Chapter 5
DASH
Istudied her across the table, trying to figure out what angle to work. The direct approach clearly wasn’t going to cut it. She was obviously immune to my charms. I didn’t want to dislike her—but I did.
“Look,” I said, leaning forward. “I appreciate that my brothers hired you. I’m sure you’re very good at whatever it is you do. But I don’t need help. I’ve been running logistics for Blackwell Couture for years. I know what I’m doing.”
“Your track record suggests otherwise.”
“My track record is just fine.”
“Except for the last two weeks.”
I waved that off. “A minor blip. I was busy.”
“With what? Charming your way through every bed in the greater New York area?”
“Now that’s a lofty goal.”
She didn’t even crack a smile. “Right. Very dedicated of you.”
“I’m serious. I don’t need a babysitter. Especially one who wears cargo pants.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Excuse me?”
“Cargo pants.” I gestured at her legs. “What, are you going on a safari? This is Greece. It’s summer. You’re working for a fashion company. And you’re wearing pants with thirty pockets. Who in the hell needs thirty pockets?”
“These pants are practical.”
“They’re a crime against fashion.”
“Good thing I’m not here to model your clothes then.”
“You could at least try to blend in. Look around.” I swept my hand toward the lobby. “Everyone here looks like they belong in a magazine. And you look like you’re about to tromp off into the outback for a month.”
“I’m not here to look pretty for you, Mr. Blackwell.”
“It’s Dash. And I’m just saying, you’ve got curves that most women would kill for, and you’re hiding them in military surplus.”
Her eyes narrowed. “My curves are none of your business. Stop looking at my curves.”
Did she honestly believe that tight tank top hid anything?
“You’re representing my family’s company. We’re all expected to look a certain way.”
“I’m not representing anything. I’m managing logistics. Behind the scenes. Where no one sees me.”
“Still.” I couldn’t help myself. The pants were genuinely offensive. “How many pockets do you even need? What are you carrying in there? Weapons? Recording devices?”
She smiled then, slow and dangerous. “Actually, yes. These pockets are perfect for tasers and bear spray. Very effective at keeping egomaniac dickwads like you at a safe distance.”
I laughed. Couldn’t help it. The woman had fire. I liked that. Hated the pants, but the spicy personality was definitely working for me.
“Okay, points for that one.”
“I’m not trying to score points with you. I don’t give a shit if you like me, Mr. Blackwell. We both have jobs to do.”
“You’re trying to babysit me. Which I don’t need.”
“Your family disagrees.”
“My family is being dramatic. I missed a few calls. Big deal.”
“Apparently it is.”
Krista leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. The movement made her tank top stretch across her chest. It was extremely distracting. I forced my eyes back to her face and found her watching me check out her boobs.
I wasn’t even going to try and apologize.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” she said. “I’m going to shadow you for the next three weeks. You’re going to cooperate. And at the end of it, your family’s campaign will be a success, and I’ll go back to my job. And you and me, we’ll never see each other again.”
“Or,” I countered, “you could just tell Adrian everything’s fine and enjoy a paid vacation in Greece. Hit the beaches. See the sights. Eat some baklava. I’ll handle my job, you pretend to handle me, everyone’s happy.”
“Not happening.”
“Why not? You’d still get paid.”
“Because I don’t take money for work I didn’t do.”
“Wow. Integrity. How refreshing.”
“Is that a foreign concept to you?”
“I have integrity,” I said unable to hide my scowl.
I grabbed the mimosa and took a long drink, trying to figure out my next move. She wasn’t budging. And something about the way she sat there, completely unimpressed by me, made me want to crack that professional exterior.
“So what did you do?” I asked. “In the military.”
“That’s classified.”
“Come on. You can tell me. What were you? A cook? Did you shine shoes?”
I was trying to get a rise out of her. It wasn’t working. She just smiled at me, that same dangerous smile from before.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I would, actually. It’s relevant. I need to know if you’re qualified for this job.”
“I’m qualified.”
“Says who?”
“Says your brother, who hired me.”
And that hit. My fucking brother went behind my back and hired a babysitter. Bullshit.
“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” I muttered.
She leaned forward, her dark eyes locked on mine. “Play along and this works fine.”
“Fine,” I said. “You can shadow me. But I’m not changing how I work.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“And you’re not bossing me around.”
“I’m not here to boss you around. I’m here to make sure you do your job.”
“I always do my job.”
“Eventually. Usually at the last possible second, from what I understand.”
“I work well under pressure.”
“That’s not a positive trait in logistics.”
“It’s worked for me so far.”
“Has it?” She tilted her head. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like your family doesn’t trust you to handle this campaign without supervision.”
That stung. “My family is overreacting.”
“Or you’ve given them good reason not to trust you.”
I took another drink. “You know what? I don’t like you.”
“Good. I’m not here to be liked. I’m here to do a job.”
“Well, congratulations. You’re doing a great job of being completely unlikeable.”
“Thank you.”
She wasn’t even fazed. It was infuriating.
“So what now?” I asked. “You follow me around all day? Watch me work? Make sure I don’t have any fun?”
“Essentially, yes.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“For you, maybe. I’m getting paid very well.”
I studied her across the table. She just sat there, hands folded on the table, back straight.
“You really were military, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What branch?”
“Does it matter?”
“I’m very charming.”
“You’re very something.”
“I grow on people.”
“So does fungus. Can we please go over the campaign? I’ve got it on my phone, but I also have hard copies if we need it.”
“I know the campaign.”
She ignored me. “Let’s go through it.”
I wrapped my lips around my straw and sipped while watching her. She glanced up once, caught me staring, and shook her head.
“Athens first,” she said. “Campaign launch event.” She looked up. “Have you spoken to the venue coordinator this week?”
“I’ve been traveling.”
“Yes or no?”
“I sent an email.” I leaned back. “Can I ask you something?”
“No.”
“The pants.”
She didn’t look up from the screen. “What about them?”
“We’re in Greece. We’re doing a fashion campaign. You’re making us look bad.”
“Corfu. Content shoot. Three days, fourteen models, two influencer partnerships, a full video production crew, and a photography team.”
“Corfu is fine,” I said. “Corfu is models on a beach. That’s not a logistics problem, that’s a Tuesday.
And before you say it, Mykonos is fine. That’s the talent appreciation weekend.
We send the models and influencers there as a thank you, and they enjoy the hospitality on the Blackwell dime.
Everybody shows up happy and rested for Santorini.
It’s a party. It runs itself. We don’t have to be there. ”
“We’ll see,” she said. “Santorini. Runway show and line reveal. This is the one that matters. The big one. I was told very clearly this was the one that deserved most of the attention. I want to confirm our travel so we have people on the ground at each location. Not at a distance. On site.”
“People,” I said. “You mean us.”
“I mean us.”
“Together.”
“That is typically what ‘us’ implies, yes.”
I stared at her, waiting for her to look away. She didn’t. I got the sense she could do this indefinitely.
“I can handle this,” I said. “Without you shadowing me across four cities. I know what I’m doing.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Because my brother is dramatic. Paranoid. Boring.”
“I wasn’t hired by just your brother.”
I frowned. “What?”
“Adrian contacted me first, yes. But the contract was signed by Adrian and Briggs.” She paused. “Both of them.”
It felt like I had been slapped. “Both.”
“Yep.”
“They’ve been talking about me,” I said.
“They’re concerned about the campaign.”
“They’ve been talking about me behind my back. And that’s why you think I’m a failure.”
“I didn’t say you were a failure,” she said.
“You didn’t have to. It’s in your eyes.” I pointed to the phone in her hand. “And in there. You’ve got me micromanaged to the last minute of the day, don’t you?”
“No. I’ve got a schedule and I’m expecting you to keep to it. I’ll be there to remind you.”
She tried to phrase it like it wasn’t what it was. My warden. Those dark, assessing eyes that had intrigued me days ago were locked on me. That gaze made me feel small. Judged. And I hated it.
“Well, this is going to be a lot of fun, but if you’ll excuse me, I have dessert waiting for me.”
She was completely unbothered. “Enjoy your dessert,” she said as she got to her feet.
She walked away without looking back. She was not a woman that was ever going to fall for my charms. I wasn’t sure she would ever fall for any man’s charms.
I stared at the lobby elevator doors after they’d closed behind her.
Krista was going to be a pain in my ass.
I threw down some money and got up. Tomorrow was going to be hell. Torturous.
And I had my family to thank for it. That was the part that stung the most.