Page 6 of Against the Clock

I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow.

His gaze dips to my boobs, which I’ve accidentally pushed up. I clear my throat and put my hands on my hips instead.

One eyebrow rises on his face, and he’s so overwhelmingly outsized, too handsome, too tall, too much, I can’t help but take a step back.

“Why are you asking me to dinner?” I counter, raising my own eyebrow like we’re in some quick-draw eyebrow duel. “Is it because you feel bad for nearly murdering me last weekend?”

“Go to dinner with him,” Leslie whisper-shouts.

“I will if you don’t,” Bruce says too loudly.

Fucking Bruce from marketing. I keep myself from rolling my eyes, but it’s an Olympic effort.

“We can bring them too, if you want,” Daniel says, leaning slightly against the cube, a cocky half-smile on his lips.

He doesn’t seem real. His brown hair, so dark it’s nearly black, is sprinkled throughout with silver, as is the start of a beard on his jawline. It doesn’t make him look old though, not like everyone in Philly and Delaware has been saying on the news and Twitter and TikTok…

Nope.

Daniel Harrison looks like he’s in his prime.

“Let’s go,” I finally say. If I don’t, Leslie and Bruce are going to make things even more awkward. Better to get out while we can. “Just dinner.” I shake my finger at him. “No funny business.”

“I would never try to be funny,” he says gravely. “You know where I work, after all.”

“Are we invited?” Bruce asks.

“No,” Daniel and I say at the same time, not bothering to break off our staring contest.

“See? We’re already thinking alike.” He flashes that brilliant celebrity QB smile, and I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me a little weak in the knees.

“Oh? You were thinking about going on the record for the piece I’m working on, then? Great.” I bat my eyelashes at him, and for a moment, I think I’ve pushed a little too far.

His face turns serious, his gaze searing.

But that’s not the look of a man who’s pissed off.

That’s the look of a man who’s seen something he wants.

“Is that what it’s going to take? A few quotes from me? A bargain?”

I toss my hair over my shoulder, acting a whole hell of a lot more confident than I feel. What I’m actually feeling is completely out of my depth.

“Yep,” I say. “I want a few quotes.”

“But the whole night won’t be on the record?” He squints at me.

“Nope.”

Yeah, that’s me, the queen of witty repartee.

“Deal,” he says, holding out a hand. I take it, prepared to shake.

What I’m not prepared for? The way he takes my hand like it’s spun glass, then raises it to his lips, pressing a kiss against my knuckles.

“You sure I can’t come?” Leslie asks. “Is anyone else hot? Is it hot in here?”

“Shut up, Leslie,” Bruce tells her.

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