Page 19 of Money Reigns
He just keeps looking at me like I don’t belong here.
Like he’s deciding what to do about it.
I turn away, pulse jumping as I continue down the hall and knock on Brody’s door. It opens immediately.
“Hey,” Brody says, smiling. “Right on time.”
I smile, but it’s thinner than I mean it to be. “Yeah… sorry, I almost forgot.”
His brow lifts, concerned. “Everything okay?”
I nod, stepping inside quickly.
But I can still feel Warren’s stare on my back as Brody closes the door.
His office is brighter than I expected, lots of windows, clean lines, a few personal touches. A leather couch near the corner, a coffee machine that probably costs a small fortune, and two neatly arranged bags of takeout on his desk.
“La Serenata?” I blink in surprise, stepping closer as the scent hits me. Basil, tomato, garlic, and freshly baked bread. “That’s my favorite place.”
He grins as he unpacks the food. “I know.”
My brows lift. “How?”
“You gave me cookies a few weeks ago; remember? The ones in the little white box?”
I nod slowly, suddenly self-conscious. “You noticed the box?”
He laughs softly. “Olivia, I’d notice anything you gave me. But yeah, I recognized the takeout container. It still had the logo stamped on the bottom.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Wow. That’s… observant.”
He shrugs, sliding a soup toward me and setting the sandwich beside it. “Or maybe I just really liked the cookies.”
I smile despite myself. “I could give you the recipe.”
He leans back in his chair, eyes warm.“Or…”he says, drawing the word out, “we could make them together sometime.”
My pulse flutters, but I keep my smile in place, soft and noncommittal. “We’ll see.”
Lunch is easy.
Comfortable. We talk about the city, old jobs, places we’ve both lived. He tells me a ridiculous story about one of his clients refusing to leave a showing until they lit sage in every room. I laugh so hard I almost choke on my soup.
It’s the first time I’ve felt normal in weeks.
No pressure. No tension.
Just…good.
A knock breaks the moment.
Brody glances at the door, then at the clock. “Still got time.”
“I can go,” I say, standing quickly and brushing off my skirt. “I should get back anyway—”
“It’s fine,” he says, already crossing theroom.
He opens the door.
