Page 13 of Renegade Roomie

“Really? And here I always thought blue was my color.”

I startle at the familiar voice and bang my skull on the shelf.

“OWW!”

I’m still rubbing the tender spot when I stand upright and find that… Yup. It’s him. Dashford Phineas himself, lounging on the makeup counter like he’s just stepped off that yacht.

“You,” I manage to blurt, dazzled for a moment by the pain in my head.

The pain, and not how good the guy looks.

“Me.” He flashes me a panty-dropping smile. He’s dressed preppy-casual again, with his sleeves rolled back, wearing a pale blue button-down and—

“Wait,” I exclaim in disbelief. “Is that seersucker?”

He glances down at his pants. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, if you’re heading to Gatsby’s mansion later for tea.”

“I think it looks snazzy,” Dash grins, unconcerned. “What do you think?” he asks, turning to the purple-haired customer.

“Very nice,” she says, “Especially in the back.”

Lorelei snorts with laughter, but Dash doesn’t seem to mind getting ogled. “Squat rack,” he says, flashing her a wink. “Two sets a day keeps it tight.”

I shake my head, annoyed. “What are you doing here?”

“You wanted to talk, so, I’m here to talk.” He turns back to me. “I saw your nametag the other day, figured I would stop by.”

“In the middle of the day. While I’m working a double shift,” I note. But of course, work hours probably mean nothing to him. With his tousled hair, he looks like he just tumbled out of bed.

A large, luxurious bed.

Ignoring just how attractive he looks; I show the customer the eyeshadows. “This one is the most… Uh, toxic,” I tell her, but there’s only one opinion she cares about now.

“What do you say, does it bring out my eyes?” she asks Dash. Who, yup, is still leaning there against the counter, putting Jordan Catalano to shame as he watches my every move.

“Oh, definitely,” he replies. “Very flattering. Does it come in a set?”

I blink. “Uh, yes. It’s kind of an investment though,” I add. “It’s the full product line.”

“How fun, let’s see it then,” Dash says, and the woman echoes,

“Yes, let’s!”

I exchange a look with Lorelei as I go bring it in from the back. It’s a massive case with brushes, tools, palettes and more—and an even more eye-popping price tag. The white whale, we call it, because it’s so expensive we’ve yet to sell a single one.

So, of course, all it takes is a few more words of encouragement from Dash, and the woman is taking out her charge card. “I’ll take it!”

“Are you sure?” I feel a little guilty, like he’s sweet-talking her into something she’ll regret.

“Positive,” she beams. “I can’t wait to try it out. Put it on my husband’s account.”

Guilt, be gone!

I ring up the purchase and pack it up, silently celebrating my commission. But when the woman waltzes off, Dash is still there, waiting for me. “So,” he says arrogantly. “Now I’ve done your job for you, you have plenty of time for lunch.”

I scowl. The nerve of this guy! “I’m working.”

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