The Mogul and the Muscle - Claire Kingsley Page 0,68

thinking an actual date.”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you seem surprised?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re not really following the pattern. You already moved in.”

“Extenuating circumstances. And it doesn’t mean I’m skipping the part where I date you, Cameron.”

Those heart eyes emojis danced in front of my face. “I’d love to. Where are we going? Do I need to change?”

“No. It’s a little hole in the wall not far from my place. But trust me, the food’s amazing.”

“Sounds perfect.”

I sent my friends a quick text telling them I had a date. They replied with more emojis. I really loved those weirdos.

We left the mostly empty office and Jude drove us to a little restaurant housed in a building with chipping paint and a pink flamingo painted on the outside wall.

Inside the restaurant looked worn, but in a way that made it look well-loved rather than neglected. Rectangular tables were surrounded by mismatched painted wood chairs, and an eclectic mix of colorful art decorated the walls. Several of the tables had small groups enjoying their meals and a few servers bustled around the dining room.

We seated ourselves and a server brought us menus.

“Their specialty is seafood,” Jude said. “But I’ve never had anything here that isn’t amazing.”

I browsed the menu, but everything sounded good. I felt a little sheepish for how long it had been since I’d been to a little family-run restaurant like this. Usually my meals out were for business. This was the kind of neighborhood favorite that reminded me of a place my grandparents had taken me as a kid. We hadn’t eaten out often, so when we had, it had been a treat.

“What do you suggest?” I asked.

“I always get the ceviche.”

I closed my menu. “Sounds good to me.”

The server came back and took our orders. I asked for a glass of Salishan Cellars white wine and she brought it a few minutes later.

I leaned back in my chair and took a sip. My shoulders were knotted with tension, but for the first time today, I felt myself begin to relax.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“I’m all right. I think. Today was a shit show.”

“It was. But Derek is the best at what he does.”

I nodded and set my glass down. “In the long run, this will probably be fine. It’s just hard to remember that when you’re in the thick of a crisis.”

Something crossed his expression so fast, I almost didn’t see it. Was it sadness? It was hard to be sure.

“This is perfect, though,” I continued. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to get out of the office.”

“A good meal always helps. Oh, this was supposed to be a surprise, but Nicholas texted me something earlier.” He held up his phone. Two perfectly beautiful key lime tarts sitting on my kitchen counter.

“That’s the best news I’ve had all day.”

Our food came out remarkably fast—the ceviche was indeed delicious—and Jude and I fell into easy conversation. We didn’t talk about anything serious. Not the media shitstorm. Not Noelle or Aldrich or corporate espionage or whether we were going to find something creepy on my bed again.

We talked about motorcycles and the merits of various makes and models. About the challenge of restoring old cars and the satisfying way a motor rumbled when it was in good condition. We talked about beaches and swimming. About animals we were afraid of—sharks for me, raccoons for him, although it wasn’t so much fear as vague distrust.

By the time we’d finished most of our meal, I felt considerably better. My problems hadn’t gone anywhere, but at least I’d set them aside for a little while.

A group of three men came in and took the table next to us. They were dressed casually in dark shirts and jeans. They leaned close to each other, speaking in low voices. It sounded like Russian.

I could see Jude’s awareness of not just them, but everything in the room. He was constantly vigilant, his eyes taking in every detail. It wouldn’t have surprised me to find out he’d mentally mapped out several different ways to get to an exit in case of an emergency.

“Finished?” Jude asked.

I put my napkin on the table. “Yes. That was amazing.”

“Did you save room for key lime tart?”

“I always have room for key lime tart.”

Jude leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Good. Because I was thinking about ways I could eat it off you.”

I bit my lip at the rush of heat between my legs. My pleasant evening was