Page 11 of Bombshell (Whiskey Dolls 1)

Tossing my napkin onto the table, I pushed my chair back and shot him a stiff smile. “Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”

I didn’t bother looking back as I grabbed my purse and headed toward the restrooms at the back of the restaurant. I pushed through the door and bent to peek beneath the stalls to make sure I was alone before pulling my phone from my cute little clutch and dialing Layla’s number.

“Hey,” she answered, surprise laced through her words. “What are you doing calling me? Aren’t you supposed to be on a date right now?”

I let out a caustic laugh while leaning my ass against the vanity. “Yeah, I’m on my date. It’s still happening. I had to sneak off to the restroom so I could call and tell you that I’m going to get you back for this. I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but Iwillmake you pay.”

I could hear the smile in her voice as she asked, “I take it the date isn’t going well?” If I could have reached through the phone to strangle her, I would have.

“Uh, no. No, it’s not,” I hissed through the line. “You barely know this guy, Layla! What were you thinking, setting me up with him?”

“I thought he was nice,” she defended. “He’s always been polite whenever I’ve taken my tax docs to him.”

“That’s because you’repayinghim to be nice! The guy’s a weirdo, Lay. In the time I’ve been here he’s already suggested that I’ll be too saggy to keep up with my job much longer, and if I don’t freeze my eggs, having a baby at my advanced age might be difficult.”

She snorted through the phone. “He actually said that?”

“Well, he alluded to the saggy thing, but that stuff about my eggs was practically word for word.”

Instead of sharing in my outrage, she burst into laughter, leaving me to have to stand and listen as she cackled for a good two minutes.

“For the love of God, will you stop laughing already? This is serious!” I whisper-yelled. “I feel like I need an AARP membership or one of those cellphones for old people with the ginormous buttons.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” she attempted to be positive. “I mean, he’s cute, right? Maybe he’s just awkward on first dates.”

“You better hope that’s the case or, so help me, I’ll find a way to give you head liceandpink eye all at the same time.”

“Okay, crazy. Just relax. I’m sorry I didn’t vet the guy better. I promise to do my due diligence next time.”

“Oh, there isn’t going to be a next time,” I informed her. “This was a one-time gig. I don’t want to hear another word from you about me putting myself back out there. You got it? And I expect you to tell the other girls the same thing.”

“Deal. I can do that. Just no pink eye or lice, all right?”

I let out a sigh of defeat, knowing I’d stalled for as long as I possibly could. “I guess I better get back out there before he gets it in his head I have IBS or something and starts going on about me needing to see a doctor.”

I hung up when she began to laugh hysterically again. Depositing my phone back in my purse, I stared at the door for a good thirty seconds while trying to will my feet to move so I could go back out there and finish my date.

“You can do this,” I said to myself. “The sooner you get your ass out there, the sooner you can finish your dinner, go home and stare at Henry Cavill’s ass while re-watchingThe Witcherfor the fiftieth time.”

That sounded like a solid plan to me. Shaking out my arms and squaring my shoulders, I walked to the door and yanked it open like I was prepared to go into battle. I’d made the mistake of glancing down, checking the front of my dress for wrinkles as I stepped out into the hallway, and slammed into a solid brick wall that was curiously wrapped in soft cotton and smelled absolutely divine, like clean laundry and the outdoors.

Before I had a chance to stumble back and fall flat on my ass, two large hands shot out, gripping my arms and holding me in place.

“Whoa. You all right?”

That voice—gravelly, yet somehow still as smooth as velvet at the same time—danced along my spine and made me shiver from top to toe. My eyes traveled up. Up over a strong, broad chest encased in a bespoke suit, up past the thick column of his throat and past a jaw square and sharp enough to cut glass, right up into blue eyes the color of ice.

“Pierce,” I breathed, the synapses in my brain misfiring at the unexpected sight of him. Damn, his name was fitting, because every time he looked at me, I felt that gaze pierce right through me.

His dark brows winged up in surprise. “Marin? What are you doing here?”

“I’m on a date,” I answered a tad harshly, my tone growing defensive out of sheer instinct.

Those fingers still gripping my arms clenched, pressing deeper into my flesh as his masculine brow slashed downward. “With Frank?”

I could have sworn those two words were accompanied by a growl, but I couldn’t be sure over the noises filtering in from the dining area. “What? No! God no. It’s just some guy my friend set me up with. What areyoudoing here?”

“Client dinner,” he said, those two clipped words slamming into me with the signature Pierce Walton Freeze I felt every time I was in his presence as his chilly gaze scanned every inch of my face.

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