16. CASSANDRA

It’s taking all of my training right now to not bolt out the front door and lose myself in the streets of Manhattan. Every instinct in me is shouting “Abort! Abort!”

Instead, I stare into Carson’s gray eyes and at the outline under his shirt. He must practically live in the gym to maintain a body like that. I’ve worked with elite soldiers who would look like Zach Galifianakis next to him.

He raises his eyebrows and it suddenly occurs to me that he’s waiting for an answer to his question.

Tricia takes that as her cue to go back behind the till, probably thinking she’s doing me a favor. I try to flash her a “come save me” look, but she’s studiously avoiding looking anywhere but at Carson.

“I’d best leave you two to… catch up,” she says, grinning another Cheshire cat smile at him. “Wonderful to meet you, Carson. I hope I see you again.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” he says with a grin of his own. I can’t help but notice how easily he says it. The last few years have certainly treated him well.

She turns to head back behind the counter. As she does, she catches my eye and widens her own like an owl’s. Oh my GOD, that look says.

Tell me about it.

I smile weakly. And I thought keeping an eye out for billionaire perverts was going to be uncomfortable. This is far worse.

“Well,” I say.

“Yes?”

“All right, then. Time for the Sandra Vincent – uh, I suppose it’s Cassie Vincent now – elevator speech.”

Carson settles in. “I’m all ears.”

You’re all something, but it’s not ears, I don’t say.

“Okay, so obviously I graduated and went on to college.”

“Where?”

“Wharton,” I lie. I’m in their records, thanks to government intervention, but the only time I’ve spent in Philadelphia was to internalize the details of my cover story.

“Got my MBA, specialized in supply chain management systems, and then went on to become a business consultant. Now I’m looking to sell out and partner with Tricia on expanding Patty’s into a national line of specialty ice cream.”

He tents his fingers under his chin, a habit he’s had since we were teens. He thinks it makes him look serious, like my dad. Pft. I used to make fun of him for it.

“Supply chain management,” he says. But it’s not just what he says, it’s the way he says it.

“Uh-huh.”

I’m trying not to squirm under that gaze. Even though he knows nothing about the last twelve years, he probably knows me better than anyone else on Earth. If anyone can sniff out a lie from me, it’s him.

He and I were two peas in a pod, constantly challenging each other. We’d sit around for hours after school, discussing everything from philosophy to physics. No one else could understand what the hell we were talking about, and I guarantee none of them would ever get how much it turned us on.

I can’t help but think he’s disappointed in me for giving that up to get into such a plain lifestyle. If he only knew what I’ve actually spent the last eight years doing.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” he says. “You were always good at systems analysis. You could work a program better than anyone I’ve ever known, myself included.”

High praise indeed. Carson always had a healthy dose of cockiness when it came to his intellect. It certainly didn’t help him win any popularity contests back in school. Although, if his interaction with Tricia is any indicator, he’s come a long way in the charm department.

What matters is that he bought the story.

“Anyway, I’ve picked up a loyal clientele over the years and I think I can parlay my goodwill into enough money to buy a factory. Take Tricia’s genius nationwide.”

“That’s a brilliant idea, as long as you can keep the integrity of the products. I’m crazy about the goodies here. In fact, I rode my bike here from Park Avenue just to get some.”

I can’t wait to tell Tricia that Carson is a fan of the shop. She’ll probably wet her panties.

“So you can see where I’m coming from,” I say. “I’m tired of working for other people, too.”

That’s the first time I’ve told the truth since Carson sat down.

He nods. “Definitely. And with your experience, you should have no problem expanding.”

That’s true, too. I actually had to study supply chain management to be able to maintain my cover for so long. That’s the bit they don’t tell you about when you sign up. Of course, I’ll have to figure out marketing and other aspects, but I know we’ll be a success.

“What’s your long-term goal?” he asks.

“Same as you: take the company public, sell my shares for a small fortune and live a life of leisure.”

Again, just enough truth to be plausible.

“A small fortune.” He smiles. “Yep, that’s me, all right.”

We sit in awkward silence for a few moments. I know what he wants to talk about, but I just can’t. Not here. Not now. Not while I have to focus all my attention on the Chase, which I totally haven’t done since Carson walked through the door.

“I’m sorry,” I say, standing and picking up my purse. “I really am. I’ve got so much to do today. I’m working to get my capital together so we can get our leverage deal started.”

He stands up. Mr. Gallant.

“Who are you working with?”

“Tate Capital. My liaison is Miranda Winthrop.”

Carson lets out a whistle.

“That’s impressive,” he says. “They only back winning horses.”

I feel a wave of pride despite the awkwardness of the situation. The praise feels good coming from him.

He holds out a hand and I take it in mine. The touch is electric, even after all these years. He folds his other hand over mine and suddenly the heat is almost too much to bear.

“Have dinner with me,” he says. His eyes are pleading.

“Okay,” I hear someone say.

Oh shit, it’s me.

“Great,” he says. “How about I meet you here at eight tonight?”

“Sure,” says that same crazy person.

“Awesome. I’ll see you then.”

Carson holds onto my hand for a few more beats before finally letting it go. He gives me a look as though he can’t quite believe his luck, but then turns, clearly not wanting to push it.

He grabs his things off the table and heads out the front door to his bike, locked to the lamppost outside.

What the hell just happened?