Briggs (Carolina Reapers 7)

I cleared the knot from my throat, softening my gaze. “Can we fix that, Cormac?”

He tilted his head.

Butterflies flapped in my stomach, anxious little fuckers that threatened to crush me. I knew he’d say no—the insults he’d thrown the last time I’d seen him screamed as much—but it didn’t stop me from asking, “Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

The intensity of his gaze increased, a battle raging in those brown depths.

“You’re in New York for the evening anyway,” I said, sort of rambling. “Everyone has to eat, right? Unless you’ve already made plans—”

“You want to take me to dinner?” he asked, sliding his hands into his pants pockets. “You and me and a table…alone?”

I breathed a laugh. “There would be food, too.”

A chuckle left his lips, and my eyes widened at the sound and how it filled me with hope. He hadn’t laughed once since we’d started our business arrangement, and I was instantly wondering how I could get the usually surly man to do it again.

“I’m assuming I need to dress to impress?” he asked, and I shrugged.

“Dress however you want, Cormac. It’s not a date or a business meeting. I just want to feed you.”

A smirk shaped his lips and he nodded. “All right.”

“All right?” I couldn’t keep the shock from my tone.

He cocked a brow at me. “Unless you were bluffing?”

“No,” I hurried to say. “I’ll pick you up at your hotel in two hours?”

He parted his lips but quickly shut them, resolving to give me a nod. He turned on his heels, leaving the studio without another word.

I was almost used to his quick and cold exits by now.

“Um…” Cormac’s voice was wary as he tilted his head at me. “You know Halloween was a couple of months ago, right?”

I laughed, waving him off. “This is one of my favorite places in the city.”

“You’re joking,” he said, eyes darting from me to the black and white striped panels framing the restaurant’s door.

“I am not!” I shook my head, holding the door open. “After you,” I said, waving him in.

He glanced down at his attire—a sleek pair of slacks—Armani, from the look of them, and a bright blue button-down. Then he glanced at me, clad in a black pair of editor’s pants and a simple white blouse.

“Don’t be scared,” I said, smirking at him as he lingered in the opened doorway. “I’ll protect you.”

That earned me a growl, and he seemed to blink out of his shock enough to step through the door. Our hostess—dressed in an authentic Tim Burton Catwoman costume—showed us to a table tucked in the far back of the restaurant.

I couldn’t stop smiling at the way Cormac took in the restaurant, his eyes scanning the dark walls lit up with purple string lights, the fake cobwebs strung in the corners, the bar with a Beetlejuice lookalike mixing up drinks behind it. Every waiter or waitress was dressed in some form of Tim Burton costume—a Willy Wonka, an Edward Scissorhands, a Mad Hatter.

After we’d placed our drink orders with our waitress—Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas—I raised my brows at Cormac.

“This…” He shook his head. “This wasn’t what I was expecting when you said you wanted to take me out to dinner.”

“No?” I glanced over the menu, quickly deciding on one of my favorite entrees before I met his gaze across the small table. “What were you expecting?”

He raised his hands before laying them flat on the table. “I don’t know,” he said, and I think it was the first time I’d ever seen him even remotely flustered. “Masa or Eleven or something like that.”

I sipped the Devil’s Breath margarita I’d ordered, nodding as I sat it down. “Did you Google the most expensive places in the city or are you familiar with them?”

His eyes instantly fell to his Beetle Toddy and he took a long drink before he asked, “Did you choose this place on purpose?”

“Of course I did,” I answered, furrowing my brow.

“I mean—”

Sally came back up to our table to take our dinner orders, cutting him off.

“You mean what?” I asked after she’d gone to place our orders.

He shifted in his seat. “Did you choose this place to…I don’t know, throw me off?”

“Throw you off?” I repeated, shaking my head.

“Yeah,” he practically growled. “Make me see you as something other than the spoiled rich girl I know?”

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach, but the boiling anger was right there to lift it back up. I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, reminding myself that he had built a different version of me in his head for the last four years. If I had any hope of changing his perception, I had to be patient.

“I chose this place…” My voice came out thick with the pain strangling me. I cleared it, forcing myself to be stronger—I’d never cared what people thought of me, so why did it matter what Cormac said?