Chapter 14
KRISTA
Iwoke up to silence and the feeling of being alone. The wall of pillows I’d constructed remained mostly intact, though a few had fallen on me. Dash’s side of the bed was a disaster, with sheets tangled and pillows askew. Maybe he actually was a restless sleeper.
But he wasn’t there.
I sat up straight and felt that familiar fear and dread. Did I oversleep? Did he let me oversleep? I never slept that hard. How did I miss him getting up.
I checked my phone. Six-thirty. The car was scheduled for seven. “Shit!”
I hopped out of bed and walked into the living room. He wasn’t there, either. I checked the bathroom. It was empty but he’d been there. His toiletries were scattered across the counter in a way that made my organized soul twitch.
Where the hell was he?
I showered quickly, pulled my hair back into its usual ponytail, and dressed in khaki shorts and a white tank top.
Practical. Comfortable. Appropriate for a beach shoot where I’d be running around making sure everything stayed on schedule.
I grabbed my phone and my bag, checked the time again.
Maybe he went down to get breakfast. I would never hear the end of it if he was up and ready before I was.
Whatever. I was jet lagged and exhausted after chasing his ass around. I headed down to the lobby. The driver was waiting, leaning against a sleek black sedan. He straightened when he saw me.
“Good morning, Miss Hedley. Ready to go?”
I scanned the lobby. No sign of Dash. “Can you wait a few minutes? My colleague should be here any second.”
The driver nodded and I pulled out my phone, shooting off a text to Dash.
Where are you? Car is waiting.
No response.
I tried calling. It went straight to voicemail.
Seven o’clock came and went.
My jaw clenched while that familiar frustration built in my chest like thorny brambles.
Last night had been nice. Really nice. I’d seen a different side of him.
And I’d stupidly let myself think maybe, just maybe, he was turning a corner.
We talked about the schedule. And I had him to bed at a decent hour.
Did he get up and sneak out to a club in the middle of the night?
It was my fault. The wine. I never drank more than a glass and last night I had three.
I didn’t get drunk, but it had relaxed me and I passed out hard.
Again, I was blaming the jet lag. I failed.
I let down Adrian. How in the hell did I lose the man again?
I was going to stick a tracker on his ass—literally.
A tracker or a leash. If people could do it for their dogs, I could do it to him.
And I was going to handcuff us together tonight. He was not getting away from me.
And oh my God. Why did I go straight to handcuffs in bed?
“I’m so sorry,” I said to the driver. “Just a few more minutes.”
He nodded again. He looked like this was normal, which given his line of work, I supposed it was. He catered to rich people. He knew they ran on their own timeline.
I was about to call Dash again when I saw him strolling through the lobby like he had all the time in the world, wearing a linen set that somehow looked both casual and expensive. He was carrying a tray of coffee cups and a bag that smelled like fresh pastries.
He grinned when he saw me. Actually grinned, like he was proud of himself.
“Morning, Captain,” he said cheerfully. “Got us breakfast.”
I stared at him. “You’re late.”
“I’m fifteen minutes late. And I brought coffee.” He held up the tray like it was some kind of peace offering. “The good kind. Not that hotel lobby garbage.”
“We were supposed to leave at seven.”
“And now we’re leaving at seven-fifteen. The world hasn’t ended.” He handed me a cup. “Relax. Have some coffee.”
I took the cup because I needed caffeine, not because I was accepting his apology. Which he hadn’t actually given.
“Let’s go,” I said, turning toward the car.
Dash followed, still looking entirely too pleased with himself.
The driver opened the door and we climbed in.
The car pulled away from the hotel and started along the coastline.
Under different circumstances, I would have appreciated the view.
The water sparkled in the morning sun. It almost hurt to look at the beauty.
I wanted to take a picture and send it to my dad, but I refrained.
I’d sneak a few shots when we were at the location.
I was still irritated at the man sitting next to me, even if the coffee was perfect. Strong but still tasty as hell.
“You’re mad,” Dash said between sips of coffee.
“I’m not mad.”
“I can feel the rage radiating off you.”
I let out a breath. “I’m not mad. I’m annoyed.”
“What’s the difference?”
I turned to look at him. “Mad implies I care. Annoyed implies you’re a minor inconvenience.”
He laughed. “Ouch.”
“We had a schedule, Dash. Seven a.m. You knew that. We talked about it last night. You literally confirmed it before we went to sleep.”
“And I was only fifteen minutes late. That’s practically on time.”
“No, it’s fifteen minutes late. That’s literally the definition of late.”
“I got coffee,” he said again, like that somehow made up for everything.
I took a breath, trying to channel some of that calm I’d felt last night on the balcony. It didn’t work. The calm was gone, replaced by the frustration that seemed to follow Dash Blackwell around like a cloud.
We’d had a nice evening. I’d let my guard down, told him about my mother, laughed at his jokes.
And I’d gone to bed thinking maybe we could actually work together without me wanting to strangle him every five minutes.
But nothing had changed. He was still the same irresponsible, charming, infuriating man I’d been hired to wrangle.
The drive took about forty minutes, winding along the coast until we reached a stretch of beach that had been transformed into a production zone.
Tents, equipment, and people. It looked like a small city had sprouted from the sand.
Crew members were everywhere, all wearing badges and carrying equipment.
Several had vlogging cameras, filming themselves as they walked around.
Influencers. Of course. If something wasn’t documented on social media, it might as well not even happen.
I spotted the management tent and headed toward it. Dash trailed behind me like we were on a casual Sunday stroll instead of arriving at work. His long legs kept up with me easily.
Before we even reached the tent, I could hear raised voices. I inwardly groaned. More problems. I glanced over my shoulder and glared at Dash.
“What?” he asked. “I just got here. I know as much as you do.”
At least fifteen people were crowded into the space. Models, photographers, production assistants, all talking over each other. The energy was hostile. A tall blonde model I recognized from yesterday’s shoot was standing with her arms crossed, her face flushed with anger.
“I’m not putting on a single piece until I see money in my account,” she said loudly.
“Same,” another model chimed in. “We were supposed to be paid yesterday.”
A photographer stepped forward. “My crew hasn’t been paid either. We’ve been working on promises for two days now.”
This couldn’t be happening. Not on top of everything else. The one thing guaranteed to upset everyone across the board was to mess with their money.
The production coordinator was trying to calm everyone down. “I understand your frustration, but I don’t have access to the payment system. I’ve been trying to reach Mr. Blackwell. He’ll be here soon.”
“We don’t care who you’ve been trying to reach,” a makeup artist interrupted. “We care about getting paid. Some of us have bills. Some of us turned down other jobs to be here.”
I turned slowly to look at Dash, who had gone very still beside me. He looked guilty. And embarrassed.
“Dash,” I said quietly, my voice deadly calm. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”
He didn’t answer immediately, which told me everything I needed to know.
“The payments,” I continued, each word precisely enunciated. “You were supposed to process them two days ago.”
“I’ll handle it,” he said, already pulling out his phone.
“You’ll handle it?” I repeated. “You’ll handle it now? After an entire crew has staged a revolt?”
He ignored me and raised his voice to address the room. “Everyone, listen up. I apologize for the delay. There was a processing issue on our end, but I’m going to take care of it right now. If you have Venmo, pull up your barcodes.”
I watched in disbelief as people started fumbling for their phones. Was he serious? Was he actually planning to Venmo an entire production crew? Who had that kind of money?
Dash did. He was a billionaire. Only he would ignore things like accounting and payroll and pay people from what I assumed was his private account. Thank God I wasn’t his financial advisor.
“Actually,” Dash said, flashing that charming smile to the gathered crowd. “I’m going to add a bonus for the inconvenience. Twenty percent on top of your contracted rate.”
That got their attention. The angry murmurs shifted to surprised whispers.
Dash started moving through the crowd, scanning QR codes with his phone. I saw the notifications lighting up screens around the tent. People were checking their accounts, their expressions shifting from anger to shock to excitement.
“There you go,” Dash said to the blonde model, showing her his screen. “Paid in full, plus twenty percent.”
She blinked at her phone, then looked up at him. “Well, okay. Thank you.”
“No, thank you for your patience.” He moved to the next person. Scan. Send. Move on.
It took him maybe ten minutes to work through everyone in the tent. By the time he was done, the mood had completely shifted. People were smiling, thanking him, some even apologizing for getting upset.
“Alright,” Dash said, clapping his hands together. “Crisis averted. Let’s get to work, people. We’ve got a beach to shoot.”
The tent emptied quickly, everyone heading off to their respective stations. The production manager looked like she might cry from relief.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, watching Dash pocket his phone with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“See?” he said, turning to me. “Handled.”
Something ugly twisted in my chest. Not admiration. Not relief. Disgust.
“You think that was impressive?” I asked.
His smile faltered slightly. “I know it was. I solved the problem.”
“You threw money at your mistake,” I corrected. “That’s not solving a problem. That’s buying your way out of consequences.”
“They got paid. They’re happy. What’s the issue?”
“The issue is that you let it get to this point in the first place!” My voice rose despite my best efforts to stay calm.
“Paying people is literally the bare minimum, Dash. It’s the most basic part of running a production.
You don’t get a gold star for eventually doing what you should have done two days ago. ”
“I added a bonus to make up for it. “
“You bought them off. You can afford to because you’re a billionaire!” I stepped closer to him, my hands clenched at my sides. “You think that makes you some kind of hero? You’re not. You’re just a rich guy who can throw money at problems instead of actually preventing them.”
His jaw tightened. “I handled it.”
“No, you reacted to it. There’s a difference.
” I could feel the heat in my face, the frustration that had been building since Athens finally boiling over.
“This is exactly what your family was worried about. This is why they hired me. Because you operate in crisis mode. You wait until everything is on fire and then you play the hero who puts it out.”
“Better than letting it burn,” he shot back.
“How about not letting it catch fire in the first place?” I wanted to shake him.
“Do you have any idea how unprofessional this is? These people showed up to work, ready to do their jobs, and you couldn’t be bothered to make sure they got paid on time.
That’s not just careless, Dash. It’s disrespectful. ”
“You’re just mad that you didn’t get to be the hero of the day.”
I slapped my hand to my forehead. “I don’t want to be the hero of the day. That’s why I plan ahead. I plan and then I execute. You’re a fucking disaster.”