I have no plan as I walk to Luke’s table, so I just say whatever comes out of my mouth.
“Hi there,” I say to Luke’s date. “Do you mind if I talk to this guy for a second?” I gesture with my hand at his stupid smug face.
The redheaded woman’s eyes go wide at my interruption. “Is everything okay?” she asks, looking at Luke and then back at me.
“No,” I tell her. “His . . . car is being towed.”
“Towed?” she asks, looking toward the entrance.
“Yes,” I say, grabbing Luke by the arm and yanking on it until he stands. “He’ll be right back.”
I drag him toward the restroom, hoping to find an empty hallway or somewhere we can talk privately. But there isn’t one, so I do the next best thing and march him into one of the unisex bathrooms, locking the door behind us.
“Listen, Archie, if you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked,” Luke says once the door shuts, his lips pulled up into a smile that says he’s enjoying this far too much.
“Oh, shut up,” I say, suddenly aware that I just locked us in a bathroom. Together.
“What are you doing here?” I ask in pointed low tones. Enough for him to hear me and understand that I’m mad, but not loud enough that someone outside the door would call the police.
He shrugs his shoulders. “I’m on a date.”
“At Marlowe’s?”
“I like their chicken.”
“No one goes to Marlowe’s for the chicken.”
He tucks his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “Well, I do.”
“Who told you we would be here?”
“We?” He looks around the bathroom.
I fold my arms. “Come on, Luke.”
He rubs his jaw. “I have my sources.”
“And so you just thought you could show up here and, what? Try to sabotage the photo op?”
“I just wanted to see what you had up your sleeve with this stunt.”
It’s my turn to shrug. “No stunt here. That’s the kind of thingyoudo. It’s justdinner with friends.”
This is sort of the truth. But it’s not like I’m going to share my tactics with Luke.
“Sure,” he says, drawing out the word.
He takes a step closer, and I have to look up to meet his gaze. “Why are you here then, Arch? Do you always babysit your clients?”
“I’m on a date,” I say.
“You’re mixing business with pleasure? I thought you didn’t date coworkers,” he says with a chin lift toward the dining room where I left Tanner.
“That’s not my coworker. I’m on adatedate,” I say, trying not to show how surprised I am that he remembered that policy of mine.
His brow pinches. “At Marlowe’s?”
“Shut up,” I say. Then, because he feels too close and this room suddenly feels too small, I take a step back.
