Page 51 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

“Well, that’s not exactly hard to do, being young and living abroad.”

“I know. They all had business degrees but didn’t know what the hell they were doing. And I’m not talking shit about my sister. She’ll tell you the same thing. Then they kinda got black-listed when a SWAT team pulled the plug on their most high-profile event.”

Dash coughed, almost choking on his coffee. “SWAT team?”

“Yeah, it was pretty wild. They got hammered on the internet and had to close up shop. She worked her way up at a big firm there, then landed the Chicago job.”

“Good for her.”

“She’s a machine. But I’ll be glad when this party weekend is over. She’s been a little … manic.”

“A bit of a perfectionist?”

“You have no idea.”

Dash paid the bill, reluctant for the night to end. He thought a drive down to Galveston might be nice, to bring the whole Terms of Endearment movie vibe full circle, but rain threatened. Before he could make a suggestion, Kate surprised him with an unexpected proposal.

"There's a Norman Jewison marathon on TCM tonight. If you’re not in a rush, maybe we could⁠—”

"I'd love to," he answered quickly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

They held hands the entire drive back to her house, welcomed by Roscoe's loud bark.

"He's a helluva watchdog." Dash stroked the dog's head.

“But he can be a helluva pest.” She took hold of Roscoe’s collar. "You're going outside, mister. Dash, please make yourself at home."

Kate guided the dog out of the living room. Alone, Dash inspected a vast CD collection—everything from Vivaldi to Metallica.

Huh. I thought Colt was the only person who still listened to CDs.

Kate returned, carrying a tray with two coffees and the most gorgeous dessert he’d ever seen.

"So, here’s the deal. I'm sure their Bananas Foster is good, but I make a pretty mean lemon-raspberry cheesecake."

She placed the tray on the coffee table and motioned for him to have a seat. He settled in on the couch next to her—close, but not too close. Mr. Baseball’s eyes were everywhere. Best not to come on too strong.

Dash turned to her, his tone serious. "You lied. I searched that entire shelf. Not a single Barbra Streisand CD, yet you claim to be her biggest fan?"

"That's because the divine Babs has a cabinet all her own." She pointed to a long, narrow credenza. “I have close to fifty glorious albums, housed right in there.”

Dash dropped his head. "I stand corrected."

"I'll accept an apology in the form of concert tickets."

"I'm working on it."

"I'm not holding my breath." She pointed a remote at the painting above her fireplace.

Dash's jaw dropped as the painting disappeared, replaced by a state-of-the-art flat screen television. He whistled. "Now that is the ultimate in concealment. QLED?"

She beamed. "It’s the best. Perfect for watching college football. You can see every blade of grass on the field."

He raised an eyebrow. “You watch college football?"

"A Tennessee Volunteer since the day I was born,” she said proudly. “My dad would have Peyton Manning’s baby if he could. We cheer for Vandy too, to support the home team.”

Well, shit. First red flag. Make that an orange flag. She cheers for the wrong UT.