Page 42 of Scorpion

So he can have privacy with his date.

I roll down the windows to let the cool air circulate through the two-seater car. His date might be sitting in this very spot a couple hours from now, and I’ll be forced to find my way back.

“Who are you meeting?”

“You’ll see.”

My stomach lurches when we go around a bend. Or maybe it’s because I haven’t seen him so at ease since I started working for him. There’s no tension lining his shoulders. The creases around his eyes are from age rather than concern. He’s in his element, and I wish I could just blame it on the exhilaration from racing through the city.

He’s meeting another woman and he’s going to make me watch.

Maybe I’d handle this a whole lot better if he told me the whole purpose of this meeting is to get information regarding Goldchild. That this is all a ruse. But neither of those things are true and it kills me.

The bright lights of the restaurant loom ahead, and I scan the area, noting the other establishments dotted along the street, and the many patrons who’ve decided to eat out on a Thursday night. It’s an upscale area of town, and though I spot some security around, I’d wager that none of them will be of any use if things go south—which is entirely possible, since this area is known for its criminal underbelly: illegal gambling rings, Mafia-owned restaurants, and a club rumored to be owned by the Bratva. It’s a shitshow waiting to happen.

I glance behind us, knowing without looking that none of Mathijs’s men will be near because we drove two times the speed limit to get here.

Great. I’m on my own. The only leg up I have is the fact that I look more like his date than someone who’s here to keep watch over someone. A-plus for blending in, I guess.

Mathijs pulls up in front of the valet, and he runs around to open my door before the attendant can do it. He offers me his hand, and I hesitate before accepting it. He passes the key along, then places his hand on my lower back to steer me toward the host.

“This isn’t a good look if you’re on a date,” I whisper just as we’re about to reach the front desk.

“Oh no,” he says with faux sadness. “My date can’t come. I guess you’ll have to keep me company instead.”

My lips part and heat colors my skin. He… That little shit.

“There was never any date, was there?”

He moves behind me to remove my coat once we reach the front desk, then hands the jacket to the host to put away. Mathijs circles me, giving me his full attention, and my cheeks heat under his hungry stare and from all the spiraling I’ve done this afternoon. Of course he would never have done something like that to me. I should have had faith in him.

But in my defense, he acted like a cryptic asshole.

His eyes darken when they land on mine, then he roves over the rest of me. The look of pure adoration and need that paints his features has my hairs standing on end. It’s the type of stare that tells me tonight is full of promises.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you not my date? You came here with me. And you made yourself absolutely…” My heart stutters as he trails a single finger along my jaw and leans closer to my ear. “Delectable. Just for me.”

The air sucks out of me as he pulls away and takes my hand in his to lead us in the direction of the private room. I’m too gobsmacked by the situation to remember that I’m still on the clock. Technically. I don’t notice any of the people around us or the number of exits in the room or any blind spots. My focus is solely on him and the easy smile he wears.

First, I rode in a car without issue. Now, I’m having a date. With Mathijs. While carrying several weapons. Ten years after I said goodbye to him. Those aren’t sentences I thought I’d ever string together.

Ever the gentleman, he pulls out a chair for me and I finally take in the room we have all to ourselves. The lack of cameras is the first thing I notice. Renaissance paintings hang on the mahogany walls, and there are flower arrangements and statues sitting atop marble pedestals. In the middle of it all is our rectangular table, the white tablecloth, and the fine china.

The murmurings of patrons can only just be heard above the strings playing through the room. Based on the volume difference between the main dining area and ours, I’d say some soundproofing is at play.

Mathijs orders us a bottle of wine while I scrutinize the single exit in and out of the room. I won’t pretend to know whether what he ordered is white or red, and where on the pH scale it might sit. His mom used to tell me all about the various undertones, acidity, and how to make it. Not that I remember any of it. At the ripe age of sixteen, she’d sit me down to do tastings and she’d let me have just enough to get tipsy. No one was any wiser when I got home.

The waiter leaves after taking our meal orders and serving our drinks, so the only two souls in this room are him and I. The quiet amplifies until it’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to look at him and see how at ease he is on his chair, lounging back like nothing could faze him. His clothes hug his lean frame, and pull taut when he reaches for the glass.

Mathijs’s stare is on me, so heated I’m pretty sure he’s undressed me without laying a hand on me.

I chew on my bottom lip. This is too soon, right? Too much? He knows what’s wrong with me, and he hasn’t run for the hills. That’s a sign that I can just go along with this and see where this leads, right?

We crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed, and he’s taking us for a plunge. I’ve come a long way, but I don’t know how ready I am to commit when I’ve only just found my footing again—literally and figuratively.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, brows furrowing.

Taking a less than healthy gulp of wine to clear my throat, I steel my spine to face him. “We’re moving quickly.”

---