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“No problem. Now, let’s get to work. Otherwise, Mr. Brighton will have both our heads, and we’re both going to be unemployed, and last time I checked, that doesn’t look too good on a mortgage application.”
“Are you buying a house?”
Bryce nodded and sank into the chair next to mine. “Well, condo actually. My boyfriend, Clay, and I have our eye on a new development downtown.”
“Your boyfriend?” I asked, not able to mask my surprise. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t realize.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Not a lot of people here even know. I try to keep that part of my life to myself.”
I nodded. “I guess that makes sense.”
“I’m not ashamed of being gay, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just don’t feel that it’s really anyone’s business. I keep my private life, private. If people have an issue with me, I want it to be because of my management style or business decisions, not because of my lifestyle.”
I nod again. “Trust me, I totally get it.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me.
I glanced out the doorway of the cubicle and then, seeing the coast was clear, removed my jacket and pushed up the arm of my shirt to reveal my tattoo sleeves. “This is why I always wear long sleeves. I have more, but they are in places that would be tricky to show you here in the middle of the office.” I studied his face for a moment, deciding that he looked more interested than horrified. “I got my first one at sixteen and it kind of grew from there. The weekends are really the only time I get to be myself.”
“Why is that?”
“My friends accept me for who I am. I don’t have to deal with judgment or condescension. People usually see tattoos like mine and assume things about me based on that. They think that I’m a trashy party girl who doesn’t have dreams or ambitions for my future.”
“I would never think that,” Bryce said, suddenly solemn. “I’m mostly surprised I didn’t notice when you worked at the coffee shop. Or were they not allowed there either?”
“My boss wasn’t a fan. I also didn’t get nearly as much in tip money with the tattoos out on display.”
“That’s awful.”
I shrugged. “It is what it is. I learned a long time ago that I can’t control people’s opinions.”
“So, is there a sweet motorcycle or hot rod that goes with all this?” Bryce smiled mischievously and I instantly appreciated his effort to make me smile again.
I laughed, but indulged his question. “As a matter of fact, there is. Cherry Bomb—and she’s pretty freakin’ hot.”
“Naturally.” He laughed. “I think that’s really cool. We should ride someday.”
“You have a bike? You don’t seem like the type.”
“Go look in the mirror, girl and then tell me the type.” He chuckled and we were silent for a moment, basking in the freedom of sharing our secrets, before the chirping of the computer brought us back.
“Oh, Lord, it’s him, again.” I said. I hurried to pull my jacket back on before opening the email.
Bryce leaned over again and we read together:
Miss Rand,
I trust you received my delivery this morning. On further thought of the matter, I would like you to join me for dinner tonight. I can send a car to pick you up at eight o’clock.
Cooper H. Brighton
“Oh, shit.”
Bryce’s mouth was hanging open.
“What the hell am I supposed to do now? Everyone around here already thinks I’m up to something. I can’t go to dinner with the man! I don’t even know if this is a professional or a personal invitation.”
“Judging by the way he was staring at your ass yesterday, I would guess the latter.”
