“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 lice and pink 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-watching The Witcher for 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 are you doing 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.
“Okay, well . . . enjoy the rest of your evening then. I should get back to my date.” I moved to take a step back only to have his grip grow even tighter, making it possible for me to escape.
“Um . . .” I looked down at his hands, expecting him to release me now that I’d drawn attention to his hold, but he didn’t. When I lifted my head, my forehead creased in confusion. “You can let me go now,” I said quietly, feeling my cheeks heat as I grew more flustered with each passing second.
It was almost as if he was in a daze. “Pierce?” I called out, trying again to get his attention.
He blinked, giving his head an infinitesimal shake. “Sorry, what?”
“Can you let me go, please?” I’d expected him to release me quickly, but instead, he dragged his palms down my arms, his touch featherlight before disappearing completely once he reached my wrists.
“Of course,” he murmured once his hands were down by his sides. “My apologies. Enjoy your . . . date.”
“Thanks, I will,” I lied. There was no way in hell I was going to let him in on the fact that it was already a failure, especially not with how he’d all but sneered while saying the word date.
Without a backward glance, I sidestepped him and started back toward my table.
“Everything okay?” Clark asked once I returned to my seat. “You were in there a while.”
My smile was brittle and forced as I placed my napkin back in my lap. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just ran into someone I knew. Sorry for the hold up.”
“No problem at all. You know, I got to thinking about something else while you were back there.”
“Oh?” I feigned interest as I cut into my salmon and took a bite. “And what was that?”
“Your life insurance policy.” For the second time in one meal, I started to choke and, of course, Clark carried on like it was nothing. “Being a single woman and all, if something were to happen to you, your family would have to cover the costs of a funeral and any unforeseen medical expenses if it happened to be a car accident or something like that. If you haven’t already, you really should look into getting something. Just in case.”
I suddenly had the eerie feeling that I was sitting in the middle of a Dateline episode. There was a woman in my apartment building, Ms. Weatherby, who was obsessed with that show. She was always warning me about the risks of being a single woman this day and age. The woman was constantly worrying that I’d one day be abducted and stashed away in some maniac’s basement. Thanks to her, I now knew how to break free of my restraints if my potential kidnapper bound my wrists with duct tape. She was going to have a field day when I told her about Clark.
“That’s kind of deep for first date talk, don’t you think?”
He lifted his napkin, dabbing at his mouth before speaking again. “Not particularly. We’re both of an age where we need to be serious about settling down, don’t you think? If I’m going to consider something long term with a woman, I’d like to know what I’m getting into.”
My brows shot up toward my hairline. “And what you need to know is how much I’m worth if I die?”
He cleared his throat and tugged at his collar, chuckling nervously. “Well, when you put it like that it sounds kind of harsh.”
And mildly psychotic, I thought to myself.
“Do you have a basement, Clark?” I blurted, all of Ms. Weatherby’s warnings now floating around, front and center, in my head.
He gave me a quizzical look. “That’s an odd question.”
I slurped back half of my drink. “Yeah, well, you’re already batting a thousand with that so I figured I’d join in. So? Do you?”
“Well . . . yeah.”
“Sorry, Clark, but this isn’t going to work out.”
6
Pierce
The conversation at my table flowed all around me while I sat there in silence, tuned out as I stared across the expanse of the restaurant. How I hadn’t seen her when she’d walked in was beyond me, but now that I knew she was here I couldn’t make myself pull my eyes off of her.