“Would be beyond anything we’d expected.” Excitement filled Teresa’s eyes. “Do you have to get permission from your father?”
“Not yet. I just need to talk to . . .” My brows lifted. “I just need to talk to Brock and see what he thinks. If I can convince him, then we might have a space for you. We could have you guys come in, look around, talk about what would need to be done, and how much it would cost.”
“That sounds amazing,” Avery said, exchanging a delighted look with Teresa, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself smile without trying to hide it.
* * *
I was full of nervous excitement, waiting for Brock on Monday. The moment I saw him walk past my office, head down and attention focused on his cellphone, I all but flew from my chair. However, the fact that he didn’t pop his head in or wave as he walked by, like he’d done every day, was odd.
I sat back down, deciding I should wait for a bit.
Not to mention I should probably give him a few minutes to get settled in. It was Monday morning, after all.
Half an hour passed before I grabbed my cup of coffee and started toward his office and then pivoted around, heading to the break room. I totally saw nothing wrong with buttering him up with a fresh cup of coffee.
Knowing that he’d liked his coffee black, I grabbed one of the clean, Lima-branded coffee mugs from the cabinet overhead and poured him a cup. I topped mine off after adding another packet of sugar. Turning, I jerked back a step when I saw Paul standing a few feet behind me. Hot coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup, spilling along the top of my hand.
“Ouch,” I muttered, resisting the urge to flail my hand and spill more coffee.
Paul smirked as he stepped around me, walking to the fridge to grab a protein shake. No I’m sorry. No hello. Nothing. I watched him pivot around and walk back out of the break room with my mouth hanging open.
“What an asshole,” I muttered.
Pushing the run-in with Paul to back of my head, I made my way to Brock’s office. The door was open, so I called out, “You got a few minutes? I brought you coffee.”
Brock lifted his head and a faint smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. He had several days’ growth of a beard on his cheeks and there were smudges under his eyes, as if he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep this weekend.
A weird feeling tugged at me. It was curiosity. I wanted to know why he looked so bad.
Closing a file he was looking at, he motioned me in. His gaze flickered over me, and I felt a flush travel over my skin. I was wearing dress pants and a sweater, but that quick glance of his made me feel like I was walking around in lingerie, which was one hundred percent due to my overactive imagination.
“I always have time for you, Jillian.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to point out there had been many times in the past, when we’d gotten older, that he hadn’t. Luckily, I had some common sense and realized how incredibly bitter that would’ve sounded.
And completely unnecessary.
So I came into the office and placed the cup on his desk, careful not to spill. “Did you have a good weekend?” I asked, sitting down.
“Long,” he said, reaching for the mug. “It was a very long weekend.”
I eyed him over the rim of my cup. “Looks like it.”
Brock did look tired, but he still managed to look incredibly . . . well, incredibly sexy in his white dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the neck.
He eyed me. “You, on the other hand, look well rested. I’m guessing your date with that little guy didn’t turn into a weekend adventure.”
Slowly, I lowered my mug. “My date with Grady went very well, thank you very much, and for the last time, he’s not little.”
“Uh-huh,” he murmured, sipping his coffee.
“And how does one date turn into an entire weekend?”
He raised a brow as he placed his mug back down. “Obviously you haven’t been on a really good date then.”
Heat blasted my cheeks. I guessed I hadn’t. Nice of him to point that out to me. Jerk.
“Because a really good date with me doesn’t end with an art exhibit,” he said silkily. “A really good date won’t end until the next night. Not until I’ve spent hours making sure it’s the kind of date my woman never wants to end.”
Oh.
Oh gosh.
Flustered, I squirmed as I stared at my coffee. I had no idea what that would be like, to be the sole focus of the kind of man like Brock all weekend long.
“You guys going out again?” he asked.
I lifted my gaze, feeling oddly hot, like I’d been sitting out in the summer sun. “We’re having dinner Wednesday night.”
Rising, he walked around the desk, and I tensed, having no idea what he was up to when his dark eyes held a wealth of secrets. “That’s a shame.”
Confusion swept through me. “How so?”
He walked until he was in front of the desk and leaned back against it. “You’re not going to be able to have dinner with him on Wednesday.”
“And why not?”
Stretching out his long legs, I tensed even more when his knee brushed mine. Deep in my chest, my heart fluttered like a hummingbird taking flight. “Because you’re going to dinner with me.”
Chapter 11
I opened my mouth, but immediately snapped it closed because my heart was suddenly entering cardiac territory. Was he . . . was Brock Mitchell seriously asking me out? Well, not asking me, but telling me we were going to dinner, like him and me? Us? But that didn’t make sense. He had a fiancée—a real life fiancée.