Chapter 23
POPPY
Isit on the edge of my bed wearing my towel, panicking because I’ve never been to a six-star steak house before.
Hell, I didn’t even know such a thing exists.
I’ve been to steak houses, but they’re literal honky-tonks with peanut shells on the floor and a questionable bucking bull in the middle of the joint.
A six-star steak house is a foreign concept to me.
I tried calling Rodrigo for advice, but there was no answer, so I assume he’s at work.
And as I look down at my phone, there’s only one other person.
Lori. She told me to call or text her any time, and although I don’t doubt that she meant it, it’s still a little awkward.
She’s old enough to be my mom… could she possibly be a friend, too?
Lori picks up after one ring with a high-pitched, “Well, hi there, you sweet thing,” and immediately my trepidation melts away.
I smile, although she can’t see me. “Hi, Lori.”
“What’s happening, darlin’? You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry to bother you. I—”
“Now let’s just get one thing straight, baby girl,” Lori interjects. “The only time you will ever be a bother is forty-five minutes after Jonesy pops a Viagra.”
“I’ll keep that in mind…” I grimace at the thought, but I also can’t contain my own giggle. “I have to go with Brookes to a place called Rare tonight. And I Googled it, and it said it’s this really fancy steak house.”
“Oh, I love Rare,” Lori says through an exaggerated sigh.
“What should I wear?” I ask, nervously chewing on my nail.
“Well, the LBD, of course,” she says as if it’s obvious.
I think of the little black dress June and Lori practically forced me to get, and my lips twist to the side with uncertainty. “Are you sure? It’s a little… low cut.”
“You bet your sweet ass it’s low cut,” Lori sasses. “You need to show off those perfect titties while you’ve still got ’em, hon.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter under my breath.
“With those cute black strappy sandals and a bold red lip,” Lori continues, adding a kiss sound. “Brookes won’t be able to keep his hands to himself.”
I roll my eyes. “We’re not doing that, Lori, remember?”
“Yet,” she sing-songs the same way she did last week.
I bite back my laughter. “Fine…”
“That’s my girl!” Lori gushes.
I have to admit, Lori was right. The black dress, the heels, the red lips. Perfection.
Not to mention, the way Brookes looked at me when he saw me walk out, the way his blue gaze trailed down my body like he was seeing me for the very first time, the way his chest hitched like his breath was caught in the back of his throat, the way he became this bumbling, befuddled mess of limbs.
Now, as we walk into the fancy restaurant, his large hand placed firmly against my lower back while all eyes watch our every move, it seems Lori Jones knows what’s up.
As if Rare isn’t high-end and exclusive enough, we’re led into an even fancier private dining section, hidden behind a set of luxurious drapes hanging from the high ceiling.
Our table is tucked away on its own, surrounded by windows that look south, down over the lights that dot the coastline like fireflies sparkling against the night sky.
“Brookes!”
I hear Brookes stifle a groan, but then he steps in front of me to take the lead, shaking Blake’s proffered hand.
“Oh… you brought Poppy,” Blake says, his tone tight and so disingenuous I almost laugh. His eyes darken as they scan me from head to toe in a way that makes my stomach curl because he’s so gross.
“You look beautiful,” Blake says to me under his breath, leaning in and pressing a kiss to my cheek that lingers way longer than is socially acceptable.
With a muttered, “Thanks,” I pull back, putting some much-needed space between us and refusing to meet his lecherous stare.
“Brookes, you remember Chuck and Dave?” Blake turns to the table.
Chuck and Dave, two suited fifty-somethings with orange tans and teeth whiter than they should be, own Royale, which is basically the Rolex of golf clubs, or so I’ve been told.
The men stand, smiling from Brookes to me before rounding the table to greet us. When Chuck, the slimier of the two, wraps an arm around me, I instinctively freeze; the bare skin on my shoulder where his hand rests starts to burn, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe.
Thankfully, Brookes steps in and holds his hand out so Chuck is forced to remove his arm from around me to shake it, and I release the breath that had been painfully stuck in the back of my throat.
“Poppy, you can sit here next to me.” Blake offers the only available chair next to him as he takes his seat. “We can let these three talk.” He nods to Brookes, Dave, and Chuck.
I hesitate, my stomach lurching, but before I can move from where my feet feel rooted to the floor, Brookes moves first.
“Absolutely the fuck not,” he mutters, moving around and taking the chair from where it’s set next to Blake, unceremoniously dragging it around the table and causing the legs to scrape loudly against shiny floor.
Sliding it right next to his place setting, effectively putting himself between me and the intimidating men, Brookes again places his hand on the small of my back and ushers me to sit.
With a shuddered exhale, I take my spot, and Brookes takes his seat next to me, lazily reaching his arm out and draping it over the back of my chair, his fingers dancing over the bare skin of my shoulder and causing me to shiver involuntarily.
Turning to the men with a bored look like he would rather be literally anywhere else, Brookes gruffs, “So why am I here?”
Blake balks, his well-versed and obviously forced smile slipping before it’s back in a flash and accompanied by a humorless laugh. “Brookes,” he says, a hint of warning in his tone. “Chuck and Dave want to talk about another deal.” He glances at the two men. “An even better deal… right gentlemen?”
Chuck and Dave nod, each of them picking up their lowball glasses and taking a sip, almost in sync. It’s all sorts of Stepford and weird, if you ask me.
Brookes makes a show of lifting his arm from the back of my chair and tugging up the cuff on his shirtsleeve, checking his shiny watch. “It’s been less than a month since we parted ways.”
Chuck and Dave trade a glance, and Blake opens his mouth to speak, but Brookes gets in first. “Let me guess… sales are down?”
Blake’s face starts to turn red, and I can tell by the grip he has on his glass that it’s taking every last ounce of willpower he has not to lose his cool.
Thankfully, the tension is interrupted by a sultry voice coming from behind me. “I see the rest of your party has arrived.”
I turn, finding a gorgeous woman in a red dress smiling at everyone around the table, her dark gaze landing on me, causing a brow to arch as she says with a slightly derisive laugh, “Oh, and it looks like we have… an extra.”
Taken aback by her blatant disregard, my lips part with a scoff because rude.
Brookes turns then, looking up at the woman, and I don’t miss the way he doesn’t even look twice at her, instead turning to me, his arm returning to drape over the back of my chair, his hand gripping around the back of my neck, possessively, as if he’s trying to make a point and honestly, even I’m convinced at this rate.
The server’s shrewd eyes narrow momentarily before her smile returns in all its faux glory. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“I’ll take a non-alcoholic beer,” Brookes says, then nodding to me.
“Diet Coke, please. With a wedge of lemon,” I say with a forced smile of my own because two can play at this game, sweetheart.
The woman eyes me, quirking a brow. “Diet Coke?”
I stick my tongue in my cheek before I snap back and cause a scene.
“That’s what she said, isn’t it?” Brookes grits, looking her up and down with nothing but disdain in his steely blue gaze.
The woman presses her lips together in a forced smile, her gaze roving around the table. “Another round, gentlemen?”
“Yes, thank you,” Blake says tightly, clearing his throat.
The server turns and leaves with an exaggerated sway to her hips, and I’m forced to do all I can to contain my own eyeroll because I can just tell tonight is going to be one epic failure after another.
As expected, tonight has been bad. Like, really bad.
Brookes is acting like a sullen asshole, which really shouldn’t be as hot as it is.
Chuck and Dave are trying so hard to win him back, but he’s absolutely having none of it.
In fact, I think the only reason Brookes is even here is so that he can turn them down, have the final say, face-to-face.
Blake is frantic in his attempt to try to negotiate a deal.
And I’ve been watching it play out like a dramatic season finale of the Real Housewives, all while eating a four hundred dollar cut of steak and the most delicious potatoes I’ve ever tasted.
Now, as I finish washing my hands after a much-needed bathroom break, I carefully reapply my lipstick, comb my fingers through the long lengths of my hair, and spritz myself with a little perfume before walking out of the bathroom.
I just hope Brookes waits until after dessert to decline the Royale offer because honestly, there’s Kahlua lava cake on the menu that has my name written all over it.
“Poppy.”
Looking up at the sound of my name, I misstep and collide into none other than fucking Chuck. He laughs airily, grabbing my shoulders to steady me. “Woah, I’ve got you.”
“Sorry,” I say unapologetically. But as I make a move to step around him and continue back toward the dining room, it’s only then that I realize instead of releasing his hold of me, his grip tightens, almost to the point of pain.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, trying to tug myself free from his hold, but when I meet his eyes, I spot a threatening glint deep in his icy gaze that causes something to wrap around my chest and squeeze tight.