Chapter 7
January
Unknown Number: Hi, it’s Ava. From the Dulce Playa. Any chance you’re free tonight?
A jolt of adrenaline burst through Roman as he stared at the text on his phone.
Ava . After three months, she’d finally reached out.
It was a struggle to keep his expression impassive as the quarterly results meeting droned on around him. Inside, he was jumping
for joy.
When he’d given Ava his card, he’d hoped to hear from her. But as weeks turned to months with no word from her, he’d categorized
their encounter as what it was: a one-night stand, nothing more.
Just because he caught himself thinking of her at odd times didn’t mean she was thinking of him too. Sipping rum made him remember the taste of her lips. And when he was lying in bed at night, trying to shut his brain off, he’d recall the look of sheer delight on her face when she’d dipped her feet into the pool.
He’d hoped that she was okay, wherever she was.
And now, a message, out of the blue.
Typing furtively, he added her number to his contacts and wrote back, “Happy New Year. And yes.”
But a thought occurred to him, and he paused before hitting send.
Why now?
When they’d parted, Ava seemed sure that they’d never see each other again. So what had changed?
Not only that, he wasn’t actually free. It was Friday afternoon, and his schedule for the rest of the day was packed with meetings, calls, and appointments.
He could cancel or reschedule most, but the GQ interview was key to boosting Casa Donato’s summer sales, and the Shark Tank dinner had taken months to coordinate. Plus, he’d bailed on his last three PT sessions, and his lower back was extremely
unhappy about it.
Roman glanced at his unsent reply.
His body screamed at him to say yes.
His brain was like what the fuck are you doing .
His soul begged him to take a night off.
In the end, curiosity won out. He desperately wanted to know what had made Ava reach out after all this time.
Promising his lumbar vertebrae that he’d stretch tomorrow, he pressed send.
“Mr. Vázquez?”
Roman glanced up. A conference room full of people gazed at him expectantly, like...
Fuck. Like he was their boss .
And as their boss, he was supposed to have been paying attention. Not responding to booty calls.
Roman bit back a frustrated sigh. He should’ve invested in cloning technology back when he was in his twenties instead of
a gamified language learning site. Between the hotels, the distillery, and now the book, he was drowning in work.
If he had clones, one could handle the Dulce expansion into Asia, another could take meetings about Casa Donato’s distribution
channels, and he could lock another one in a room and not let it out until it had a finished manuscript.
And one could be here arguing about the latest DEI statement.
“Publish it as is.” Roman got to his feet before the PR manager could argue. “Sorry to cut the meeting short, but an emergency
has come up. I’m sure no one’s sad about ending a little early on a Friday afternoon.”
There was light laughter as everyone started to pack up. To Roman’s right, his assistant, Camille Price, collected her things
without a word. Roman took his tablet and left the conference room with Camille at his side.
She was a tall Black woman with shoulder-length locs and luminous umber skin. In their many years of working together, Camille
had revealed a penchant for pairing brightly colored pantsuits with sensible shoes, and an uncanny knack for sussing out bullshit.
That last trait was about to bite Roman on the ass.
“An emergency?” Camille spoke in a hushed tone as they hurried down the hallway. “Is everyone okay?”
Camille scheduled every second of every day of Roman’s life. She knew that any emergency likely involved his mother or sister.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her the truth so she wouldn’t worry, but he found he didn’t want to tell Camille about Ava. Maybe it was because dropping everything to meet with a woman was not a normal thing for him. In fact, claiming an assignation counted as an “emergency” was so out of the norm, Camille would probably
insist on making an appointment with his doctor.
“Everyone’s fine,” he assured her. “There’s just something I have to do.”
Camille raised her eyebrows at his vague excuse. Her expression said, I’m going to let this drop... for now . She just pulled up his calendar on her phone as they walked. “I assume you’ve already seen what you have on tap for the
rest of the day. Do you want me to cancel or reschedule?”
“Cancel the marketing meeting, reschedule everything else.”
“Should I mark anything down in your calendar for tonight?” Her tone was cagey, digging for information.
He could say he was having dinner with a friend, but Camille scheduled those too, so it would be weird if he refused to tell
her the supposed friend’s name. And if he said he was going on a date, he’d never hear the end of it. “No. Thank you.”
“Where are you headed now?” When he eyed her, she sent him a perfectly innocent smile. “So I know where to have the car take
you.”
“Home,” he said. He wouldn’t be staying there, but it didn’t matter. Camille could trace his phone, and she always knew where
he was. When she looked—and he was sure she would—she’d see that he was at one of his hotels overnight, and she’d probably
guess what was going on.
They’d cross that bridge when they came to it.
Camille gave him a long look but didn’t ask any more questions. She tapped away at her phone, starting the process of rearranging Roman’s commitments.
All so he could see Ava.
At the elevators, Roman paused Camille before she could make a call.
“After this, take the rest of the night off,” he told her. “Completely. No calls, no texts, no emails. Do something nice with
your family and charge it.”
Her eyebrows rose. Now she definitely knew he was up to something, but she wasn’t going to ask. Not now, anyway. She’d enjoy
the time off and drag it out of him later.
Ava had texted him for a reason. And he wanted to know why.
More than that, he wanted to see her again. Immediately.
A black SUV was waiting at the curb when he and Camille got downstairs. Once they climbed inside, Roman texted Ava back.
Roman: Meet me at the Dulce Flor in Times Square tonight.
Ava: The hotel?
Roman: MY hotel. I’ll send a car for you.
Ava: You don’t have to do that. I can take the train.
Roman made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat and didn’t miss Camille’s curious look. She was on the phone with GQ , rescheduling his interview and promising them more time with him.
He typed back quickly.
Roman: PLEASE let me send a car for you.
Ava: But there will be traffic!
Roman: Are you overthinking this?
Ava: Yes...
Roman: You don’t need to. Not with me.
Two full minutes passed, during which Roman quietly freaked out, thinking she was going to tell him to forget it. But then
his phone buzzed and her reply appeared.
Ava: Okay.
The relief was intense. He asked where to send the car, and the address she gave was in the Bronx.
Camille did a lot for him, but Roman could at least schedule a car to pick up Ava. He sent a text to the service he used,
then got out of the SUV at his building, directing his driver to take Camille to her home in Queens. Then he went upstairs
to get ready for his night with Ava.