No big deal. So what if you’re Dash Black. Frankly, I’m a little bored with it already.”
He laughed. “We’re going to have us a good time, Tess.”
She shook her head. “I think maybe you’re a little crazy.”
“A little.”
“Cool.”
He took a step toward his office, then turned back and kissed her cheek. Mostly because he’d wanted another hit of her scent. He’d expected her to smell like flowers, and she’d surprised him. Her blush was an added bonus. So was the spark of mischief in her eyes.
“Uh, Dash?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not really bored.”
“Cool,” he said back, liking the feel of the word almost as much as her pleased reaction. No, boredom wasn’t going to enter into this at all.
TESS HAD NO IDEA HOW LONG she’d stood in his kitchen after he’d left. It was still daylight, which was a good thing. She had to clean up her mess in the other room, and finish the plants. But her whole mind, hell, her whole being, was totally transfixed by one thing.
She was going on a date with Dashiell Black.
The most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in print or in life. She knew more about him than she should. That he was six foot three, that he had a passion for music. She could verify the first fact, but the music thing was something she’d read in the Enquirer. She’d also read that he’d had an illicit affaire with an ex-first lady, but come on. One thing she didn’t get from reading the tabloids was that luscious, slightly spicy scent of his. Or the way his hazel eyes snapped with amusement.
And he was taking her, Tess Norton of Tulip, Texas, to a party in the Hamptons. How could she think of anything else? This was huge. This was monumental. This was going to give her a heart attack. What was she going to wear? She had no shoes! Hair. Her hair looked like someone chopped it off with a bread knife.
Oh, God. Dash Black. It had taken her months to get over the fact that she worked for the man. Every time she’d seen him, she’d practically swooned. Swooned. He was…
Perfect.
And she was…
Tess.
Oh, God.
2
TESS STOOD IN THE MIDDLE of Rags to Riches, her favorite resale shop, holding a vintage Chanel when it hit her again. In two days, she was going on a date with Dash.
Dash Black. Who made her legs turn to jelly, her heart palpitate, her mind go blank. It wasn’t just that he was famous. In her years in Manhattan, she’d met lots of famous people. Everyone from Robert De Niro to Trent Reznor. She’d been lucky. One of the first people she’d met in the city was an interior designer to the stars. Shelly had unbelievable contacts, and when Tess started her plant-care business, Shelly had used her influence to introduce Tess to the A-list.
At first, it had been overwhelming. Scary. She’d been intimidated and shy, which wasn’t her natural state of being. But walking into the luxurious penthouses of the incredibly rich and famous was enough to turn her into a little mouse.
Eventually, as she became more relaxed, she began to see the similarities instead of the differences. Even Academy Award winners had bathrooms.
Then, when Cole Darden of daytime drama fame had asked her out, she’d been introduced into yet another strata. The club scene. Not the clubs she would have been able to get into. These clubs had bouncers that made a hundred grand a year. It was heady and wild and she found herself knee-deep in celebrity gossip that never made the Post.
The downside was that she wasn’t in a financial position to be a player. It wasn’t the drinks or the dinners or the tips. She didn’t drink much, and her dates usually paid for the rest. It was the clothes. Damn those women on Sex and the City. They had to be millionaires to afford those wardrobes. Unfortunately for Tess, she didn’t have a studio behind her, and she sure as hell couldn’t pay for a Prada scarf. So it was resale shops, Goodwill, flea markets for her. It stretched her creativity, that’s for sure. But it also made her terribly aware that while she was allowed inside, she’d better not get too comfortable. She was on a guest pass, which could be revoked in ten hot seconds.
Not a good train of thought, given her situation. She still couldn’t figure out why he’d asked her to go with him. Pity, probably.
She could handle that.
She went back to the rack of dresses, most of which were here for a reason. Every once in a while, however, she found a gem. Please, let it be today. So much was riding on this one Saturday night, not the least of which was showing Brad that she didn’t miss him at all. That other men, fabulous men, wanted her.
Well, maybe not wanted her, but Brad didn’t have to know that. Dash would treat her like a queen. Because that’s how he treated every woman. She just prayed she wouldn’t turn into a frog. Do something stupid, say the wrong thing, act like a fool. Her usual.
“Well, if it isn’t fabulous Tess Norton.”
Tess grinned at the haughty voice behind her. It was Mary, her friend, neighbor, partner in crime. She turned and waggled her brows. “Mary Neal. I never.”
“Like hell, you never.”
“Such language.”
“I’m not even warmed up yet.”
Tess eyed Mary’s outfit du jour. Doc Martens, jeans that rode low on her impossibly slim hips, a sweater circa the 1960s, and a furry coat that might have belonged to Attila the Hun. On her, it worked. “I’m desperate, girlfriend.”
“Tell Aunt Mary all about it.”
The store, close packed, a little too warm, was one of their usual haunts, not just for the occasional finds, but because there was this great coffee shop next door that served the best apple strudel in the universe.
“I will. In aching detail. But first, I need something fabulous. Something transcendent. Something that will give every male above eighteen an instant erection.”
Mary glanced at the dress in her hand. “That won’t even get you a slap on the ass.” She spread the clothes on the rack like Moses parting the sea. “Let’s rock.”
Two hours later, after having tried on everything from Versace to Polo, Tess cried uncle. She grabbed Mary’s hand and pulled her outside into the balmy spring air. Her gaze moved automatically toward the downtown skyline, and, as always, her breath hitched when she saw what was missing. Turning back to Mary, who had pulled out a compact and was busy dusting her perfect little nose, Tess pointed to the café, with the improbable name of Frog and Thistle. “Food. Now.”
“Okay. Jeez.” Mary slipped the cloisonné powder case into her Kate Spade pocketbook, then smiled. “But you have to tell me what this mad search is all about.”
“I will. Come on,” she said, dodging a guy on a skateboard as she headed toward the Frog. “I have to find a dress today. Tomorrow,
