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“Yes? That Burrito Bandito truck that sometimes parks over on West Forty-Seventh. Why? Bash? Where the hell are you going? Since when are you so passionate about burritos?”
“Since very recently,” I called over my shoulder. But as I made my way down two floors to the large conference room where Austin was scheduled to have lunch with his team, searching everywhere for a colorful, gaudy sombrero, I smiled to myself because the burritos were definitely not what I was feeling passionate about.
FOURTEEN
ROWE
My hands were shaking, rattling the cardboard box of burritos I carried through the gleaming front door of the office building. Avoiding Bash Dayne was supposed to have been easy—no matter how badly I missed him, our paths were never destined to cross, right? Except apparently, the universe had other plans because suddenly here I was, wearing my freaking sombrero and making a special lunchtime catering delivery to Sterling freaking Chase. And my presence, according to Lea, was not optional.
Certain people did not seem to care that there was no part of the fairy tale where Cinderella was forced to bring lunch to the palace.
This whole past week had sucked. I hadn’t been able to eat, and I’d barely slept since leaving Philly the other day. Instead, I’d been working double shifts in an effort to make up for lost time and tips. I’d even stayed up all night figuring out how to repack the trick pocket square in Joey’s tux. And when I should have spent every damn minute preparing to ambush Justin Hardy with my project proposal, I’d found myself daydreaming about Bash. It was like all my focus had evaporated the minute the man had touched me, and I wasn’t sure how to get it back.
The only thing that had kept me from sending Bash a text begging him for one more night was the knowledge that I’d done the right thing by walking away so Bash wouldn’t have to. But being so close to him now—just a few floors away, probably—made the ache in my chest swell until I was nothing but a giant blob ofwant.
“Rowe! Don’t drop those burritos!” Lea warned, marching along behind us, carrying her own box of food.
Correction: I was a giant blob of wantand burritos.
“You got this, cuz,” Joey muttered. “We get in, we sing, we set up the burritos for the nice folks, we collect our tips, and we’re out, okay? I told you, you don’t have to do the toe-kicking. And even if someone here spotted you at the gala, nobody’s gonna recognize you in that mustache and sombrero.”
I gave Joey a look that said listening to him wasexactlyhow the trouble at the gala had started. “Yeah,” I said softly. “Let’s just get it done, okay?” Hopefully, with no Bash-related run-ins this time.
The receptionist on the ground floor gestured us toward the conference room, which was filled with an assortment of corporate types and computer geeks, laptops and whiteboards. No Bash.
I mentally crossed myself and hoped for the best.Jesus, if you exist, please help a bandito out…
Joey, bless him, didn’t hesitate, jumping immediately into the song, and all I had to do was sing along. “My name is Burrito Bandito…”
Several people turned their heads to stare at us, which should have been fine—that was part of the job, and I was used to it—but suddenly, I felt anxious. I held my box of burritos so high it blocked half my face. I’d never known true anxiety until I imagined someone recognizing me as the guy Bash Dayne had been hanging around with all weekend.
Joey finished his dance with a truly epic twirl that had the businesspeople clapping, and it was time to pass out the food.Nearly home free. And then you can go back to preparing to impress Justin Hardy. Focus, Rowe—
“Oh my god, I love burritos.” A woman stood on her tiptoes in front of me, trying to peer into the box. “Could you maybe lower that a bit?”
I swallowed. “Oh, uh… of course.” I set it down on the table and adjusted my mustache. “Help yourself.”
“Austin, this lunch was the best idea,” she called to a man down the table who wore a high-end three-piece suit.
The man turned, and I recognized him as Austin Purcell, the head of development, from his corporate photo on the company website. A guy who worked directly with Bash.Shit.
“As much as I’d love to take credit for it, I can’t,” Austin returned. “Remember my college roommate Bernard? He kept raving about this place. Orders from here once a week. Claims he and one of the delivery people watched polo together this weekend.” He looked Joey up and down. “Don’t suppose it was you?”
“Nah, man, I don’t do polo,” Joey said easily, but he darted a shifty look at me that might as well have been a giant neon sign saying, “but my cousin Rowe does.”
Before I could duck under the table, or lower my sombrero, or melt into a puddle of embarrassment, Austin followed Joey’s gaze toward me. “Oh.” He frowned. “Wait, I know you, don’t I?”
“Me?” The word came out incredibly high-pitched. “N-no. Nope. Not unless you’ve gotten a burrito delivery recently.”
He shook his head. “That’s not it. I saw your picture somewhere, I’m almost sure. I never forget a face.” He tilted his head. “What’s your name?”
“Ha.Ha. No. I don’t give that information out to customers,” I lied. The truth was, no one had ever asked. “Would you like a burrito, sir?”
“I bet you’ll give out your name if it’ll mean a bigger tip,” Austin said with a smile that managed to be friendly and weirdly menacing at the same time. What a fuckwad.Thiswas the guy who’d turned down Project Daisy Chain?
“Nope. He definitely won’t. Company policy,” Joey interjected. “We are alllll the Burrito Bandito,señor. Isn’t that right, everybody? Sing it with me! And free burrito coupons for whoever sings loudest!Our name is Burrito Bandito…”
Austin scowled at Joey but refused to be distracted by his singing. I could sense him searching his memory banks, and I second-guessed my decision not to triple-swipe my deodorant this morning. Would it be worse for him to remember me being with Bash? Or for him to somehow figure out my name and remember I was the guy he’d sent that rude rejection email, even after I’d taken the time to send him all my project notes?
