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Thinking of Daisy made my thoughts stumble for a fraction of a second, which was just long enough for me to emerge from whatever fugue state I’d been in. The knowledge of where I was and what I’d been doing—soapboxing in the middle of a ballroom to a bunch of rich socialites, sounding a whole lot more like Rowe Prince than Sterling Chase ever should, while “my” personal assistant stood right there, hearing the whole thing—crashed over me like icy lake water.
Constance stared at me with wide eyes. Miranda gaped like I’d been speaking in tongues. And Bash…
When I finally scraped together the courage to lift my head, I found him staring at me with a kind of laser-beam, crawl-inside-my-brain intensity that made me want to melt into a puddle and tell him all my secrets.
Shit.
Abort mission, abort mission!There was no way I could stick around tonight. Not with Bash around. Not when it was so impossible to think clearly in his presence.
“And. Um. Miranda should wear dresses she likes,” I concluded lamely. I desperately wished I had Joey’s magician’s wand to go with his tux so I could hocus-pocus away all memory of this conversation. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, miladies—”
I bowed deeply, then darted around Constance while she was still stupefied by my ridiculous speech. I set my mostly full drink on the buffet table and made a beeline for the exit, praying that Bash wouldn’t follow me and,please, oh please, that I wouldn’t slip on the marble again.
I’d blown my cover, no doubt. Blown it to smithereens. I’d been a hairsbreadth from talking about Daisy, and my love of thrift stores, and fuckingLinden, Indiana, all of which was as out of place at this party as… well,me. Now Joey was going to kill me because I’d wasted this whole opportunity he’d handed me, and I didn’t even have time for prosciutto, goddamn it, because I needed to escape before—
“Rowe!”
Mother. Fucker.
“Sorry,” I called over my shoulder, finding Bash hot on my heels, damn his excessively long legs. “Must dash. Very busy. I need to—”
“You need to find Justin Hardy,” Bash said when I was a mere twenty feet from the exit. “I can help with that, Mr. Chase!”
I stopped in my tracks.
Damn, damn, damn it all.I couldn’t turn that down. And he’d called me Mr. Chase, so maybe…
“Here.” Bash came up beside me, a bit breathless, and handed me a small plate filled with prosciutto bites. “I grabbed you some of these…sir.”
I took the plate, staring up at him blankly, and he shrugged. “You watched Miranda eating them so closely I figured either you were attracted to Miranda…”
I made a startled noise, and Bash smiled warmly.
“—or you were attracted to her prosciutto bites.”
I couldn’t resist sneaking one in my mouth, and when the salty flavor hit my tongue, I closed my eyes and moaned. “I think I might be a whore for prosciutto bites,” I mumbled, telling another truth before I could stop myself.
But when I darted a glance up at him, the look on Bash’s face wasn’t mocking or disapproving. It was intent. Heated.
“Another of your quirky billionaire eccentricities,Rowe?” The low, intimate rumble of his voice reached down into me, and for a second, I wished I hadn’t told him my real name. Something about the way he said it—like he knew the actual Rowe Prince—made me think things I had no business thinking. “Thank you. For the food.”
“All in a day’s work for your intrepid personal assistant.” He looked away. “So. Justin Hardy?”
I nodded. “Right. Yes. You said you could help me find him?”
“Yes… and no.” Bash’s lips twisted as he imparted this devastating news. “He’s not here tonight.”
“But I thought…” I shook my head, unwilling to believe this. “He always attends charity galas, especially ones that benefit children. I read online that he donated thousands to fund after-school programs. And there was a picture of him on theDaily Newstalking about a plan to create an endowment…”
Bash’s eyes shuttered. “Yes, I’m sure his picture is onallthe gossip and news sites. The fact remains, he’s not here.”
“Oh.” I tried to hide it, but that single syllable contained a metric ton of heartbreak.
Justin Hardy was my last great hope. The meager savings I’d put aside working extra shifts at Bobby’s Tech Barn last winter were nearly gone. My parents were barely making ends meet without my support, and I couldn’t keep crashing on Joey’s futon, delivering burritos to pay my share of food and utilities for much longer.
I needed to make that meeting happen, damn it. Because if I went back to Linden with nothing to show for my time, how could I ever justify taking a risk like this again?
“But I may have another idea of where you could find him,” Bash went on.
