Page 66 of Against the Clock

“I think they’re flameless,” I tell her. “Is this… this is weird, right?”

“You and me, in the Masonic Temple, sitting in the dark except for hundreds of flameless candles, being played ‘Hotel California’ by a very enthusiastic string quartet?” She tilts her head, her lips quirking to the side. “Nah. This is a very normal date. Super normal. A nightly thing, really. Masonic Temple and chill.”

I laugh, so loud that the cellist on stage misses a note.

The woman bustles over with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

“If we could just get some footage of you two clinking glasses, it would be great. I know your agent sent the bottle over for you to do additional promo with.”

“Footage?” I echo. Sure enough, another black-clad guy is creeping up behind Kelsey with a huge camera.

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. I should have known.

“You’re filming our date?” Kelsey’s shoulders bow inward, her face pinching.

On stage, the quartet finishes up the song, and the lady grins down at us, pouring generous helpings of champagne in the empty glasses.

“That’s so sweet,” she tells Kelsey. “You think of these things as a date! Isn’t she so cute?” she asks me.

Kelsey sucks in a breath.

The quartet starts playing a very sad, slow version of “Desperado,” and the whole situation is so absurd that I can’t help laughing again.

“Here, Kelsey, we’ll cheers, drink the champagne, and then we’ve got to get to our dinner reservation in fifteen.” I put my arm around her shoulders and draw her in tight, pressing a kiss against her temple.

The woman beams at me, and Kelsey and I take our champagne glasses like good little stooges. If these are the kinds of dates my agent set up for me this week, I’m better off taking my girl out for cheesesteak and beer on my own.

“Can you kiss her?” the guy with the camera says. “TikTok is thirsty, ya know, man?”

“I’m not going to kiss her for your footage,” I tell him, sounding good-natured, but my annoyance is creeping up.

“Your agent said you would give us good footage to work with on soc med,” the guy says.

“Soc med?” Kelsey repeats. She takes a small swig of the champagne. “Well, I’m starting to see why the Masons are into secrecy. This whole everyone knowing your business thing is a little much.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, putting my forehead against hers. “I should have known better than to let him plan anything.”

“That’s good,” the woman crows, the cellist working hard through something onstage. “Keep looking at her like that, like you’re in love with her. We really want to be Philly’s premier romantic date night destination.”

“Can we go?” Kelsey asks, and there’s no humor in her voice, just exhaustion.

I feel like an asshole.

“Yeah, babe, of course.”

She drains the rest of the champagne then stands, handing the glass back to the woman Brent must have arranged things with.

“But he promised we’d get enough footage—”

“Ma’am,” I say carefully, my hand on Kelsey’s lower back, “I didn’t sign a contract with you. Whatever he agreed to I didn’t know about. Use what you already have.”

We walk out of the temple in silence, the beauty of the architecture dulled by the tired slump of her shoulders.

The valet does a double-take when he sees us and immediately takes off at a jog to go get my truck.

“You okay?” I place my hands on her shoulders, streetlights illuminating her beautiful face. She’s more breathtaking than any building anyone could ever create, but there are dark circles under her eyes, and I realize how tired she must be.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here tonight,” I answer for her, tucking her into my body with a big hug. “I woke you up in the middle of the night after you were upset and worried, and then you worked all day too.”

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