The Fine Print (Dreamland Billionaires #1)(28)

I find her embarrassment strangely entertaining.

Her last message came in fourteen minutes after the other one. It’s like she wanted to end everything on a positive note because she’s a damn ray of sunshine ruining my perfectly dreary day.

Zahra: Have a nice life!





I consider my situation. The easy option would be to ignore all her messages and label her as the strangest person I’ve ever contacted. She’s disgustingly friendly and trusting with someone she’s never even met before.

Who are you to call her strange? You count ten words or fewer as a successful conversation.

Only because I’m the guy who prefers to stand in the shadows, letting my work speak for itself.

My curiosity about Zahra’s hidden side wins over my sensible rationale. I type up a response before I back out and do something worthy of my time.

Me: Do you always talk to yourself?





The bubbles appear and disappear twice before a new message pops up on my phone. Not that I was waiting around and staring at my phone or anything.

Zahra: Well, let’s pretend none of THAT happened. Okay? Okay.





For the first time in a long time, a smile spreads across my face before I have an opportunity to kill it.





14





Zahra





My mom always warned me about stranger danger. But she also taught me to be kind to everyone, so I’m dealing with conflicting advice at the moment.

Would Rowan really give my number to someone dangerous? No way.

Okay, well maybe. But I would sure hope he wouldn’t.

I make a conscious decision to keep texting Scott and see where our conversation goes. It’s not like it’s much of a chore. And after everything I messaged him last night, I expected him to run for the hills. And that’s saying something because Florida is one of the flattest states in the entire US.

At least he came back.

Even I was surprised at that. According to my mom, I have the subtlety of a lightning bolt and the personality of a firework. She told me it would take an equally strong man to appreciate that kind of force of nature.

Still waiting, Mom. I’m not sure where I’m supposed to find this strong man but I’ve had zero luck on the dating apps Claire signed me up for. It’s my fault. I’m too much of a dreamer who still believes in fairy tales and the possibility of a duke swooping in and marrying me.

I drop my head in my hands and sigh.

“Am I working you too hard?”

I choke on my intake of breath. Rowan stands in the entryway of my cubicle. He looks…well, damn. Casual Friday looks really fucking good on him. He’s got that country club feel with a designer polo and khaki pants. I wonder what it’s like to have so much money that I could have a collared T-shirt dry-cleaned instead of carrying a spot-corrector pen in every purse I own. Is that how the other half lives?

I let out another sigh. “No. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“Something keeping you up?” The side of his mouth lifts.

“Don’t start asking me personal questions. I might do something crazy like assume you care about me.”

“Save the fairy tales for your proposals.”

I grin. “Do you talk about anything besides work?”

“Why would I? Work is my life.” He looks at me like a scientist with a microscope.

“That’s sad, Rowan. Even for you.”

“I don’t see how.”

“What do you like to do for fun?”

“People still do things for fun?”

Was that…a joke? If so, his tone could use some work.

I laugh to encourage more of them. “You need to find a hobby that doesn’t include watching the stock market.”

“One does not simply ‘watch the stock market.’”

I roll my eyes. “I can’t believe you said that with a serious face. With the way you act, you’ll end up in a shallow grave before you have your first gray hair because you’re addicted to work.”

His glare penetrates my faux confidence. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“No. But it’s not like you can fire me for stating an observation.”

“At least not while you’re my golden ticket.”

Golden ticket? I don’t think I’ve ever been referenced as something so…special.

My shoulders sag. How pathetic is that? I set my standards so low after Lance, I’m obsessing over casual compliments from my boss.

A boss who kissed you like you’ve never been kissed before.

But my boss nonetheless.

I wipe away whatever look is on my face. “Is there a reason you came by my office?”

“Is that what we’re calling cubicles the size of my shower nowadays?”

I flip him off underneath my desk.

“Hiding your hand defeats the intended purpose of such a gesture.”

Why does he talk like he was born drinking breast milk out of a porcelain teacup? And even weirder, why do I enjoy it?

“My dad taught me that if I don’t have anything nice to say, then I shouldn’t say anything at all.”

“Shouldn’t that rule extend to offensive gestures?”