Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“Ma’am, this man is not Sterling… whoever,” my accuser—Bernard—insisted. “He’s the man who delivers my lunch.”
Constance turned toward him and raised a single eyebrow. Apparently, Bash wasn’t the only one who knew how to wield those like swords.
“This man?” Constance flung a hand toward me. “This gentleman wearing a vintage tweed St. Laurent blazer and last-season Ferragamo loafers delivers your lunch? Really?”
Beside me, Bash leaned back to scan me up and down, like he was appreciating my outfit for the first time. If he knew how many visits to Second Chance Savers it had taken for me to find these loafers for a steal or how many hours I’d spent polishing them, he might have appreciated them even more.
Before Bernard could utter another word, Constance spoke again. “Which is more likely, Bernard: that I don’t know Sterling Chase, the billionaire founder of Sterling Chase, when I see him? Or,” she said in a withering tone, “that this is a repeat of that unfortunate incident at Olivia’s birthday party, where you tried to force Lord Piers Bishop to sing ‘Rocket Man’?”
Bernard’s mouth opened, then shut again. Several onlookers tittered. Bernard looked at me, frowned, and shrugged. His shoulders slumped.
Constance made a tsking noise. “Honestly, dear, you smell like a brewery. Your poor father will be incensed. Apologize to Mr. Chase for grabbing him without permission.”
“Sorry,” Bernard mumbled like a petulant child.
I stared at Constance in shock. I’d have bet money last night that she’d seen right through me. Instead, she’d come to my defense… magnificently. So fuck Joey and his “big brass balls” talk. From now on, when I needed confidence, I’d be channeling Constance Baxter-Hicks.
“Hon. Est. Ly,” she said, watching Bernard walk away. She visibly shook herself, as though clearing away her negative emotions, then turned to me with a brilliant smile. “Now, Mr. Chase, you must come to the clubhouse with me.” She pointed toward the low white building nearby. “I have some people who’d absolutely love to meet you. And Miranda, of course—”
I took an instinctive step toward Bash. I couldn’t possibly go with Constance. I was already tired of playing this character, and I hadn’t even encountered Dev or Justin Hardy yet. But how could I say no politely when she’d been so kind to me?
Fortunately, I had an assistant for this sort of thing. “I’m afraid Sterling and I are overdue at the stables,” Bash said briskly, taking my hand to pull me away. “Perhaps another time.”
“Bash.” She inclined her head regally and eyed our joined hands, confirming my suspicion that this was not your average billionaire-and-assistant behavior. “I’m spearheading an equine therapy endowment…” She lifted an eyebrow. “I assume I can count on your support? Yours and Mr. Chase’s?”
“Of course.” Bash’s words came out more like a sigh, like he was used to being hit up for donations in a casual conversation.
Honestly, rich people were worse than Bobby’s daughter hitting up all the people at the Tech Barn every time her Scout troop wanted to go on a field trip. I could only imagine how often people hit up an actual billionaire like Sterling Chase.
“Come along, Mr. Chase.” Bash marched resolutely down a dirt path toward the stables, his long strides eating up the dirt the only sign that he was annoyed by the encounter. With my hand in his, I had to trot to keep up, but it didn’t occur to me to pull away, either.
He didn’t say anything for a full minute, and neither did I.
Then, finally, “Are you alright?” he asked in a low voice.
“Y-yes.” No. “I’m really sorry about that. I hope you don’t feel obligated to donate any money to Ms. Baxter-Hicks’s endowment thingy,” I blurted.
I had no idea how much money Bash had, and it was none of my business. I figured it was more than me if his mom was vacationing someplace Constance Baxter-Hicks liked to go, but it couldn’t be very much if the man was working as a billionaire’s personal assistant. I really hoped he hadn’t agreed to make a donation just to get me out of an awkward situation.
Bash blew out a long breath. “Nothing you need to apologize for. I’m sure it’s an excellent cause, and I can afford it.” He shot me a glance. “Sterling Chase pays me well.”
I would hope so. “Doesn’t matter. It’s still wrong to, like, expect someone to contribute just because they have money.”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he gave me another of those side-eyed looks. His fingers clasped mine more firmly, and he slowed his pace so we were strolling, almost like… friends. Almost like lovers.
I could feel my pulse in my cheeks and knew my face had to be a concerning shade of puce now. Sadly, puce was not my color.
My conscience screamed at me to come clean. To tell Bash I wasn’t Sterling and admit everything. To tell him exactly how naive and desperate and foolish I was. Bash seemed like a person who knew how to get things done, and he had a great sense of humor. If he could handle working for a man he’d never met until last night, whose mother scheduled his dates and who enjoyed coffee so full of carbohydrates it might evolve into a new life form, maybe he could handle the truth. He might even help me.