Page 17 of Daddy's Game

Her nostrils flared with heavy exhalations as she stared me down.

“Why not?”

“Why not?” She was repeating almost everything I said with an incredulous edge. “Why not? Brock, how am I supposed to run my center from across the ocean?”

“Your assistant, Selma, can handle things for a day or two,” I replied. “Weren’t you just saying the other night at dinner that she’s the workhorse that keeps the place going? That you could probably disappear off the face of the Earth and the center would be just fine in her hands?”

Her mouth flew open for another hot denial, but no sound came out. I could see the wheels turning in her lovely blue eyes.

“I did say that,” she finally responded. “But I was, that is, I just wanted—saying and doing are two entirely different things, Brock. I don’t know…I just don’t know.”

“You spoke of Selma with great respect. The kind of respect usually reserved for Popes and presidents.” I softened my tone and leaned in close. “Now, I can take you back home and we’ll forget the whole thing if you really want, but—are you really going to say no to a trip to Paris?”

“Yes, I am,” she said without hesitation, but also without conviction. I knew she was starting to waver. I went on the offensive.

“Have you ever been to gay par-ee?” I asked.

“No,” she admitted, as if it pained her to do so. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”

“So you’ve never seen the lights, just as the sun kisses the horizon? You’ve never strolled along the river, stopping for delightful chocolate shops or the finest clothiers in the entire world?”

“Well, no,” Grace said. She made a strangled sound in her throat and then raised her gaze to the sky. “Come on, Brock. Let’s be practical about this. This is our second date, and you want to make it an overseas trip? Don’t you think that’s rather sudden?”

“So, you admit that the first night was a date?”

Her cheeks turned bright red, and her expression soured.

“Well, what else could you call it?” she said after several attempts to speak died on her lips. “And you’re missing the point.”

“Okay,” I said as we neared the airport terminal. “Let’s look at it from your point of view. First, practicality. If we’re going to see each other socially, then an overseas trip will be quite the litmus test, don’t you think? Why pussy foot around with soft experiments when you can find out if we work right off the bat?”

“Brock,” she said with a sigh, but in a tone that suggested she wasn’t really able to refute my logic.

“And as far as suddenness goes, I’ve learned something in the business world. He who hesitates is lost. I don’t want to waste our time taking baby steps. I want to jump right in.”

The limo pulled up to a stop by the terminal entrance. People came and went, or stood around waiting for a cab, an Uber, or their relatives to pick them up. I turned to Grace and met her gaze.

“Now, I can take you back, or we can head inside the airport together and fly to Paris. I promise, it will be an experience of a lifetime, no matter what does, or doesn’t, happen between us. It’s your call.”

“I don’t know,” she said, her hands curling up and grabbing the hem of her skirt. She looked longingly at the terminal entrance, but her stiff posture and tense shoulders told me she was still fighting herself.

“Grace, you’re a woman who is highly cerebral, in spite of what you might think of yourself. But maybe, just this once, you can let your heart rule your head.”

A weak smile formed on her face, though her eyes looked on the verge of tears.

“Brock, I’m not sure I should let my heart rule my head when I’m around you.”

“Why not?”

“It might lead to…trouble.”

She glanced out the window, turning away from me.

“The good kind of trouble, or the bad kind?” I prompted when she didn’t speak.

Grace sighed and turned back to me, her blue eyes swimming with turmoil.

“Both,” she said simply.

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