They stepped out into warm California sunshine and a cool breeze. Rhett took one look at her wreck of a loaner and began laughing.
“I’ll be right back,” he told her.
She heard a car’s engine approach and turned as Rhett pulled up in a black Range Rover. He got out and tossed her a set of keys.
“It’s yours to drive. Don’t give me a withering look, Cassie. It’s not a mercy loan. It actually comes with the job. Carreen used it all the time. Sometimes, you’ll have things to pick up for me, like the mega-amount of groceries today, so you’ll need a lot of room.”
“And sometimes I’ll need to park in fancy-schmancy places, and you wouldn’t want me to embarrass you?” she needled.
Rhett mock sighed. “You’re absolutely right. You’re onto me. I am a shallow, selfish, stereotypical Hollywood star and wouldn’t want others to judge me by the broken-down mess my assistant drives.” He eyed her. “Come on, Cassie. You’ll have fun driving a Rover.”
“Hah! You have no idea where I live, Corrigan. It’ll probably be stolen from my parking lot before I make it to my apartment door.”
He shrugged. “So, I’ll buy a new one. You know us pampered Hollywood men and our toys. Get in it and follow me.” Rhett climbed into the sleek, blue Porsche and buckled up. “Let’s go,” he called out the window.
Cassie climbed behind the wheel of the Range Rover and fell in behind Rhett. Her heart pounded in her ears. How could he trust her with something so expensive, especially when she’d totaled one of his cars yesterday?
Who are you? Was she serious?
Every woman in America knew Dash DeLauria. He couldn’t pump his own gas or grab a latte in Starbucks. A stylist came to his house when he needed a haircut. How could she not know who he was?
Whoever she was, she was hot. Despite the sleek navy business suit and conservative shell under it that made her look totally establishment. Despite the dull brown hair, which didn’t seem to go with the rest of her. The remaining package?
It was everything Dash liked.
She was very tall and at six-three, he liked a tall woman. She had flawless, incandescent skin. Green eyes the color of summer grass that popped. Without a doubt, she possessed the most kissable mouth he’d seen in a long time. He already itched to put his lips next to hers and take them for a spin.
“Who are you?” he replied, turning the tables back to her. Maybe she was Monty Revere’s personal assistant. Or accountant. She sure as hell wasn’t his housekeeper—but Dash would love to play house with her. Anytime.
“I asked first.” She eyeballed him calmly but he saw the pulse point jump in her throat. Despite her cool and collected outside, he had an effect on this woman.
“Who would you like me to be?” he asked, mimicking Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.
“Are you serious? You’re flirting with me? I don’t believe this.” Her eye roll would put any teenage girl to shame.
“Oh, baby, you’d know if I was flirting with you,” he teased, his interest in her growing by the minute. Dash was never interested in women. They were always interested in him.
She jerked the box from his hands and shoved the money at his chest. The minute she touched him, electric sparks shot through him like he’d never imagined.