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“I won’t kiss and tell.”
“Yes, you will.”
“Qasim!”
“Ada,” he mocks. “That’s OK, you don’t have to. I already know.”
“Oh, do you now?”
He crunches up his empty sandwich wrapper. “Yep. I knew from the minute I walked in here. You look like a tourist stepping out of her hotel and seeing Paris for the first time.”
Actually, I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.
“I do?”
“Yes, you do. Which is surprising, to be honest.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. It sucks that I’m the project manager for his NDA.”
Qasim tosses his empty wrapper into the garbage next to my desk.
“No, because from everything I’ve heard about him, the guy’s a first-class douche. He’s old money, and acts like it.”
I’m embarrassed to admit I thought so too. And yes, Hayden does enjoy some of the finer things in life. But I wouldn’t call him a snob. Not at all.
“He’s not,” I explain. “I mean, sure, the fitted suits and the way he tosses money around to get the best tables . . .” I stop. “But there’s so much more to him than that.”
Qasim looks at his phone, presumably for the time, and sits back.
“Such as?”
For one, he’s beyond amazing in bed. But I keep that bit to myself.
“He’s charming, of course. But also extremely loyal. And honest. There’s a soft side to him that is really surprising. And—” How do I put this? “—he gets me. Like really wants to know me so he can . . .”
I realize how corny I’m sounding, but the words keep coming.
“Lift me up. Or something.”
I expected Qasim to laugh at that. I sound lame. But he hasn’t even quirked a smile. In fact, he looks deadly serious.
“What?” I ask.
He’s giving me a funny look. “Holy shit.”
“What? You’re freaking me out.”
“Oh, Ada, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry? For what? What the hell, Qasim, you’re killing me here.”
Qasim leans forward, his caring brown eyes trained right on me, kind of like Hayden does all the time. Unwavering. And super serious, which is unlike him.
“You’ve had the misfortune to fall in love with your damn sponsor.”
“People don’t fall in love in a weekend.”
“OK.”
