Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Unlike that first night we’d spent together, nothing was off-limits anymore. With no lies between us, we were free to be entirely ourselves. And every minute I spent with the real Bash Dayne, I liked him more.
One silver lining of Austin being a thieving asshole was that he’d proven Daisy Chain was a viable product, and I peppered Bash with a million business questions while we showered or relaxed on the sofa with our laptops: What was needed to bring the idea to the marketplace? What would be involved in the municipality beta test? What would the future stages of development look like?
Bash didn’t merely humor me with his answers, either. It was clear he knew a lot about the project already and had brainstormed dozens of ideas for improving it. On some points, like the need for a satellite uplink, we agreed completely. On others, like the amount of training the system would require, we argued passionately, but even that was kind of great because it showed how invested he was in this concept that, for so long, had felt like my burden to bear alone.
Also, I couldn’t lie—it was hot as fuck to see how his brain worked. I hadn’t known I had a competency kink until I heard Bash effortlessly calculate potential return on investment and expose pitfalls of my idea I’d never have anticipated myself. Watching his eyes spark and his face flush as he argued made me rock hard.
“If you think the interface will be complex enough to require training, I’d contend that we need to change the interface rather than—what are you doing?” he demanded as I moved his laptop to the coffee table and slid to the floor in one smooth movement.
I knelt between his knees, pushing them wide, and yanked his legs, forcing him to slide down the sofa.
“Say ROI again,” I whispered, running my palms up his thighs through his thin sweatpants. “Tell me more about cost-benefit analyses.”
Bash’s eyes sparked with a fire that had nothing to do with training protocols.
“If this is your attempt to win the argument—” Bash began, but he broke off in a moan when I mouthed his cock through the fabric. His hands flew to the back of my head, holding me in place as his hips instinctively bucked.
I pulled back so I could grasp his waistband with both hands… then paused. “Sorry, what were you saying, Bash?” I prompted, all wide-eyed innocence. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“I believe I was admiring Sterling Chase’s oral negotiation style,” Bash said roughly. “Very effective, sir. Please continue.”
“Do you think?” I let the backs of my fingers graze over his happy trail, and his cock twitched. “I’m happy to take the lead in any client meetings if my skills would be helpful—”
Before I knew it, I was on my back on the pristine white sofa with a very possessive, very aroused Bash looming over me. “Absolutely fucking not,” he growled. Then he proceeded to thoroughly prove his point.
In the end, I liked to think we both won.
In the back of my mind, I knew this was all too good to be true—that Bash had never mentioned anything long-term, and we were once again on borrowed time—but I forced myself to stay in the moment, to enjoy every single second of him while I could.
On Tuesday morning, when Rachel was out of the office, Kenji was busy working on something for Silas, and the stress of waiting to hear back from the investigator had started getting to both of us, I convinced Bash to leave the house and visit a thrift store with me.
“The white and beige is hurting my brain,” I insisted, looking over at the boring living room from my spot at the kitchen table. “I’ll think better after shopping. And we won’t spend much, I promise.”
“What if I told you I like neutral tones?” he said grumpily.
I nudged his leg with my toes. “I’d say you’re lying. You hate it more than I do.”
He snorted and shoved a bite of toast in his mouth.
I sipped my second cup of coffee and scrolled through my phone, reading a string of texts Joey had sent.
Joey: Dude. This Sandwich Shark guy is like a fucking Visa card—he’s everywhere I wanna be.
Joey: I park the truck for the Monday lunch rush? Guess who shows up a minute later and parks right beside me.
Joey: I go to the Glass Elephant Tuesday night to meet Chloe for a beer? Sandwich Shark’s already drinking with his friends.
Joey: I park the truck in the lot last night after the longest day in Burrito Bandito history? Fucking Sandwich Shark’s there, too, and he hands me a Chicken Parm with extra mozzarella, WHICH HAPPENS TO BE MY FAVORITE, and it’s still warm.
Joey: And he says… get this… he says, ‘Sleep well, Joe.’