7. Dash
CHAPTER SEVEN
DASH
Dash Benning whipped his car into his assigned parking space, narrowly missing a concrete pillar.
He popped the trunk—the Texan in him refused to call it a boot, even on British soil—and quickly gathered an array of bags from shops all over London.
An upscale cheese shop. A little patisserie.
His favorite spirit shop. Candles from Jo Malone.
He'd run himself ragged, but she was worth every step.
Now the million-dollar question: Would she show?
He hustled through a mental checklist with a pace that matched his stride across the underground garage.
Wine in the chiller. Find the fireplace remote.
Cue up another country playlist. Arms full, he struggled for a moment at the elevator keypad.
After three attempts and several expletives, he found success.
As the elevator climbed, so did a certain degree of nervousness.
"Honey, I'm home!" he called out, stepping into his foyer.
His hopeful greeting bounced off the polished marble floor, unanswered.
I beat her here. Thank God.
He went straight to work, unloading his gourmet haul in the kitchen.
He pulled a bottle of wine from a brown paper bag and checked the label again.
She’d mentioned the brand early in their conversation and he couldn’t wait to surprise her.
A quick sweep of the apartment confirmed everything in its place.
His maid service had delivered, and the entire apartment sparkled.
Halfway down the hall his nose registered that one all-important delivery had been made. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket as he stepped into his bedroom and called Colt.
"Don’t tell me they sent the wrong flowers. I made the delivery guys swear they were gardenias. Hell, I wouldn't know a tulip from a cactus,” his stepbrother answered on the first ring.
"Oh, they're gardenias all right." Dash grinned, amazed at the sheer number of bouquets. "Looks like the Rose Bowl Parade in here."
"You said go all out.”
"That I did. Thanks for helping me out with the order, Colt."
"No problemo. What time is she supposed to show?"
"Could be any second now … or not at all."
“Well, you’ve never been afraid to go all in. Sounds like from everything you told me about last night, the odds are in your favor.”
“I’d sure love to see her again, I know that.”
"Holler when the coast is clear," Colt said.
“Will do. And thanks again for making yourself scarce and giving us the place to ourselves. I know packing up and heading to a hotel is the last thing you wanted to do after flying back today. I owe you one.”
“You owe me two. Maybe three.” Colt snorted. “I wanna meet this lady at some point. You’ve never jumped through this many hoops for a woman before. Not since Alexa.”
Dash ignored the jab about his ex-girlfriend. “Let’s shoot for brunch at your hotel tomorrow morning. Where’d you end up?”
"I'm kicked back in a swanky suite at The Savoy. And I’ll be sending you the bill.”
Dash laughed. “It’s one I’m happy to pay.”
He ended the call and finished his remaining tasks, his ears pricked and listening for the sound of the elevator.
He didn’t know her exact departure time or destination, only that she had a late afternoon flight.
He’d checked every direct flight to the States and landed on the most logical: a Delta flight to Atlanta at 5:50.
With every fiber of his being, he hoped she wouldn’t be on it.
He parked on the couch, his gaze drifting to the Thames.
His mind settled into the warm spot she’d created, starting with the drive back to his place.
The silence. The seductive finger rubbing.
The anticipation humming between them. He'd shared nights with other women, but never had one captured him so completely.
The image of her wrapped in his robe after the hottest sex of his life jumped to the front of the line. But it went way beyond sex. Something in her autumn-hued eyes had hooked him. Her wit. Her laugh. Her tenderness. All things Amelia Earhart, from A to Z.
One night with her and he'd fallen. Hard. So hard that his mind wandered along paths it hadn’t touched since Alexa. Back when proposals, marriage, and children were on the horizon, or so he’d thought.
Thanks a lot, Colt.
Dash crossed to the bar cart and poured half a glass of Scotch. He took a sip, recalling the moment she’d down his drink at the club and the prideful smirk that followed—one that couldn’t hide the burn in her throat. It made him smile.
He reached into the ice bucket, but found a pool of water instead. Wiping his hand on his pant leg, he headed to the kitchen. He dumped the water from the bucket in the sink, then opened the freezer. What he found on the second shelf stopped his body cold.
His note … sitting atop a pint of coffee-flavored ice cream.
His insides turned to steel, one hand still holding fast to the freezer door handle.
Sonofabitch! She was here!
Amelia was here… and I missed her!
Dash snatched the note and read her words, hearing her voice in every beautiful, heartbreaking line.
My dearest Mr. Crown,
From the boot repair, to my hotel bill, to chauffeur service, and the gorgeous gardenias—you’ve gone above and beyond to make me feel special. You are a true southern gentleman in every sense.
I’m sorry we missed having one final in-person goodbye. You made my last night in London magical, and for that I’m forever grateful.
I hope life gives you everything you want, including plenty of this. You deserve it.
Always,
Amelia Earhart
“Fuck.”
His mind spun into crisis mode.
Call the chauffeur service. Ask if she signed anything. Have her paged at the airport. Say it’s an emergency.
The alarm on the freezer beeped, pulling him back to more coherent thoughts.
Right. Like Heathrow’s going to page Amelia Earhart. Might as well ask if they have Prince Albert in a can.
Dash shut the freezer door and shuffled back into the living room, his quest for fresh ice forgotten.
He topped off his glass, grabbed the stereo remote, and flopped back down on the sofa.
He queued up a string of classic country drinking songs.
Waylon. Merle. Some Gary Stewart, just for good measure.
Why the hell didn’t I take a photo of her?
Eyes closed, he forced every detail into memory. Her heart-shaped face. Full lips. Wide-set hazel eyes. Creamy skin dotted with delicious cinnamon-colored freckles that matched her hair. Oh, that hair.
Lock it all in, son, because it’s all you’ve got. She’ll never be as clear in your mind as she is at this moment.
Damn, Amelia. I would have given you everything … and more.
His phone lit up with a text.
Colt: Hate to interrupt, but I forgot my laptop. Could you run it down to the desk? I’ll swing by to pick it up.
Dash called him right back.
“Hey, if now isn’t a good time,” Colt answered.
“No, it’s fine. Tonight’s not happening.”
“Don’t tell me she’s allergic to gardenias.”
“She’s not coming. Well, she did and I missed her.”
“How do you know?”
“She left a note.”
But she took my heart. And my hopes for a future with her in it.
“Sonofabitch,” Colt muttered.
“My first thought exactly. You might as well come on back.”
“You couldn’t have missed her by much though. You should ask Peter to check the security cameras.”
The cameras! Yes! Why the hell didn’t I think of that?
Dash sat bolt upright. “Colt, you’re a genius.”
“I know. Our company makes a lot of money. And it's not because of your looks.”
“Are you saying if I shared your blood, I’d be prettier?”
“I’m saying that when people meet stepbrothers like us, they refer to me as the hot one.”
This made Dash laugh. “Whatever you say, Mr. Hendricks.”
"Seriously, sorry that tonight’s a bust."
"Yeah, well, it was a stupid idea. She was firm this morning that she was leaving. It’s just… after last night …"
"Even Babe Ruth struck out sometimes."
Dash sighed. "It’s deeper than that."
“Damn. She really got to you. What about the stopwatch? Your one-night-only rule?”
“Naw, this woman’s nothing like Alexa.”
Forget the rule. That was strictly damage control after Alexa’s betrayal.
I’d give Amelia all my nights.
“You mean she’s not a boastful, prissy, backstabbing snot?” Colt asked.
“She’s the polar opposite. This woman is savvy. Classy. There’s honesty about her. I don’t know how to describe it. She’s …” Dash searched for the right word. “She’s real—with real dreams and goals for herself. I told you she’s starting a company, right?”
“You mentioned it.”
Let’s be honest. That’s a huge part of her appeal.
She’s looking to make a name for herself … and doesn’t need me. Or my money.
But man, I sure wish she did.
“If she walked in right now, I’d hurl the stopwatch into the Thames. I’d finance all her dreams. Hell, I might even drop down on one knee.”
“Dude, you’re not serious. One night and she put a spell on you.”
“I’ve never made a connection like this with anyone—and I’m not talking about in the physical sense. She said she felt the same way, but—”
Colt stopped him. "Hey, you know how the sea works, right? Stocked plumb full of fish.”
"So I’ve heard. Why do we always want the one that gets away?"
"Because humans thrive on the chase. It's in our DNA."
Yeah, but I wasn't ready for this chase to end.
“But there is one good thing that’s come out of your little tryst,” Colt added.
“What’s that?” Dash asked.
“You learned you can let your guard down.”
He mulled Colt’s statement over for a minute.
The moment he’d caught Alexa stealing documents related to a new technology his energy company had developed, he’d pumped his heart full of concrete.
Sealed up for good. He hadn’t trusted another woman since.
Not for more than twenty-four hours, that is.
Colt continued, “This woman gave you a real gift, so don’t mourn. File last night under 'And a Good Time Was Had by All' and savor the memory."
Dash agreed, then veered the conversation in a different direction. They talked shop for a while, right up until Colt yawned a second time.
“I’m whipped. Forget about the laptop. I’m not moving a muscle from this room. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. And Colt … thanks.”
The call ended. Dash stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts turning cinematic as he directed a number of good-bye scenarios that might have played out.
Thoughts of lingering kisses. Some on her mouth, some on other parts of her body.
Long embraces. Some clothed, some not. Hearing that infectious laugh of hers.
But more than anything, finding out her real name.
Speaking of …
Dash called the chauffeur service, but it yielded nothing. Her name would remain a mystery. He called down to reception.
“Ambassador Tower, this is Peter,” a man answered, his voice professional.
“Hey, Pete, it’s Dash Benning.”
“Good afternoon, sir. How may I assist you?”
“I had a guest here earlier—a woman, red hair, who keyed in with my code. You wouldn’t happen to know what time she left, would you?”
“Ah, yes, I do recall seeing her. She was only here for about ten minutes.”
“Do you know what time that would have been? There are records of who keys in and out of the building, right? Timestamps?”
“Yes, sir. I would check, but our system was down for a short time earlier. Access was still available, but keypad activity wasn’t logged for close to an hour. Security cameras were down as well. The systems work in tandem, you see.”
“So, no footage at all?”
“I’m afraid not. But I do recall seeing her. I was working on the problem with a couple of gents at my computer terminal when she entered. I’m sorry I can’t give you a specific time. Perhaps the gentlemen who were assisting me might be able to—”
Damn! I probably missed her by minutes. Might as well be centuries.
“No, no, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” he said, his words more encouraging than his tone.
“I’d like to reassure you this lapse in security has been fully remedied.”
“Like we say back home: shit happens.”
“It most certainly does, and we appreciate your understanding, Mr. Benning. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”
“No, Pete. That’ll do it. Have a good evening.”
“You as well, sir.”
Well, shit. So much for trying to get those dogs to hunt.
Dash read her note again, mining for any hidden meanings he might have missed. A clue of some kind. The tiniest hint of her identity, her destination. He found none.
Time to let it go.
Colt’s right. This woman gave you exactly what you needed. You’ve been in perpetual flatline for two years and she restarted your heart.
And if she can do it, then surely there’s another woman out there who can, too.
You’re thirty-nine years old, Dash Benning. You swore you’d be settled by forty.
Maybe now’s the time to change the purpose of that old stopwatch.
Take the ladies off the clock …and put yourself on it.