He also reminded me of that dickhead who used to work in Philly, the one who cornered me in the supply room.
“Mr. Mitchell, do you have a moment?” Paul asked, his glacial gaze moving from me to Brock. “I have a couple of new students that I’d like you to check out.” He raised a file. “And see if you’d like to get them on film.”
“Be right there.” Tapping the bridge of my nose like I was five, Brock rose as he winked, and then swaggered out of the office.
Of course I watched him.
I couldn’t help myself. He gave good rear, which was annoying. I mean, where did he get those trousers and why did they fit his ass so well? Why?
Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to the computer and finished tweaking and approving the ads that had been submitted.
A couple hours later, after the daily sales meeting in the back conference room, I was gathering up the reports from the table when Brock asked, “So, you got any big plans for the weekend?”
I glanced over at him. His head was bowed as he scanned one of the sales reports that Jeffery had turned in. “Um, tonight, I’m babysitting Avery and Cam’s kids. It’s their date night.”
“That’s nice of you to do on a Friday night,” he remarked and then asked, “Is that how you normally spend your Friday nights?”
Cradling the stack of papers to my chest, I stared at the top of his dark head. “Not usually.”
“So you normally go out?”
I started to frown. “Sometimes.” Okay, that was a total lie, but the last thing I wanted Brock to know was that I was sitting at home with my mean, traitorous cat, alone and eating brownie batter. “Tomorrow I’m going to see an art exhibit.”
Brock slowly lifted his head. His eyes narrowed until only a thin slit of obsidian could be seen. “An art exhibit? That sounds . . . stimulating.”
The mocking, teasing tone pricked at my nerves. “Yes. I’m going with Grady.”
“Grady? That little guy you were at dinner with?”
Little guy? “He’s not little.”
“He’s little.”
“Maybe compared to your gigantic, Godzilla-sized self, he’s little, but by normal human standards, he’s not.”
A smirk graced his full mouth as he leaned back in the chair at the head of the table. “I always thought you liked my gigantic, Godzilla-sized self. If I remember correctly, you loved that I could pick you up and throw you several feet in the air and into the pool.” He tapped the corner of his lips. “And I could do that because of my size.”
My cheeks flushed as I hastily glanced over my shoulder, grateful that none of the employees were anywhere near the conference room. “Yeah, well, I’m not ten anymore, Brock.”
“Huh.” He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. “I also clearly remember doing that when you were twenty.”
The heat in my cheeks continued. “Is there a point to this conversation?”
He chuckled, glancing back at his paperwork. “Not really.”
Eyeing him, I started to turn and then stopped, facing him once more. We were . . . friends now. Friends meant I got to ask him about his weekend. “So, do you have any plans?”
“After work, I’m heading back to Philadelphia,” he answered, still looking down at the pages.
I guessed he was going home to Kristen. Or maybe she was at his home outside of Shepherdstown. They were engaged, so I imagined they lived together. “Are you keeping the house in Pennsylvania?”
Brock shook his head. “No. I’m in the process of selling it.”
“So, the move down here is permanent?”
“It’s looking that way.”
A weird little burst of happiness lit up my chest, and I ignored it, not even wanting to look into the reasoning behind it. I wanted to ask him about his fiancée, but it seemed too weird to do so. “Well, have a good weekend, Brock.”
“You too,” he said, and when I turned and reached the door, he spoke again. “Is the little man known as Grady someone you’re seeing seriously?”
Rolling my eyes, I twisted back around. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen with Grady, but he didn’t need to know that. “I’m looking forward to seeing him tomorrow.”
Brock looked up just then, a slight smile on his face. “I know. I can hear all the excitement in your voice. Have fun looking at . . . artwork.”
I had this distinct feeling he was baiting me, but I really didn’t understand why. “I will.”
His head tilted to the side. “You deserve better.”
“What?”
Putting the papers down once more, he held my gaze. “You deserve better than him.”
For a moment, I couldn’t even respond, and then I laughed. “Are you feeling okay?”
His jaw tightened. “I’m feeling perfectly fine.”
“I’m asking because you’re telling me I deserve better than a man you don’t even know anything about.” Anger, sweet and empowering, rushed me. “And frankly, it is not your place or your business to even suggest something like that.” On a roll, I lifted my chin. “And if you really want us to be friends, you can’t say crap like that to me.”
Silence stretched out between us and then he spoke.
“I don’t know you anymore,” he said quietly, and when I didn’t respond—couldn’t because the statement caught me off-guard, he tipped his head back. “I know the old Jillian. Could sit here all day and tell you about her, but this Jillian? I don’t know her.” A wry grin appeared. “But I want to.”