Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(18)

With that thought in mind, she stepped on the gas and headed up the driveway.





CHAPTER NINE

Cleo found Brad Vicente at the far table of the restaurant in a darkened alcove.

He stood as she approached. “Brad,” he said. “You must be Cleo.”

“I am. Nice to finally meet you.”

He held her chair while she took a seat. Their wine had already been poured, just as Lily had suspected it would be.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I went ahead and took the liberty of ordering for you.”

“Under the circumstances, I appreciate it. Work was crazy. Traffic was just as bad.”

“Cheers,” he said, holding up his glass.

“Cheers.” They clinked glasses, and she took a sip. A little sweet, but not bad. No weird aftertaste. She set her glass down and looked around. “This is a nice place you chose.”

He smiled.

The restaurant had lots of windows with views of a courtyard made up of a weeping willow and mossy rocks. A candle flickered on every table. She looked him over. She’d been talking to him online for weeks now. She and the rest of The Crew had dissected every post and then decided as a group how to respond. “You look exactly like your profile picture,” she said.

He chuckled.

“I’m serious. It’s refreshing. You have no idea how many men I’ve met face-to-face only to learn they look nothing like their photos.”

He lifted a brow. “So you do this often?”

“You’re my fourth.” She frowned and reached a hand over the table. “You have something on your tie.” As planned, she knocked over his water, drew her hand back, and gasped as if it had been an accident.

He scooted back in his chair and jumped to his feet. Ice cubes fell to the floor, and water dripped from his shirt and pants.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Enjoy your wine. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he disappeared, she went in search of their server and told him the wine was sour and she wanted a fresh bottle of the same wine brought with new glasses. She slipped him enough money to cover the wine plus a tip and asked him not to mention it to her date. By the time Brad returned, she’d filled both glasses and drunk hers.

“Good as new,” he said as he took his seat.

He didn’t waste any time refilling her glass. She took a sip and smiled. “Your profile mentioned you had a large family and that you’re the outdoorsy type, but what I want to know is why you’re still single.”

He chuckled again.

“No, really,” she went on. “You’re handsome, successful, good-humored—”

“I have flaws, like everyone.”

“Such as?”

“I’m an exercise addict. I go to the gym twice a day, sometimes three. I can’t get enough.”

She sipped her wine, observed him over the rim of the glass. “What else?”

He leaned toward her. “I’m also addicted to sex.”

It was her turn to laugh. “Seriously?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m kidding. I wanted to see your reaction.”

“Well, that’s too bad.”

Before he could respond, the server brought their dinner. Miso-marinated sea bass for her and porterhouse steak for him.

“So,” he said after the server left, “you were saying?”

“I forget,” she said before sliding a bite of fish into her mouth and chewing. She sipped her wine. “Maybe I’ll remember before dessert is served.”

“You intrigue me.”

“You’ve only known me for twenty minutes.” She ate while he stared at her, his eyes probing.

“Should I be worried?” he asked.

She smiled. “Most definitely.”

Before they finished the bottle of wine, Brad appeared antsy, less patient. They skipped dessert, he asked for the bill, and quickly ushered her from the restaurant.

She stumbled slightly as she walked across the parking lot toward her car. What the hell was going on? She’d watched every move he’d made, and she’d only drunk one glass of wine.

He linked her elbow with his. “Why don’t you come to my place for dessert?”

She wobbled, then stopped and held on to him for support. “I don’t think so. Isn’t there a three-date rule before I go home with you?”

His jaw hardened. “I didn’t take you for a tease,” he said under his breath.

The man had gone from happy-go-lucky to suppressed fury in a matter of minutes. The look on his face scared her. “What did you say?”

“Maybe I should drive you home.”

“I’ll be fine.” She hoped that much was true. She didn’t feel well. She inhaled deeply. “I just need to get some fresh air.”

“The least I can do is walk you to your car.”

“No need,” she told him, but he kept his arm hooked around hers and continued onward as if he knew exactly where she was parked. She’d taken only a tiny sip or two from the first bottle of wine. Whatever he’d spiked it with couldn’t possibly have been enough to throw her off her game. Her gaze darted from one side of the parking lot to the other. Someone from The Crew is supposed to be here. Where are they?