Page 8 of Dating the Boss

I never told him about the MatchMakers welcome letter I found on the printer. I’ve been struggling with my feelings on this one, and I really didn’t want his snarky input. I’m in no position to confront Brooklyn about it either, not as her boss, which to-date, has been my only role in her life.

I think I’m about to change that.

“It’s a speed dating event that she and Brooklyn are attending,” I say low, almost under my breath, as if saying the words out loud makes it all the more real.

“Speed dating, huh?” Camden grumbles, a lengthy moment of silence passing between us before he slaps me on the shoulder. “Come on; we have our own event to attend.”

I’m not surprised my brother completely shuts down. No anger, but no joviality, either. He simply refuses to show emotion when it comes to Margot, but it doesn’t escape my notice that he picked her out of the packed room almost instantly.

I give Brooklyn one more look as the men stand up and change chairs, my belly twisted in knots, before I give up my post and follow Camden into the ballroom.

After grabbing a drink, Camden pulls me into a corner away from everyone. “Is that why we’re here early? Because you knew Brooklyn was going to be here?”

“Maybe.” I take a sip of my scotch, the liquid burning my throat with a perfect bite of pain.

He sighs, his gaze surfing over the small crowd that grows with every passing minute. “Are you willing to lose the best assistant you’ve ever had?”

“Do you think I have to lose her?” I snap back at him.

He’s unfazed by me. “If things go badly, yes.”

“Can’t I risk it? I mean, the reward is certainly worth the risk.” Neither of us makes eye contact, our gazes floating over the crowd, our drinks going down far too smoothly.

He sighs again, but says nothing, tossing back the last of his whiskey. Finally, he motions to the room. “Let’s grab another investor or two and then get out of here. Unless you want to stay for dinner?”

I shrug, tossing back the last of my drink. “Whatever.”

* * *

Two hours later, I’m on the verge of crawling out of my skin. I can feel Brooklyn in the next room. Sense her fidgeting, her awkward yet quiet calm, and cringe every time I picture her charming one of the many lucky bastards who sits across from her—even if it is only for five minutes. I wonder how many men have made her smile tonight? The idea makes me want to punch something.

“Want to grab dinner?” Camden says as we finish shaking hands with a couple of potential new investors.

“Not tonight,” I grumble, already losing my internal fight to stay away from Brooklyn. I’m going to cross a line tonight. Either that, or I’ll be crossing a line tomorrow in the office. Tonight seems like the smarter choice.

“Probably for the best. You’ve been in a shit mood for the last couple weeks and a real buzzkill to be around. I guess now I know why.”

“Yeah.”

“You going to do something stupid tonight?”

“Yeah.”

Camden stifles a grin by pressing his lips together. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

I watch him walk out, shaking hands with people along the way. I know I should follow him. I should take the car and go home, but I also know that’s not going to happen. After a couple minutes go by, I make my way through the crowd and retake my post at the doors of the bar. If I remember the agenda on Brooklyn’s welcome letter, there are two rounds of speed dating, and they have to be nearing the end of that second round. But I can’t stand here and wait for her, not with Margot in the room, so I find an event staff member and ask them to hand my assistant a note once the round is over.

Before I slip out the door, I glance at Brooklyn, who locks gazes with me. I give her a knowing smile, thoughts about what I want to do to her on the forefront of my mind now that I’ve given myself permission to do this, and tip my head in her direction before ducking out the door. Then I walk over to the restaurant and ask for a table in one of the private rooms.

I order a bottle of wine and give our server instructions for Brooklyn’s arrival. Twenty minutes later, the door opens, and my beautiful lady pokes her head inside. Her eyes grow wide when she finds me sitting at the table with my jacket off, my tie loose, a glass of wine in my hand.

Smiling, I lift my glass. “Come in, Miss Pierce.”

She lets out her breath and closes the door behind her. “Mr. Manning. What’s going on?”

“Was my note not explicit enough?”

Bringing the piece of paper up between her fingers, she crosses the room and tosses it on the table. “Miss Pierce. When you are done playing with the boys, come to the restaurant. Give the hostess your name. Leave Miss Talbot behind. It was cryptic, not explicit.”

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