“I didn’t ask to have your key. I didn’t ask for anything other than our basic business arrangement.”

“I have my people check out all the men I hire.”

“All of them. Do you keep a stable of us now?” Dash turned away, color rising in his cheeks.

“Did you want me to just ignore how that asshole treated you?”

“No. I don’t know what I wanted.”

Thorne had really been looking forward to the morning. How could he get them back on track? “I’m sorry.”

Dash’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it and simply stared.

“Yes, I’m a privileged asshole, but I can apologize. I invaded your privacy. It’s the only way I can bring myself to allow a stranger into my home.”

Dash considered Thorne’s words for several tense seconds. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. I can accept that.”

“Truly, it has nothing to do with your profession.”

“Personal chef or my usual one?”

Thorne smiled. At least Dash appeared less tense now. “You’d make an excellent chef. I’d hire you.”

“Good to know.”

Thorne wondered if Dash would consider doing exactly that, working for Thorne as a chef, among other things.

“You know my real name now too,” Thorne pointed out.

“Mr. Shipton?”

“Bradford Thornwell Shipton. I went by Thorne in school because there were several Brads and I wanted to be different.”

Dash looked him up and down. “Trust me. No matter what you call yourself, you’ll always be different.”

Thorne hoped that was a compliment. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, but Thorne didn’t move. “At work, I’m B.T. Shipton, but I like to be Thorne again when I can.”

Dash smiled then, and Thorne realized he’d been forgiven. “It suits you. You’re all prickly, but your defenses hide something rather lovely.”

Dash walked out of the elevator. This time, Thorne was the one who stood frozen, because at that moment he knew without a doubt that he’d fallen for Dash and fallen hard.

CHAPTER TEN

Dash had breakfast ready by the time Thorne was out of the shower and dressed again—this time in cargo shorts and a T-shirt. Dash hadn’t even realized he owned any normal-people clothes.

“What?” Thorne asked, catching Dash staring at him.

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“You’re hot.”

Thorne narrowed his eyes.

“You’re wearing casual clothes like the rest of us peasants.”

“Ha. I don’t wear suits all the time.”

“No,” Dash agreed, “sometimes you go naked.”

“Would you prefer that?”

Dash considered the offer. “You know I would. But then we might not actually eat breakfast, and I’m starving.”

“Me too. It smells fantastic.”

“Thank you.” Dash gestured toward the dining table. “This way, sir.”