Chapter 3 #3
He roared out a laugh so loud, it scared off the squirrel that had been stealthily scurrying down the tree trunk behind us.
A few feet away, an older couple on another bench smiled in our direction.
Part of me wanted to go up to them and explain that no, this wasn’t a date, and no, we weren’t two young people in the golden haze of a summer romance, just a potential working relationship that involved social media and dicks. Well, dick, singular. Potentially.
“I mean, you’re not wrong,” Dash said when he recovered. There was an easiness to his grin that felt like… well, like beers and hot dogs on a summer Saturday. Like a picnic blanket that’s just been unfurled over fresh grass and—
Ah, fuck.
I had no choice but to keep digging myself in even deeper, if only to keep that last thought from showing on my too expressive face. “I mean, it’s not like Dashwood isn’t on brand either.”
His groan was threaded through with laughter. “I know, right? I’d have used it as a stage name, if it weren’t so on the nose.”
“And the dashing Duke of Harding isn’t?” I said, snickering.
“It’s kind of unfair that your name is so normal.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of stuff about me worth poking fun at,” I told him. “You’ll find out eventually.”
“I hope I do.”
Honestly, it was pretty rude that a man who looked like he should be cast in bronze had the charisma to say something like that, as he gave me a warm, sparkly-eyed smile, and somehow come off as charming instead of like a total fuckboy.
Banishing away thoughts of beer, hot dogs, picnic blankets, and other summery treats, I pushed a stray curl behind my ear and dug into my bag for the notebook and pen I had stashed inside.
“So I think I gave you a pretty thorough overview of the whole thing by email. Not that there’s all that much to it—basically, I write the scripts and you, uh, dress up as the Duke and perform them.
I have a lot of free time right now, what with being funemployed and all, so I would love to be involved in sourcing the costumes and arranging the set or whatever it takes to, you know, pull the vision together. ”
He nodded. “Sure. I’d appreciate the help. I usually make content in my apartment, so helping me put together a set would involve going all the way up to Hell’s Kit—”
“Shut up,” I blurted out before he had a chance to finish his sentence. “I live in Hell’s Kitchen. Fifty-second and Ninth.”
Dash cracked up again. “Then why’d you have me come all the way down here?”
“I needed to make sure you weren’t a serial killer first,” I replied, shrugging.
“You have no way of knowing I’m not.”
“True, but now I have a strand of your hair in case the police have to comb my corpse for DNA evidence and uh, that got way dark way fast so let’s pretend I didn’t say that.
” I waved a hand in the air, as if to clear the subject from between us.
“So anyway, yes, I will make the huge sacrifice of trekking all the way to your apartment in the same neighborhood as mine. I probably have a couple of things we could use—if you like them, we can plan the rest around that.”
“Sure. The set doesn’t have to be anything fancy; we basically just need a corner and, like, a chair.”
“A nice upholstered chair. And maybe some drapery and a vase of flowers or two,” I added, making a note on my notebook. “We want these videos to be eye-catching and aesthetically appealing.”
He tilted his head like a nineteenth-century coquette. “Are you saying my face isn’t aesthetically appealing enough on its own?”
“Aren’t you a little too beautiful to be fishing for compliments?”
“Let me tell you something, Mariel.” Dash shifted closer, and if I’d been writing a scene for the Duke, I would have described that glint in his eye as wicked.
And the little shiver that went through my body when he dropped his voice to speak in my ear?
Definitely a frisson. “Dukes? We’re just people.
We need adulation and flattery just like anyone else. We need… attention.”
He hadn’t laid a single finger on me, but I felt like I’d just been caressed.
I stared at him in astonishment. “I’m so jealous. If I could do that as well as you can, I would never have to pay for my own drinks again. Maybe not even my rent.”
He grinned, clearly delighted with himself. “I’d be more than happy to buy you a drink or two.”
“Aw, look at you being all gallant in real life.” I gave my watermelon slushy a shake. “I’m definitely up for celebrating this partnership with some frosé. If I’ve managed to convince you that you should go into partnership with me and not run away screaming.”
“I’ll hold off on the running for when it’s less hot.
” Dash took a last swig of his coffee and set the cup down on the few inches of park bench between us.
“There is one other thing I wanted to talk to you about, though. I think that Chase would be a great addition to the project. He’s been wanting to get into content creation for a while.
I haven’t told him about your idea, but if you wanted more people to write scripts for, I know he’ll be into it. ”
“I can see it. You’re the gentleman, he’s the rake. He can be Lord Loving,” I added gleefully.
“Hah! He’ll like that. He’s going to be away for the next few weeks, doing some research for his dissertation, but I’ll shoot him an email.”
I tried to nod in a way that conveyed my enthusiasm but not my desperation. “Please, feel free. I have more than enough ideas for the two of you.” Not to mention, I could really use the money.
We talked through the financials, and even that came together pretty painlessly when Dash agreed that I would get a percentage of all the income generated by the videos, instead of a flat fee for each script.
“There’s just one final thing,” I said, capping my pen as I finished taking notes for the contract I was going to ask Yaz to draw up for us even though I knew exactly how she was going to react when I told her I was doing this for real. “Can you do a British accent?”
He paused for a second, looking thoughtful. Then he said, “You’ll pardon me for being so bold, but I should very much like to be your duke, Lady Mariel,” in a crisp, upper-crust accent that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in a Jane Austen adaptation.
Somehow—who the hell knows how—I managed not to swoon, faint, or scream. I merely grinned at him and held out my hand for him to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.”