Page 60 of The Confidentiality Clause
This man really thinks we’re going to run a marathon together. Oh no.
I hold up my phone. “This could be an emergency. I’ll be right back.”
I get up before he can say anything and book it toward the bathroom while answering the phone.
“Why are you calling me while I’m on a date?” I hiss.
“Why are you answering?” Brock’s voice is low and raspy. He angles himself so he’s facing the bathroom doors where I’m standing. “Is it going that bad?”
“It’s actually going great. We have a lot in common. We both love red wine and fitness and our days off.”
“And walks on the beach, too?” He scoffs. “All of those things mean nothing.”
“Why are you here, Carolina?”
“I’m supposed to be meeting a client, but they just texted saying a family emergency came up. So it looks like I’m free for the evening.”
I scowl. “You’re never free. You work all the time.”
“I can work from right here. People watching is a fantastic way to take breaks in between emails.”
“Don’t mess this up for me, Brock,” I growl. “I mean it.”
A lazy grin crosses his face. My stomach flips at the sight. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Enjoy your date, Duke. I’ll see you later.”
He hangs up and swivels back around. His words sounded part threat, part sultry promise. I should have never touched his hair the other night. Or went to his room in the first place. Now he’s in my head more than ever.
I stalk back over to my table and apologize to Cohen. He seems unaffected, and continues prattling on about various activities we can do together. We order our food, and it comes blessedly quick. I keep glancing over at Brock. Every time, he’s already looking at me. His grin gets more self-satisfied and devious, as if I’m proving his point.
I tell myself not to give in, but I do. Because as loathe as I am to admit it, these stolen glances set me on fire more than a whole dinner spent talking to Cohen.
Chapter twenty-seven
Ariel Cambridge
One entirely too long of a goodbye hug later, I ditch Cohen and walk outside on a mission to find Brock. I saw him leave as Cohen took care of the check. I only feel a little bad for playing eye-tag with Brock most of the night, considering Cohen used our date as a way to plan the future I didn’t know we had together.
After not seeing Brock in the immediate vicinity of the restaurant, I turn and start walking down the sidewalk toward my car. My face morphs into a scowl as I close in on my parking spot. There, in a pitch black suit and matching aviator sunglasses, is Brock. He’s leaning against my driver’s side door, smirking like the villain he is.
“Thanks for ruining my date,” I say as I stop in front of him and cross my arms. I pop my hip out too, for an extra dose of sass. He deserves it.
“How did I ruin your date?” One brow arches over his sunglasses.
“You called me and frustrated me and distracted me,” I accuse him.
His smirk grows more devious. “I distracted you? How so?”
My face heats at the silken tone he’s using. There’s something about him tonight that is throwing me off more than usual. Maybe it’s the fact that he looks like a Hollywood star straight out of an action film. The ones I always had a crush on growing up. Or because the inability to see his eyes through his dark glasses makes him more mysterious. Whatever the reason, it’s annoying me. And so is he.
I step closer to him and snatch his glasses off his face.
“The sun is almost set. You don’t even need these.”
He chuckles. “Are you sure that’s the reason? Or is it because they’redistractingyou?”
He holds out his hand for me to give them back. In a move that is half-panic, half-childish delusion, I throw them in a nearby bush.
“Go fetch,” I say with a smile.
