Page 22 of First Comes Orc, Second Comes Baby
“I feel like you're violating a clear boundary I'm trying to erect right now.”
Brahnt straightened, pushed away from the island and walked back to his coffee as if he needed the furniture between them.
“Well, we can't have that, can we? Fine. I'll wait.” He picked up his abandoned mug, sipped, then set it back down again and flipped his gaze towards Charlotte. “It's not like you won't come back to me. It's not like I don't know where you live.”
Charlotte's eyes widened. “We're going to discuss this sinister Dom vibe you're giving off. Baby, it's cute after like the first three months, but we haven't even had a second date yet. Right now, it's just creepy.”
Brahnt laughed. “Noted. Tone down the Orc Dom vibe. . .except in bed.”
Charlotte closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out. When she opened them again, Brahnt was gripping the edge of the counter.
Okay, it stroked every part of Charlotte’s ego to think that he wanted her to stay so badly he had to physically hold back, but new healthy Charlotte was trying to look at these things through a more rational lens.
“If you're going to go,” Brahnt said softly, “you should go now.”
Charlotte hesitated, feeling awkward. Should she give him a hug, a kiss on the cheek? Something?
Brahnt narrowed his eyes. “You should gonow.”
Charlotte turned on her heels, strode into the living room where she recalled dumping her messenger bag and snatched it up, then left.
8
MATCHMAKER
This was possiblyMatchmaker’s favorite part of the process.
The first glimmer of vindication.
If anyone had been in the room with her, they might have described Matchmaker’s smile as one shot smug, two shots benign malice. The combination, most days, depended on who she was speaking to and how grueling their intake process had been.
She connected the call to Brahnt Stonefist, steepling her fingers underneath her chin.
“Speaking,” Brahnt said, his voice deep and crisp.
Matchmaker rolled her eyes. The Orc couldn't help himself; he went into every situation trying to control it right away, even if the situation was only a phone call. She’d locked horns with his type before.
“Mr. Stonefist, this is Matchmaker. How are you doing today?”
“Well.”
Matchmaker suppressed her snort. Fine. Moving on from the small talk, since obviously pleasantries were above Brahnt Stonefist’s paygrade.
“Tell me about your date with Charlotte. How did it go?”
The stretched silence put Matchmaker on edge.
“It went well,” Brahnt Stonefist said with the air of a man who had considered—and discarded—a half dozen responses. “I commend you for your unusual choice. On the surface, it appears as if Charlotte is completely ill-suited to my needs. But I decided to give your experience the benefit of the doubt.”
What a fun example of an underhanded compliment wrapped around a backhanded insult. “I'm gratified. Tell me more. Where did you take Charlotte?”
Another silence.
“Mr. Stonefist?”
“A tour of the city ending with dinner in an exclusive restaurant prepared by a private chef.”
Bullshit.
