She pushed her chair closer to her desk. “I have a feeling he’d be more comfortable with your sexuality than my plumbing.”

He laughed, leaned forward. “Look on the bright side, the man will retire long before us.”

“If I can outlast him. I have to admit, I’ve done a few online searches.” Though there was no guarantee she’d be treated any better somewhere else.

“Can’t blame you.” Evan waved a hand in the air. “Hand over the Locke drawing. I’ll make a copy and look at your notes.”

Grace walked over to her files, pulled the shelf with Dameon’s plans, and found the ones Evan needed. “Thanks. I appreciate you stepping up.”

“No problem. You’ve been on the Sokolov crap without me. Far as I see it, I owe ya.”

She rolled the plans and handed them over. “You don’t owe me.”

“Debatable.” Evan headed for the door, hesitated. “Are you bringing a plus-one on Friday?”

“You know I haven’t dated in months.”

“Cryin’ shame. That dead guy is not an indicator that you’re not picky or smart about your dates.”

“Am I that transparent?” She thought she’d done a decent job of hiding her feelings.

“Educated guess. You’ve had lots of plus-ones and are always quick to point out their replacements. I haven’t seen that from you since . . .”

“I know. I’m just not ready.”

He winked. “Don’t give the dead guy any power, Grace. You’re too young to start collecting cats.”

That made her smile. “I don’t even have one, let alone a collection.”

Her phone rang, cutting off their discussion. “Bye, Evan.” She lifted the receiver. “Grace Hudson,” she said.

“Good morning, Grace.” Dameon’s voice was smooth silk.

“Good morning.”

Evan looked over his shoulder as he left the office.

She placed her hand over the receiver. “Shut the door.”

He walked out, and Grace turned back to her phone call.

“Am I interrupting something?” Dameon asked.

“No. It’s okay.”

“Good. Listen, I’m going to be in town tomorrow. I’d like to discuss some things.”

“I’m pretty busy tomorrow.”

“What about your lunch? Maybe you’ll let me buy.”

She lowered her voice as if the walls were listening. “Is this your way of taking me out when I keep saying no?”

He hesitated long enough to answer her question. “You have to eat.”

“I actually have a thing . . . tomorrow. At my lunchtime.”

“A thing?”

“It’s important.”

“I’ll drive you to your thing.”

“Dameon.”

“I’ll settle for your cell phone number.”

She shook her head. “You have my work cell.”

“Do you really want me calling that after work hours? I’m not sure if your phone is ever audited, but . . .”

The man was persistent.

“Fine.” She rattled off her number.

“It has never taken me so long to get a girl’s number.”

That made her grin. “I’m sure they throw them at you often.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

She pushed aside the meeting notes. “Unless there’s something pressing, I really need to get back to work.”

“I’ll be on the lookout for something pressing.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because you’re smart. Have a nice day, Grace.”

She was getting used to hearing her name from his lips.

“Goodbye, Dameon.”

She hung up and picked up the folder she’d been working on before the meeting with a smile.

When her personal cell buzzed on her desk with a text message, she knew who it was before looking.

Making sure this is you.

You’re incorrigible.

He sent a winking emoji.

Yeah . . . it was probably best that those types of text messages weren’t on the city phone. Richard would probably shit a pumpkin if he saw anything flirtatious.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Dameon had three days to secure an invitation to the holiday party, leaving him few options. He watched Grace exit the office building at noon sharp.

“If you’re going to be accused of stalking, might as well do it.” He really felt like a perv.

Instead of climbing into a car, she headed toward a strip mall.

Following her would be a dead giveaway, so instead he drove the short distance and caught a glimpse of her entering one of the businesses. He parked his car and walked a little farther than where he had noticed Grace disappear into a storefront. As he moved closer, he slowed his pace. It was one of two doors.

The first one was some sort of check-cashing location. He glanced inside and didn’t see any sign of her, so he moved to the next and saw her kicking off her shoes.

“A nail salon? You gotta be kidding me.” There was no way he could pretend to bump into her inside a freaking nail salon.

She sat in a lounge chair and put her feet in the water.

Dameon stared.

He realized someone inside the shop was watching him, so he pushed inside. Act casual.

“Grace? Is that you?”

With the call of her name, her head shot up. “Dameon?”

“I thought that was you.” Several sets of eyes moved his way. There was a woman sitting at a counter with her hand inside some kind of light. One of the employees wheeled a stool by Grace’s chair and adjusted the water pouring in.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I was, ah . . .” He pointed a thumb out the door. “Just at the . . .” Shit, he had no idea what was in the shopping center to say he’d been at. “So this was your thing today?”

Suddenly it was Grace in the hot seat. Her cheeks turned red. “It’s important.”

“Do you have an appointment?” The question came from one of the employees.

“I’m sorry, what?” The question caught him off guard.

“An appointment.” He shook his head.

It was Dameon’s turn to feel heat in his cheeks.

The woman getting her nails painted started to laugh.

He looked up at Grace, who was hiding a smile.

“I can sit you next to your friend,” the employee insisted.

“I’m sorry. I don’t . . .”

“She wants to know if you want a pedicure,” Grace explained.

God no.

He looked around, completely out of place. “Uhm.”

“Well, you can’t just stand there,” Grace told him.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

Grace looked at the empty seat beside her.

Son of a bitch.

“Yeah, okay.” Someone somewhere was cutting his man card in half.

The woman smiled, lifted the armrest on the chair, and encouraged him to sit.

He toed off his shoes before slipping into the seat.

He noticed Grace’s smile before she removed a remote from a pocket on the side of the chair.

“This is how you spend your lunch hour?” he asked.