“I’m s-sorry,” I sniffle out, burying my face into his shirt. Realizing my mistake, I lean back, staring at Bishop’s normally pristine, crisp white button-down. It’s now smudged with watery mascara and deep red lipstick. “Your shirt! I’m sorry–”
“Harlow,” Bishop murmurs, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear. Blue eyes search mine, and I’m shocked by the concern I see there. “I don’t care about the shirt.”
I frown, looking down at the now-stained button-up. “Because you have eleven more just like it?”
Bishop rewards me with a small smile, his sapphire eyes flashing with something I’ve never seen before.
“No,” he finally responds, reaching down and scooping my hand up in his much larger one. I watch as he places it on his chest, right over his heart. “Because you’re more important than my suits.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Mr. Castillo,” I tease.
“I’m serious, Harlow.”
“Yes, you usually are.”
Bishop grins, and I feel like I just won an Olympic gold.
“What I’m trying to say is that you’re more important than my routine.” He rests his hand over mine, which is still pressed firmly against his chest. “And I’m not sure what to do with that information.”
I blink a few times, not sure I heard him right. Stormy blue eyes stare back at me, and I can feel the longing and earnestness of his confession wrap around me. I’m drawn to this man, to his guarded yet fragile heart. Leaning forward, I feel his breath on my lips, his heart pounding against the palm of my hand, and I know we’re about to cross a line.
And then his phone rings.
I jump back, but Bishop keeps me close with a hand wrapped around my hip. Peering up at him, his eyes never leave mine as he gives one-word responses to whoever is on the other end of the line.
“Yes. Fine. Fifteen minutes,” he says, nodding his head once before hanging up. I give him a questioning look, and he pulls me into his arms again. I don’t mind. It’s my new favorite spot. “How would you feel about going to a holiday party tonight after all?” he whispers into the shell of my ear. “There’s an important client I’ve been trying to hook for months. He’s at a black-tie event across town. You’d be a lifesaver. I hate these things.”
“You? Hating parties? I would never have guessed,” I say with a laugh.
“We’ve already established I can barely last ten minutes at these kinds of social functions without risking death,” he counters, untangling us so he can grab my hand and lead me outside. “But I might make it a whole hour with you there with me”
“So brave of you,” I confirm with a nod.
“Is that a yes?” he asks as he stops in front of a black Town Car parked right outside the entrance. Opening the back door, he waves his hand to usher me inside.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Always. I’m just hoping you choose me.”
A blush spreads across my face, but I don’t look away this time. “Always,” I whisper as I step inside the car and gather my dress so he can shut the door.
A few seconds later, Bishop gets in on the other side, telling the driver of the change of plans. When he focuses his attention back on me, my stomach flips as my heart trips all over itself. And then I look down at his shirt.
“You can’t wear that to a party,” I say with a frown.
Bishop looks down at where my makeup stained his shirt, then looks back at me, a playful spark in his eyes. “Do you really think I don’t have a spare with me?” He turns back to the driver before saying, “Park around back so I can change quickly before going in.”
The driver nods, then cuts right, making me slide across the back seat right into Bishop’s waiting arms.
“Did you do that on purpose, sir?” I accuse, though I can’t keep the smile off my face.
“No, it was just a happy side effect.”
This man. What happened between now and three days ago when the thought of going to dinner with me was repulsive?
I beam up at him, my heart exploding with happiness as he wipes the remainder of my tears from my face. I sit up a little straighter and grab the compact mirror from my purse, trying my best to salvage my makeup.
A few minutes later, the car comes to a stop in what appears to be an alley next to a large museum. Bishop hops out and rummages around in the trunk before finding what he’s looking for. I’m not expecting him to change right here, but I can’t look away as he unbuttons the dirty shirt, revealing tightly packed abs and a canvas of tattoos.