Her eyes go wide. “You live with him?”
“Yes. I do. It’s new, but pretty wonderful.”
“Oh my God.” She holds her heart. “You’re like Cinderella.”
I laugh. “No. I’m not. And believe me, just because someone is famous does not make them Prince Charming. My father is someone famous and he’s definitely not.”
“Who is he?”
“Enough about me for one day,” I say, shifting topics. “What do you know about Benjamin?”
“Not much. He’s nice enough, I guess. Some of the agents are not, but he’s nice to the staff. Why?”
“He’s going to have his secretary offer to help us. Do we want her help?”
“I don’t know her, but usually if someone is a bitch that gets around. I think we can use the help. Are you okay with that?”
“Maybe. Let me think about what we could give away safely. What was his involvement with Allison?”
“I didn’t know they had any. Why do you ask that?”
“He said he wasn’t surprised she was gone, but I didn’t get more out of him.”
She frowns. “What did he know that the rest of us didn’t?”
Exactly, I think. Exactly.
CHAPTER FORTY
Dash wakes the next morning inspired by the storyline of Ghost in an underground fight club, apparently really inspired, because he brushes his teeth, kisses me, and then goes hunting for his MacBook. I head to the bathroom, shower, and dress in a belted navy-blue dress. I’ve already finished getting ready for the day and there is no sign of Dash. A little concerned something is going on, I grab my things and head toward the living room to find him sitting at the kitchen island, pounding away on his keyboard. Of course, he’s still in his pajama bottoms and a snug white T-shirt stretched across his impressive chest, but it doesn’t make him look hot. He makes it look hot.
I sit down beside him and sip from his cup. “You really are inspired,” I comment.
“That’s how it happens for me. In waves. Therefore, me and the coffee pot are cozying up right here at this counter today,” he says, but his mind, at least for the moment, is no longer on his work.
He reaches for my mug, his eyes meeting mine as he presses his mouth to the exact spot I’ve just sipped, the intimacy of us sharing that coffee doing funny things to my belly. We live together now, I know, but all these little things that become “us” things are new to me. Yes, I was engaged to Brandon, but there was nothing remotely familiar about that and this.
“Morning. baby,” he murmurs, as if to say, this is a breather, a moment for us.
“Good morning, Dash,” I say, smiling. “I can’t wait to read the book.”
“Soon,” he promises. “Very soon.”
“Since you’re inspired to finish up, should I bring you lunch?”
He sets the cup down and rotates to face me, mischief lighting his eyes, a one-day sexy stubble shadowing his jaw. “Will you have time to be naked?”
I laugh. “No, and neither will you. You’re inspired and should stay that way. I’ll send lunch.”
“Probably a good idea, though I like the part where you’re my lunch much better.”
I smile and kiss his cheek. “I’ll tell Bella not to bug you today.”
“Now that is a good idea, if I ever heard one,” he agrees. “If she asks me my word count one more time, I’m going to stop taking her calls.”
I laugh and leave the house feeling happier than I remember ever feeling and why wouldn’t I be? Watching Dash work is a bit like watching the wonder of a rainbow streaking the blue sky with colors. Everything about his process, from his facial expressions while he types, the intensity of his keystrokes, to the gallons of coffee he drinks, intrigues me. He hasn’t asked me to read his work again and I have a feeling that’s a good sign. This book is going to be brilliant. He needs no validation.
Once I’m in the elevator I text Bella: Dash is still in his pajamas writing. If he can stay in his zone maybe you’ll get that book early.
In other words, she answers, don’t call him and tell him that one of the studios wants to come here to meet him.
Not if you want the book early, I reply.
Okay, so you tell him. It’s Nick Snyder. He wants to come next Tuesday, she replies.
I’ll tell him, I promise.
The elevator dings and I slide my phone into my bag before exiting and cutting right to the lobby. That’s where a short woman in a fitted cream-colored dress that I’m quite certain is Chanel, turns to greet me. “You must be Allie,” she says. “I’m Jessica, Benjamin’s assistant. He’s officially out of town for a couple of weeks. I’m at your service.”
Jessica is short, full-figured, and has waves of blonde curly hair with freckled cheeks that she pairs with impeccable style. She’s also friendly enough and I don’t feel I can really turn down help right now. Not when it appears to be more than talk.