“Have a little faith.” I laughed. “And it was Ryan Gosling, not Channing Tatum.”
Bash snorted. “My mistake.”
“So when are we doing it?”
“Baby, we can do it anytime you like,” Bash said, a familiar heat filling his eyes.
“Please, be serious,” I implored.
“Fine, fine,” he said, laughing. “I guess we can go Friday.”
“Friday’s no good,” I immediately countered.
“Hot date?” he asked, his brows raised and his eyes suddenly serious.
I laughed. “Oh yeah. Me and about three hundredLustercoworkers, affiliates, and sponsors, sipping champagne and toasting 100 years of success.”
Comprehension flared in his eyes. “Centennial.”
“You’re going?” I asked.
“Pick you up at six,” he said,winking.
“What?” I stared at him. “I don’t need a ride, I’m going with Simon and Fae.”
“They’ll get over it.” Bash pushed back his chair and stood, reaching out to grasp my hand. “Those were my terms. I get you in, you go on a date with me. This is the date I’m choosing. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
I allowed him to tug me from my seat. “I never agreed to a date, and I most definitely did not agree to a public appearance. There’ll be cameramen at the curb, photographing important people as they arrive. You, sir, are considered important — though for the life of me, I can’t fathom why.” I stuck my tongue out in his direction.
“I see your insults haven’t improved with age,” he noted dryly. “And as for Centennial — take it or leave it, Freckles. You need me, not the other way around.”
I deliberated for a moment. “Can we at least avoid the curbside cameras?”
He grinned, sensing that I was about to give in to his terms. “I’ll consider it.”
“We still haven’t picked a date forLabyrinth.”
“Eager to see me again so soon, huh?”
“You’re hysterical.” I rolled my eyes. “What about Wednesday?”
“Tomorrow? No can do,” he said, shaking his head.
“Hot date?”
His grin turned wolfish. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
I would, actually, but I wasn’t telling him that. “Nope, couldn’t care less,” I said breezily.
He laughed.
“Thursday,” I suggested, following him out the door onto the street.
“Works for me.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and brought his face closer to mine. “Where are you going now?”
“Home.”
“Are you sure?” He leaned in, hovering close enough that if I raised myself the slightest bit up onto my toes, our noses would brush. “We could continue our business meeting at my loft.” His lips skimmed my cheekbone.