My cheeks warm as we leave the house and walk to his car at the end of the drive. A Tesla, no less. Navy blue. I’d have expected something a little flashier from Brock Steel—a red Alfa Romeo maybe—but as he opens the door for me and I slide into the passenger seat, my perspective changes.
This is Brock Steel in automobile form. I inhale. The damned car even smells like him.
After he sits down in the driver’s seat, he turns to me and slides one finger down the apple of my cheek, leaving smoldering embers on my flesh.
“I’m very happy about tonight,” he says.
“Tonight hasn’t started yet.”
“I’m very happy it’s about to start.” He brushes his lips gently over mine.
I’m pretty sure my skin is on fire from his kiss, which was nearly as chaste as the one in the living room. I’m not sure how to respond, so I don’t. He starts the engine, and we’re off.
Conversation is surprisingly easy with Brock. We manage to talk about his work and mine without it turning to all the crap we’re both going through. Works for me. I’m not sure how much I should say to him regarding Lamone and my past. I need to talk to Callie first.
Besides, for one night, I’d like to forget about Pat Lamone. Forget that he’s trying to pin some fake vandalism charge on my brother. Perhaps Brock wants to forget about his own family drama as well.
Still the gentleman, Brock parks, leaves the car, and opens the door for me. He takes my hand, and we walk into the Fortnight.
“Good evening, Mr. Steel.” The maître d’ smiles.
“Good evening.”
“Your table is ready.” He hands two menus to a hostess in a long black skirt who leads us through the dining room to a secluded private table.
She hands me a menu first and then one to Brock. “Your server will be with you soon.”
I take a quick look. No prices are listed. I lift my eyebrows.
“What?” Brock asks.
“It’s just… This menu doesn’t have any prices on it.”
“Yeah. I asked them to print special menus for us.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want price to be an issue with you. I want you to order what you want, regardless of the cost.”
“Except that doesn’t really work,” I tell him. “I know Wagyu beef is a heck of a lot more expensive than chicken piccata.”
He laughs. “Smart girl.”
“You don’t have to be smart to know that.”
“Rory Pike, for the most beautiful girl in Snow Creek, you have the worst time taking a compliment.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I compliment your intelligence by calling you smart. You tell me everyone knows what you know. This afternoon at lunch, I told you how wonderful I thought your voice was. You proceeded to tell me how you never made it in opera. I tell you you’re gorgeous. At least you don’t have a comeback for that one.”
Heat flows into me. I’m sure I’m blushing. I look down absently. Yeah, my chest is pink. What do I say to that? Do I say I know I’m beautiful? That makes me sound conceited. Do I throw it back in his face? That just proves his point that I can’t take a compliment.
“Have I rendered you speechless?” His dark eyes twinkle.
“I’ve been told since I was a kid how pretty I am,” I say. “I guess I learned not to throw that one back. But then Callie came along, and you know how smart she is. Just brilliant. A different kind of mind from Jesse’s and mine. She is logical and analytical where Jess and I are creative and emotional. He and I heard from the day she started talking how smart she was. So I guess I just learned to think of myself as second best when it comes to intelligence. And then, when I didn’t make it in opera, second best when it comes to talent as well.”
It’s a stark admission, and I don’t make it lightly. And I find myself wondering why I made it to Brock Steel, a man I hardly know.
“So you were typecast,” he says. “You were the pretty one and Callie was the smart one.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“I get that.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. My brother, Brad, is the smart one.”
“Really?”
“That surprises you?”
“Well, yeah. All the Steels are so brilliant and so gorgeous. I guess I find it hard to believe any of you are the”—air quote—“smart ones.”
“Brad runs a nonprofit corporation. He’s a genius in business. Me? I’m a rancher. I raise beef.”
“You make a heck of a lot of money raising beef,” I say. “Surely that takes some smarts.”
“Of course it does. I think there are different kinds of smarts.”
“So why does Brad get credit for being smarter than you are?”
“Because of the type of intelligence he possesses. He’s got a business mind. He helps Dad on the business side of the operation, and he runs the Steel Foundation with Henry. He’s a workaholic, frankly.”