Page 30 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

“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?”