Page 27 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

“Got it. Who died?” Kate asked.

“It’s not a funeral. That’s Mr. Crown’s bedroom.”

“What?!”

Natalie gave a rundown of recent events: the note, the driver, the last second decision for one final goodbye—all while keeping a close eye on the line to board her flight. With each detail she shared, tiny seeds of doubt embedded in her judgment. By the time the final boarding call echoed, and Natalie had joined the queue with the remaining passengers, she’d cultivated an entire garden of uncertainty.

“Am I crazy? This guy is nothing but green flags.”

“No human is one hundred percent green flags,” Kate said firmly.

“I don’t know, Kate. This one might be.”

“I’ve never heard you talk like this. Not even about Roman. This guy really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

Natalie forced a smile at the gate agent. "It's not him. It's me. I'm doing a number on myself. A sad, pathetic number. It’s just … after everything that happened with Blaze and Roman …”

"You made the right choice, Nat, because you chose yourself. Your career. Your dreams. The perfect guy will come along when the time is right.”

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.”