Page 8 of Daddy's Game

My face contorted into a scowl, cosmetics and all. What was I doing? Brock was twenty years my senior, and besides that he wanted to buy my center. This wasn’t a date—it was a trip into hostile enemy territory. I reminded myself to be guarded and not let him wear me down.

I was in the middle of trying to pick out a pair of shoes to go with my ensemble when I heard a commotion outside. I peered out the window of my old apartment building and my mouth gaped open. A long, white limousine parked out front. My neighbors weren’t used to seeing such opulence in our part of town, and had caused the commotion by gathering in numbers.

Brock’s driver opened the door for him. His hair looked freshly trimmed, as did his manicured beard. Brock offered a bemused smile at the teenagers taking selfies in front of his limo as he turned about and retrieved something out of the back seat of the limo.

He returned with a dozen pink roses bound in a red cellophane wrap. My heart skipped a beat. I could count the number of times a man had brought me flowers on the first date on zero fingers.

Until now, of course.

It’s not a date, I admonished myself silently as he disappeared into my apartment building. Wait, wasn't he supposed to meet me at the center?

When he knocked on my door, I flung it open and crossed my arms over my chest in defiance.

“You were supposed to meet me at the center,” I said with an edge of recrimination.

“Indeed,” he said without missing a beat. “But after I’d waited for half an hour and you didn't show up, your assistant suggested I try to catch you at home.”

“What? No way, what time is it…”

My voice trailed off when I realized it was going on seven thirty. Had I taken THAT long to get ready? I guessed he really was distracting.

“Sorry,” I said lamely. “I had a hell of a day.”

“No worries.”

He said it so casually I wanted to believe him. Only I was worried, on a lot of fronts. I had been dreading the dinner because I feared he would harp on buying the center. Now I feared it for a different reason.

I feared I might start liking Brock in addition to lusting after him.

“Here, these are for you.”

He offered the flowers. In spite of myself, a smile stretched my lips.

“Thanks,” I said, hating my heart for going all fluttery. I didn’t have a vase, so I used an empty plastic movie theater cup to house the bouquet.

Brock’s gaze moved around my apartment, spartan though it was.

“Nice place,” he said, and he managed not to sound condescending when he said it.

“Thanks. Sorry for the clutter. Maid’s day off.”

He chuckled obligingly as I retrieved my purse. Brock moved out into the hallway while I closed and locked the door. He walked by my side as we went down the steps to the ground floor.

“I didn’t have a chance to say so before, but you look incredible.”

“Thank you,” I said, smoothing back a lock of hair and hating myself for what his compliment did to me. I kept telling myself he was the enemy. Not to mention an older man. But to be honest, my protests sounded increasingly shrill inside of my head.

The night breeze stirred my hair as we stepped out into the open air. His driver, a rail thin man not much older than me, hustled to open the door for us.

Brock gestured for me to enter first. His hand went down to my lower back and provided gentle pressure until I started moving. I suppressed a shiver at his electric touch, though I couldn't stop the goose bumps from forming on my skin. He really was a damn attractive man, and sexy too. The traits aren’t mutually exclusive but they aren’t the same thing, either.

I slid into the back of the limo, feeling the leather upholstery cradling my body. It was the most comfortable seat I’d ever been in up to that point. Brock climbed in beside me, offering a smile.

“I hope you’re ready for the best cuisine you’ve ever had in your life.”

I arched an eyebrow at him.

“You’re very confident.”

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