I wrinkled my nose, my stomach dropping. “Is that tobacco?”
He shook his head. “Cannabis.”
“Nope!” I jerked to my feet, tipping Abernathy onto the floor. He made a strangled yowling sound and scuttled into a kitty igloo under the desk. “You might be a hot swimmer-bod Clark Kent with his own yacht and have the cutest blush I’ve ever seen … but I draw the line at drugs.”
He raised an eyebrow. “It’s a cannabis vape. It’s not like I pulled out a crack pipe and offered it to you.”
Disgust and panic crept their way up my throat. “It’s not legal!” was the first thing I could think of to blurt out that would make any sense to him.
“It is if you have a prescription.”
I snapped my jaw shut so fast my teeth clacked together. “Are you dying? That’s the only reason it’s legal, isn’t it? Like, if you have cancer, or …”
The befuddled look on his face was so annoyingly adorable, because right at that moment, with my emotions churning, I couldn’t enjoy it the way it deserved. “No, I’m not dying, as far as I’m aware … although, I suppose we’re all dying, aren’t we? Life’s just a meander towards death at the end of the day.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “This is far too deep a conversation for me to be having without any panties on, in the bedroom of a rich drug user who I don’t even know the name of!”
He stood, reaching out a hand towards me. “I’m Henry Baxter. And no, I’m not dying. I suffer from anxiety. I medicate with prescription cannabis. And this whole thing—” He waved his other hand up at the ceiling— “is making me very, very anxious.”
There was something in the earnest expression on his face, in the honesty in his words, that calmed the storm inside me. I reached out and shook his hand. His warm fingers clasped mine and squeezed gently. And then he released me and took a seat once more, and the contact felt too brief.
“Well, I suppose that since it’s not illegal … I don’t need to get on my hot horse about it.”
He paused mid-way through picking up the vape. “Yourhothorse?”
I waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “You know what I mean. English is not my first language—your silly little sayings get confusing sometimes.” A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth, and my stomach erupted into butterflies.
“Do you mind if I partake?” he asked, tilting the vape in my direction. I shrugged, ignoring the swirling in my stomach. It wasn’t an illegal drug. It was a medication. A measured dose of an approved substance. Not hard drugs cut with fuck knew what …
He put the vape between his lips and took a long pull, closing his eyes. I found myself mesmerised by him. There was a tightness in his face that I noticed now that I was staring unashamedly at him. He reallywasanxious.
“Why did you agree to host a huge party when you clearly find parties stressful?” I blurted.
He opened his eyes, the emerald of them meeting mine for just a fraction of a second before he glanced towards the window behind his desk, leaned over and cracked it open. The sounds of the party above hit me with renewed clarity. Henry blew out the vapour into the night air.
Well, that was considerate of him.
“I have a very persuasive business partner,” he muttered, taking another pull on his vape. He shrugged, massaging his knee almost compulsively. “It’s just one night … and the appshouldbe celebrated.” He paused, glancing at me fleetingly. “A not-insignificant role in this party happening was played by you, you know.”
Huh?
“Me?”
He nodded. “Your viral posts brought us a surge in subscribers. And the party is—primarily at least—a celebration of reaching the three hundred million milestone.”
I frowned. “You … you know who I am?”
He barked out a quick laugh. “I do, Irina.”
The way he said my name, in that quiet, thoughtful tone, had heat flashing across every inch of me.
“How?”
He shrugged, setting his vape aside. “Tickle is my app. I developed it, and one of the perks inherent with my position is access to all the back-end data.”
So, not only was this guy rich, gorgeous and adorable, but he was smart too?
I folded my hands over my chest, raising an eyebrow. “I want to make a dirty joke about back-end access, but I’m kind of stuck on the fact that you stalked me.” The thought should have worried me, I supposed, given my slightly less-than-legal-residency predicament, but I couldn’t dredge up any emotion other than amusement. But the way his face paled made me think that he’d misinterpreted my teasing.
