A Very Merry Bromance (Bromance Book Club #5) (21)

“What—what are you doing here?”

He lifted one of the cups. “Peace offering.”

“I don’t need a peace offering.”

“Well, I do.” He walked in and set a cup in front of her. He held her gaze just long enough to make her sweat. “I said some shitty things last night. I’m sorry.”

“That’s not necessary.” Yet she was touched. Like, really touched. Especially since she’d deserved most of what he’d said.

“Not that it’s any excuse, but you caught me off guard at the end of a particularly bad day, and I took it out on you.”

As far as apologies went, it was as sincere as any she’d heard. And since she wasn’t used to sincere apologies from men in her life, she blanked on what to say next. She finally blurted out, “Why did you have a bad day?”

“It’s a long story.” He sat down in the chair opposite her desk and casually sipped his coffee. “I want to reconsider your offer.”

He said it so nonchalantly that she thought she’d misheard him. Her mind blanked again. “My offer?”

“Yes. You know, the one about becoming the face of a whiskey brand that you’re so embarrassed about that you don’t even like people to know you’re part of—”

“I’m not embarrassed by the brand. I’m embarrassed by . . .” Her mouth snapped shut.

“By what?” he prompted.

“Nothing.”

He lifted his eyebrow in a way that said they’d be circling back to that. “As I was saying, I gave it some thought last night, and I’d like to start over.”

“I’m not going to Belize with you.” Oh God, why did she say that? The last thing this conversation needed was a reminder of one of her greatest humiliations.

“How about dinner, then?”

Blank brain struck again. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, it’s this thing where two people go out and get something to eat together. It’s sometimes referred to as a date.”

“You’re high.”

“I’m totally not.”

She scoffed. “I’m not going on a date with you.”

“Sorry. That’s the deal.”

“That’s extortion!”

“That’s one of those big, fancy lawyer words, isn’t it?”

A flush of annoyed heat raced up her cheeks. He was goading her on purpose, and it was working. “Stop that. I’ve never, not once, done or said anything to suggest—”

He cut her off with a grin. “I’m just messing with you.”

A noise akin to a growl crawled its way out of her chest. He pretended not to notice as he instead surveyed her tiny office, pausing to read the posters on the walls titled know your rights and do you qualify for daca? He moved on to the notes tacked to her corkboard.

She crossed her arms. “Are you quite finished?”

“How long you been doing this?”

“Doing what? Practicing immigration law?”

He nodded, eyes now studying the scribbled list of Don’t Forget on her dry-erase board.

“I’ve been an attorney for ten years, but I spent the first couple of years of my career as a public defender before moving into immigration law.”

“Why the change?”

“Why do you care?”

He leveled his gaze on her. “Humor me.”

Gretchen sucked in a breath and crossed her legs. “I got sick of defending clients for petty crimes, only to see them deported with no representation. I realized I could make a bigger difference on this side of the law.”

“And are you? Making a difference?”

She waved her hands. “This is ridiculous. I am not going on a date with you.”

“You sure about that?”

“One thousand percent.”

He shrugged with an exaggerated sigh. “Well, shucks. Then I guess you have to find another handsome face to sell your whiskey.”

And just like that, he stood up, set his coffee on her desk, and walked out.

Shock rendered her speechless and inert as she watched him go. But only for a second, because that’s all it took for her dignity to rustle up some self-righteousness. Gretchen shot to her feet and stomped after him. “Where the hell are you going?”

He turned around at the other end of the short hallway. The small space looked even more cramped with his tall frame filling it up. “You said no. I’m going home.”

“Just like that?”

“Is there anything more to be said? At least I’m actually saying goodbye instead of running scared.”

Indignation sparred with a dash of shame, and it made her, as Uncle Jack liked to say, as cross as a raccoon in a trap. She cocked a hip. “Oh, I get it now. This is some kind of revenge, isn’t it?”

“Revenge?”

“You’re doing this to get back at me for committing the unforgivable sin of walking out on the Great Colton Wheeler. That must’ve been a serious blow to your ego, but I am not willing to prostitute myself for your self-esteem.”

A look of horror crossed his face, as if it hadn’t occurred to him she might construe things that way. “Jesus, Gretchen. I’m not demanding that you sleep with me. I want to take you on a date. That’s it.”