like this to be more than just sex?”
I shrug and rub the glass harder, but Lorelei isn’t fooled. Her tone softens. “If that’s the case, why don’t you just ask him?”
Horror shoots into my fingertips like an electric shock. “I can’t ask him yet, we’ve been doing this… thing for less than a week. Four nights, if you count from our first hookup at the gala. Which I do!”
A week? I almost can’t believe it, but the calendar doesn’t lie.
