“What’s it about?”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Why are you so interested in my silly hobby?”
“Because it’s important to you.”
Ash stares at me like I’m an alien. “It’s nothing, something I’m writing.”
She turns her head away from me, fisting the notebook in her hand, and slides off the edge of the bed to avoid me. I come up behind her as Ash stuffs the notebook into the top drawer of the dresser.
“You should show someone your work,” I say, pressing my chest to her back.
She spins around and leans back against the dresser. “No one wants to read my stuff.”
“I do.”
Ash blows out a deep breath and then forces a smile. “No, you don’t. This script isn’t very good.”
I hold out my palm. “Let me be the judge.”
She purses her lips. “You’re not in the business.”
“I read five books a week. I was the Valedictorian of my class in high school and college. And I run one of the fastest tech startups in the country.”
She runs her teeth along her bottom lip. “You can read one page, okay?”
I nod, and she takes the book from the drawer, flipping the pages. Ash shoves the book in my hand and points down at the beginning of the screenplay. I’m not used to reading in this format with stage and camera directions and nothing but dialogue and basic descriptions. But immediately, Ash’s writing captures my attention.
Her screenplay is about a boy king who cares more about bedding women and partying until he learns that his kingdom is about to be invaded by a noble army who has a claim to the throne. The dialogue is interesting, and the way the king’s advisors speak to him with sarcasm and humor makes me laugh.
She tears the book from my hand after I laugh a second time. “I’ve had enough people laugh at me in this town, and I don’t want to hear it from you.”
“I’m laughing because it’s funny. Your writing is good, Ash.”
I clutch her shoulder, and she turns away from me to hide the book in the top drawer.
“You’re saying that to make me feel better.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m not. I would tell you if it sucked. Have you shown it to anyone else?”
“You’re the first person to read my writing.”
“Why hide it when you could share it with the world?”
“I’m not like you, Dylan. My writing is my passion, but it’s only for my enjoyment.”
“Well, you should consider it. At least let me read more of it.”
She throws her hands onto her hips, pushing her chest out in the process. Our eyes meet, and she stares at me with a strange expression on her beautiful face.
“After we have our talk,” she says in a hushed tone. “I’ll consider letting you read more.”
Relief washes over me. Ash refuses to share anything with anyone, and now she’s agreed to let me in again.
When we enter the kitchen, Ash tips her nose up, her eyes wide as she glances over at me. “Smells good.”
“You can thank Rosie. She made it last night before she left for her vacation.”
Ash glances around the kitchen and dining room. “When does she come back?”
“Next week.”
She strolls across the kitchen and hops up on the counter next to the stove. Her eyes travel up and down the length of my body. Either Ash doesn’t care that she’s blatantly checking me out or she doesn’t realize she’s doing it.
The timer on the oven sounds, and I grab two potholders from the drawer next to Ash. My fingers lightly graze the side of her thigh, which earns me a groan in response.
Ash licks her lips when I set the casserole dish of chicken enchiladas on the burner. My stomach growls from the scent of herbs and spices assaulting my senses.
“It smells amazing.”
After I set an enchilada on a plate, I cut into it with a fork and hold it up to Ash’s mouth. “Try it.”
Her eyes widen at my gesture, but she follows my order like a good girl, sinking her teeth into the cheesy tortilla.
She moans so loudly, my cock springs into action, and I have to focus on something other than her mouth as she licks sauce from her lips. I stare for a second too long, now thinking about how good her lips felt against mine.
Sloan is upstairs, I remind myself—because I need a reminder when it comes to Ash. I have to focus, keep my head in the game. The meeting tonight with our possible investors is too important to screw up.
“Dylan Banks made me dinner,” Ash says with a cheeky grin that reveals her teeth. “You’re the first man to make me dinner.”
“I tried once,” I say under my breath. “Remember that one time in my dorm?”
She chuckles at the memory. “I don’t know why you thought it was a good idea to make chicken parm in the toaster oven.”