“Perhaps you should take care of this…Brek?” Tim’s eyebrows puckered, making the lines more prominent than usual.
“Yes, of course. Excuse me.” She snatched her leather portfolio with the company logo embossed in gold on the cover and shuffled past him.
“Velma.” Tim’s voice commanded her attention.
She paused and turned toward him. “Yes?”
He strutted toward where she’d stopped in the hallway. “I trust this won’t be a common occurrence? Guests are strongly discouraged while you’re working.”
She read between his lines easily enough—long-haired, leather-clad bikers were strongly discouraged. The sour feeling in her stomach doubled at the way Tim’s pinched expression broadcast precisely what he meant.
“I understand.” Velma’s fingertips went cold. Portfolio pressed against her chest, she beelined for her office.
Brek stood there holding a marble paperweight from her bookshelf, turning it over in his hands.
Oh, no. No. No. Brek had his tattoos on display today with a short-sleeved black tee and one of his excessively ripped pairs of jeans. This pair was missing both knees and a decent amount of thigh material. The tee sported screen-printed lips with a giant tongue. Holy crap, her boss must’ve burst a blood vessel when he saw Brek waiting in the plush lobby next to their two-o’clock clients.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey.” He dropped the marble paperweight back on the ledge with athump. “Tried to call.”
“Sorry. They’ve had me in meetings all day. What’s up?” She skirted around the edge of the desk, dropping her notepad next to the phone.
He shoved his fingertips into his pockets. The bags under his eyes and the frustration etched in his expression were unusual for him. “Meeting Dean and Claire at the courthouse in thirty. Can’t find where you put their stuff.”
“Sorry, I have it in their file. I double-checked on the country club and the photo booth place over lunch.”
“Everything set?”
“Yes.” She grabbed her briefcase and pulled their file. “I thought you guys were doing this next week?”
“Change of plans. Dean’s mom’s coming to town, and they’re goin’ up to Vail for a few days. Has to happen today.” Brek’s gaze raked over her. “You look pretty.”
Her pulse skipped at his perusal. “Thank you.”
She had picked the most professional power suit she owned that morning and twisted her hair in a French roll. So far it had only given her a headache.
He stepped close behind and ran a hand over her shoulder. Her stomach clenched. What would Tim think if he walked in right now?
“Not here, Brek,” she said, her voice low. Not where her boss could see them.
His hand immediately dropped. “You have the papers?”
“Everything for the marriage license is on this side.” She opened the brown file folder and pointed to the correct tab.
Brek slid an envelope across the desk with one finger. “We need this, too.”
Velma ripped open the envelope and laid the papers in the pile, smoothing the creases. The wedding was two weeks away. Family members had booked nonrefundable airline tickets. Velma was absolutely fine with all of it. Excited, even. The weight against her chest when Claire and Dean announced their engagement had lessened to nothing, and there could only be one reason. Brek.
He was scowling at his phone. Again.
“What’s going on?” She dropped the pages in the folder and flipped the file closed.
He ran a hand over the long hair she’d grown rather fond of. A lump lodged in her rib cage near her heart at the defeated look on his face.
She scooted across the office and pushed the heavy wooden door closed. Brek watched her without a word.
Screw Tim and his ideas of who could visit her at work. She stepped to Brek and ran a palm over the planes of his back, up to his shoulders. He leaned into her hands, a too-deep breath escaping his lungs. His back had been in knots lately. More than once in the past week, she had given him a massage before bed. The massages always led to other things. Whatever bothered him, he never said.
