Page 6 of Daddy's Game

“Just one moment,” he said, distracting me from my lascivious thoughts.

He took out his phone and dialed. Brock pointedly looked at me while he did so, as if to show he had nothing to hide as he put it on speaker.

A moment later, a woman’s voice answered the phone.

“Yes, Mr. Richards?”

“Ashley, I’m about to make another charitable donation. I need you to handle it.”

“Of course, sir,” she replied.

He handed the phone over to me. I wasn't prepared and made the whole thing a lot more awkward than it needed to be. His phone was heavy and looked pristine, besides the smudges from his fingers on the screen.

“Um, hello?” I said. “This is Grace Hawkins, director of the Carrie Mizrani Center for the Performing Arts.”

“Hello, Ms. Hawkins,” said the cheerful voice on the other line. “I just need the account and routing number of your bank, and we can get the transfer process started.”

I shot a look at Brock. He was really putting his money where his mouth was. Figuratively and literally. I worried he might try to take a little more liberty than just proposing his deal.

Then I worried that maybe I wanted him to try to take a few liberties with me. I shoved those thoughts aside.

“Ah, my account and routing numbers, right.”

I went to dig out my own phone, then remembered I’d left it in my office.

“I need to get to my office to find that information,” I said, trying to sound less flustered and more professional than I truly felt.

“No problem. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

To my surprise, Brock didn’t follow me to my office. He did, however, run his gaze all over my body. I felt uncomfortable, not because he was checking me out—I’d been checking him out since the moment I’d first seen him, after all—but because the clothing I wore was neither flattering nor glamorous. I dressed as I usually did on a Monday. Namely, ‘work’ sweatpants and whatever clean shirt I could muster from my closet.

I got his personal assistant my bank info and then returned to the lobby so I could return his phone. Brock took it back in his huge hand, brows climbing high on his face.

“I take it everything went smoothly?”

“Yes, it did.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. His presence proved overpowering. It was hard to think straight with him so near me.

“Excellent. Then I’ll pick you up at seven thirty. Will you be here, or should I come by your place?”

“You can pick me up here.” I tucked down an urge to be bristly. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but I’m not going to change my mind about selling the center.”

“Of course,” he said so smoothly I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. His dark-eyed gaze proved inscrutable. The only thing I could be sure of was that Brock undressed me with his eyes. I felt a hot flush come to my cheeks at his unmitigated interest.

“And I’m not sleeping with you just because you made a donation,” I said quickly, feeling another rush of embarrassment.

“Not because of that, no,” he replied in that deep, melodious voice of his.

I waited for him to say something else, but he just stood there, a smoldering gaze boring into me.

“So, ah, I have a lot of work to do and I should probably get back to it,” I said at length.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He made his way to the front door, then stopped when he was halfway through. He twisted his broad-shouldered torso enough to look me in the eyes.

“I look forward to this evening.”

Then he was out the door before I could reply. I stood there for a long moment, utterly confused by the raging turmoil of emotions waging war inside of me.

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