Page 25 of Spock’s Snare

I glare at him as I put distance between us by crossing my arms. “You’re out of line. Nothing is going on between Spock and me. More importantly, it’s none of your business.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” Blackwood practically bellows. “I asked you out, and you said no. You said you couldn’t date an employee because it was unprofessional. Well, what does it say about you if you date a client? That’s pretty hypocritical of you, isn’t it?”

"My personal life is none of your business."

"It became my business when—"

"No." I cut him off sharply. "It didn't."

He snaps his mouth closed as he glares at me.

"I don't owe you an explanation for who I spend time with. I don't owe you a date because you asked for one. And I certainly don't owe you an apology for saying no."

For the first time, he looks genuinely taken aback.

I take a calming breath and glance away from him.

That's when I see Hawk watching us. He's standing about thirty yards away near a stack of drywall. His expression is unreadable, but there's no mistaking that he's been paying attention.

Mortification crashes over me. Now one of the Demon Dawgs has witnessed my entire humiliating argument. Without another word, I turn on my heel and walk briskly toward my truck.

"Chloe!"

I ignore Blackwood as I climb into the driver's seat, slam the door, and start the engine. As I pull away, I catch one last glimpse of Hawk in the side mirror. He hasn't moved, but neither has Blackwood.

I leave them both behind, grateful for the privacy of my truck and desperate for a few minutes to clear my head before facing anyone else.

CHAPTER NINE: SPOCK

The strip mall looks like it gave up years ago.

Rush and I roll in side by side, our motorcycles rumbling through a parking lot riddled with faded lines and cracked asphalt. When we kill the engines, the sudden silence settles like a blanket.

I study the row of storefronts and see very little of interest. What used to be a liquor store has plywood covering its windows and a lock on the door. The nail salon boasts a sun-bleached FOR LEASE sign hanging crooked inside the glass. I think one of the other spots used to be a tax office, but I can’t quite tell.

The only place showing any sign of life is the laundromat at the far end. Through the windows, I can see dryers turning lazily while an older woman folds towels at a plastic table. The parking lot is empty, except for two cars in front of the laundromat and a third parked in front of the unit, with RED ROCK CONSTRUCTION written in red on the sign above the door.

Rush removes his sunglasses and scans the building.

"Is this the place?"

I glance at the address Spark texted me earlier.

"This is the address Spark sent."

"This doesn't exactly scream successful construction company," Rush mutters.

"No." I know Chloe doesn’t have a dedicated office space, unless you count the portable units that she sets up at the construction sites. She told me once that she has a home office and hires a service to take calls. Red Rock Construction came across as a major player, but this place says differently.

I study the closed blinds as I dismount. We can’t see inside, so there is no way of knowing if anyone is inside. When I push against the door, it doesn’t budge. Rush raps his knuckles against the glass.

"Anybody home?"

Silence.

He knocks again, louder this time.

Still nothing.