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My brother stares at me like I’ve just sprouted an extra head. But Brock . . . Brock’s lips curve up to form a small smile.
He looks as much a mess as I probably do. Not surprising, really. We’ve both had a pretty eventful day.
That smile on his face, though. My heart beats faster at the sight. It makes me weak.
I know I shouldn’t just believe Brock. After all, I did see him kiss his ex—his married cheater of an ex—mere hours ago.
But my resolve is melting. My brain can’t compete with my heart when Brock is standing here right in front of me.
He flew all the way from Denver to Seattle to find me here. That has to count for something, right?
“Nina, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.” Brock starts to stride toward me, but Dean holds his palm against Brock’s chest, saying something in a voice too low for me to make out the words.
“Dean, I want to hear him out,” I say.
“He’s only going to mess with your head,” Dean says over his shoulder, his eyes fixed on Brock.
“You really think I’d do that?” Brock sounds hurt. Even though my mind is telling me not to listen to him, my legs are already restless, longing to run to him, to put my hand on his face and make him feel better.
I walk down the porch steps and join the two men, putting myself between them. “Let’s just talk,” I say. “I don’t want to see you two fight.”
I glance between Brock and Dean, making sure neither one of them makes an aggressive move.
“That’s all I want to do. Talk,” Brock says slowly, carefully, like he’s trying not to provoke a rabid animal.
Dean throws his hands in the air and lets out a frustrated groan.
“You said you had proof,” I say, looking at Brock.
Brock slips his hand inside the pocket of his coat and pulls out his phone. He presses a button, and cool light bathes his face in a ghostly glow. He taps the screen a few times, then hands the phone over to me.
Rosa Guerriero, it says at the top of the screen.
I stare at the phone as my eyes adjust to the bright light. “These are . . .”
“Texts from Rosa, yes,” Brock says.
There’s a bunch of texts on one side of the screen, and nothing on the other side. Rosa has been texting Brock, but he hasn’t been responding, I realize.
Despite his insistence that he doesn’t want to hear what Brock has to say, Dean shuffles closer, standing just behind me to look at the screen.
I start reading.
You’re just going to walk away like that after we kissed?
I can’t believe you just left me. You could’ve at least offered to give me a lift.
You’re being so rude, Brock. The least you can do is apologize.
You’re angry, huh?
You’re so hot when you’re mad.
Come on. How long are you going to sulk?
Brock. You’re being so childish. It was just a kiss.
Brock. How long are you going to ignore me? Reply already!!!!!
Look, I only did it because I don’t think that girl is right for you. I did it for your own good.
My eyes widen as I read that last text. Rosa admitted to having schemed the whole thing—in writing.
I raise my gaze to meet Brock’s eyes. He’s been watching me intensely, his muscles tense. He says nothing, but he raises his eyebrows as if to ask me how I feel after reading those texts.
“So you haven’t been having secret meetings with Rosa?” I ask, my quiet voice piercing the somber silence.
“No,” Brock answers quickly. “No way. I’d never do that. I’d never do anything to jeopardize our relationship.
“So what happened at the hotel . . .”
“She ambushed me. I didn’t even know she was coming.”
“And the kiss . . .”
“I had no idea she was going to do that. I was caught by surprise,” Brock says earnestly. “I pushed her away as soon as I recovered from the shock.”
I study Brock’s features. Can I trust him? I did only see a second of that kiss before I walked away—I couldn’t take the sight any longer.
“I swear, Nina,” Brock says. “I didn’t go there for some secret rendezvous with Rosa. I just wanted to close that deal with Casey Technologies.”
I nod. We did go through Brock’s proposal a few times over the past week. He wanted to make sure the meeting would go smoothly.
“How did that go?” I ask.
To my surprise, Brock shrugs. “We’ll see what happens at the next meeting, assuming they’re willing to reschedule at all. They didn’t seem happy that I just left them at the lobby like that.”
“You what?” I stare at him in disbelief. “But it was supposed to be this big meeting. You were supposed to close an important deal.”
