The Billionaire's Betrayal (Highest Bidder #3) - Carmen Falcone Page 0,44

a drink of his beer. “Though this is a bit different, he can still help with leads.”

She put her silverware on the plate and clapped her hands together. “Of course. I hope he’ll help you.”

“Me too.” He peered at the amber contents of his tumbler. “The past two years have been crap for me. My mother was diagnosed with dementia, Pamela died, and I haven’t had a relationship with my father for a while. But we stopped pretending we gave a damn about each other because of my mother.” Hell, ending the pretense was the one thing he could be proud of. No more dinners at the country club or handshakes in public functions.

“Was your mother nice when you were growing up?”

“Yes. She was good and gentle. She never had much spine to put my father in his place, but I didn’t know that back then. She told me she never knew about his affair with the housekeeper, but now I wonder if she just brushed it aside. You know, old school train of thought.” He shrugged. If his father had taught him one thing, it had been to never cheat on a woman. Brooks had had his share of girlfriends—had even engaged in a threesome or two—but he’d never slept around on anyone.

“Yeah. Obviously my mom didn’t have much spine, either,” Alexa said. “How’s your mom today, health-wise?”

“She’s okay. I’m due a visit. I always go when my father is away traveling so I don’t have to deal with him.”

“I’m not sure I ever told you…but it’s amazing what you’re doing for Pamela. To try to find out what really happened and make the guilty party pay.” She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers, clutching it. “I’m proud of you.”

He opened his mouth, for the first time unsure about what to say, but a stocky man in his sixties approached their table, his gaze focused on Alexa.

“Madam Alexa. I didn’t believe it was you.”

For a fraction of a second, an emotion flashed in her eyes. Discomfort, maybe? But she threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin to talk to the man, who now stood with legs parted, hands on his waistline. Acting like they were old friends.

“Hi, Lawrence. Long time no see,” she said.

“Yeah. I’ve been too busy with work to attend the auctions,” he said, giving her a once-over. “How’s business?”

Brooks’s fingers curled into a fist. A wave of frustration washed over him, and he fought not to rise to his feet and punch the man. Was it pure jealousy? A dark emotion chilled his heart. Or was it him finding it impossible to date her without all the baggage from the past? Would I think differently if I knew this guy? He’d thought he had the antibodies against his father’s blatant sexism, but maybe he still had work to do. “Good,” she said, without offering any information to keep the small talk going.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Brooks said, irritation boiling his blood. He curled his fingers into a ball, ready to punch the man if he dared touch her shoulder.

“Oh,” Lawrence said, glancing at Brooks like he’d just noticed him, his eyes widening. “I didn’t want to interrupt your business dinner. Since I ran into you, I was wondering if—”

“Brooks is my boyfriend. We’re not having a business dinner,” she said, interrupting him and sending Brooks a glance that told him to play along.

A zingy energy passed between them, and a warm sensation flowed inside him, expanding in his chest, and the doubts in his heart nearly dissipated. He covered her hand with his, linking their fingers.

The man scratched his head, his confused gaze darting between the two of them. “I’m sorry. I—”

Brooks waved him off, not making any effort to hide his irritation. “Don’t worry about it.” Just get the hell out of my face.

“Nice seeing you. And you’re a lucky man. I’ll leave you two to it,” he said before finally leaving them alone and returning to his table.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Brooks mocked, loving the way the word rolled off his tongue.

“Sorry for putting you in this position. He’s a nice man who’s become lonely after his wife died. If he thought you were only doing business with me, he’d never leave.”

“I’m glad to be of service,” he lied. A nagging sensation stuck in his throat, and he pushed his dish aside, finding it impossible to finish. She hadn’t meant what she’d said, and he knew why. They’d skirted around the