Page 8 of Falling for the Bosshole

“Can I offer you a lift,” Lash called out.

Ana was surprised at his sudden appearance. The words she overheard him say earlier still stung.

“I-I’m fine, I’m just waiting for the bus,” she lied.

“I don’t think buses ply this part of the city,” Lash answered.

“Oh!” Ana was dismayed.

“Precisely where do you have accommodations for the night?” Lash persisted.

The rain was getting stronger by the minute, and Ana felt the chill on her skin. “I’m still trying to find one. I-I forgot to make reservations before I left Barcelona… and so far, all the hotels I’ve been to are fully booked.” Ana admitted.

Lash rolled his eyes. Ana could almost read what he was thinking. A dumb girl who didn’t know better than to arrive in a new city and not have a place to stay. She was embarrassed to admit it. But she really felt stupid.

“I can go to the “Y.” I heard that I could get a room there.” Ana wanted desperately to redeem herself in his eyes.

“Good luck with that one,” Lash retorted. “On a rainy night like this, every drunk and derelict will be looking for a bed to sleep in.”

Ana was in some competition only she knew and desperately trying to earn a point for her pride. All her aces were gone. She looked frantically around. The awning of the café across the street seemed the only shelter that was available to her for the night.

She glanced at him. He was looking straight into his windshield, seemingly deep in thought. She wished he would leave and not judge her for being so dumb.

“I have an idea,” Lash called out. “Why don’t you stay with me for the night? We can try and sort this out in the morning.”

Ana recoiled. “What? I can’t…” The distaste on her face was automatic.

“Miss Garcia, I am not asking you to sleep with me. I am merely offering you a roof and a warm bed for the night. My apartment has extra bedrooms, and you have nowhere to stay. It’s a kindness I am offering you, but it’s your decision.” Lash shot back.

“Th-thank you … I mean, I know you didn’t mean … It’s just that I don’t want to impose…” Ana stammered.

This was a dilemma. If she refused out of pride, then she was likely to spend the night out in the street. She could catch a cold or even get sick. After traveling hundreds of miles to get here today If she accepted…what? She never spent the night in another man’s house, not even with any of her former boyfriends.

“Miss Garcia, the longer I stay here talking to you, the greater the chance traffic will get worse, and I’m exhausted.” Ana heard him say. The impatience in his voice was plain to hear.

Ana made a leap of faith. “Okay,” she replied and made a quick dash for the passenger seat.

“Thank God,” Lash said barely able to control his exasperation

His car smelled of leather and pine. It embarrassed her because she knew that after the strenuous dancing and sweating at the studio, and then being caught in the rain, she probably smelled less than pristine. Plus, she was soaking wet and didn’t want to ruin the leather. She sat rigidly beside him, not wanting to lean back against the seat as she crossed her arms around her body.

Lash slowed down. He shrugged out of the jacket he was wearing, holding on to the wheel as he did, then handed the jacket to her.

“Here. You’re probably cold,” he said.

Ana thankfully donned the jacket. It was still warm. She looked out the window, not wanting him to see the expression on her face. She was grateful. But she still resented him.

They hardly spoke a word. Ana stole glances at him. There was an intense look on his face swerving to avoid cars and stepping on the gas when the road was clear. Ana noted the wind-swept dark brown hair, which was thick and lustrous. His eyes were a mesmerizing green with flecks of hazel around the irises. His face was sharp and defined, with an autocratic nose and chin that seemed molded from granite. Dark eyebrows were scrunched together in concentration.

Ana started to wonder where his apartment was. The city streets had given way to wider roads with elm trees lining the sidewalk. Then he turned into a driveway and stopped before an extraordinary house of brick and limestone. He stepped out of the car. Ana followed suit.

“Is this an apartment?” Ana asked curiously.

“No, Miss Garcia. This is my house. With the traffic around Manhattan, I figured we’d get here faster than we’d get to the apartment.”

He led her through the wrought iron entry door that opened to a marble foyer. Ana looked around her. The interior of the house had dome ceilings giving it an airy feel, and two grand custom staircases led to the second floor. An intricate chandelier hung from the ceiling, its lights reflected on the hand-scraped, aged-oak floor. A fireplace was burning brightly on one side of the living room where couches in warm colors competed with the more muted tones of the walls.

A woman appeared from around a corner.