When my gaze returns to him, he’s smiling. He’s freaking smiling.
“Consider it a job perk.”
He turns to the woman behind the counter, not giving me another chance to refuse or witness my glare.
I huff, disturbed by his self-assured persistence. “Small coffee. Black.” I order, surrendering.
The barista punches her screen, clearly entertained by our exchange. Cole taps his card and checks his phone while we wait for our drinks.
“Carly is running a few minutes late, but she should be here any minute,” Cole says, still scrolling.
I picked Cole up from the practice facility after spending most of the morning and afternoon in the middle of Lyla’s clothes, makeup, and more girlie shit than I ever knew existed. Now, we’re meeting Carly, Cole’s private chef. He told me last night she’s not a threat. I’m reserving judgment until I meet this chick and can see for myself.
We grab our drinks, and Cole leads us to a table, the three girls watching our every move. He’s unfazed by their whispers and raised phones.
He pulls a chair out but stands, waiting for me to sit.
“I’ll sit over there.” I tip my head in the direction of a table closer to the window, where I can see everything.
His dark brows pinch together.
“To give you some privacy,” I say, not needing to sit in on his business meeting.
His eyes flick over my head to the girls, who I suspect have filmed our entire interaction.
“Ryder.” His tone is soft, and all casual lightness has disappeared. “I don’t need privacy. I have games, meetings, and events. You don’t need to stand off to the side.” His eyes rise to the girls again. “People are going to watch us. I need you to be ok with that.”
For the first time, I hear a pleading frustration in his tone. His eyes show a hint of sadness I don’t understand.
Well, shit.
I stifle a groan. “I have to sit facing the door.”
He nods and moves over, making room for me to sit beside him. I slide into the chair, keeping distance between us.
Our audience giggles as they tap away on their phones. “Does that ever get old?”
Cole stares at his phone, scrolling again. “This is just the beginning, Ryder. If I let it bother me, I’d never leave my house.”
I glance at him, but his eyes remain glued to his screen while I watch the door and everything else. “How often do you get approached?”
He runs a hand over his jaw. “Often, although, most just take pictures or videos and then blast them everywhere.”
It’s what’s happening fifteen feet from us.
“What are their captions going to read?” I ask, wanting to be prepared for what these girls will post.
His gaze flicks to the group, and then his eyes peek at me out of the corner. A small smile returns that makes my stomach squeeze tight like it knows it needs to hide from whatever is about to come out of his mouth.
“Do you really want to know?”
Nope, I really don’t.
But whether I like it or not, this is where I am.
I sip my coffee, needing it to give me invisible powers so I can be here without really being here. “That bad, huh?”
He laughs, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, his elbow an inch from my bicep. “Actually, given how you look as if every ounce of joy has vanished for eternity and like you might kill the next person who comes through the door, the memes will be entertaining.”
