My stomach did a flip of uncertainty as I walked toward him. The closer I got, the slower I moved. I was out of place in this hip club, wearing yoga pants and carrying a tray of neatly cut baked goods.
One of the women in the group of employees clustering around Kane glanced at me as I stopped and waited off to the side. Her expression was confused and I realized I couldn’t do this. Not here, in front of all these people. I could stand in front of the meanest judge in the state and argue beneath his aggravated stare, but not this. Offering brownies baked in my own kitchen made me feel unexpectedly vulnerable.
I turned toward the door, planning to sneak out undetected by Kane. But I’d hardly even moved when a deep voice called out to me.
“Vivian?”
I looked over my shoulder and saw Kane dismissing the group of servers. He walked over to me, brows arched expectantly.
“What’s up? Do the cops need something else from me?”
If only. I considered hiding the brownies behind my back.
“No, it’s, uh . . . no.” I smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I . . . made you these.”
I thrust the container toward him. He looked down at it and then up and me, his hazel eyes narrowed in confusion.
“What’s that?”
“It’s brownies. You know, the frosted kind. The ones that fulfill every chocolate fantasy. Unless you don’t like chocolate. But of course you do. Everyone likes chocolate. Wait, do you like chocolate? Oh, and nuts? Do you like nuts?”
His scowl deepened as he glanced from side to side to see if anyone was within earshot. “I like nuts. Unless they’re attached to a dude.”
I let out a single note of nervous laughter, my face warming. “Uh, no. These are just . . . walnuts.”
He just stared at me.
“So anyway . . . here. And thanks again for the other night.”
He ran a hand over his bald scalp. “Yeah, you don’t have to thank me, Vivian.”
“Viv. My friends call me Viv.”
A few beats of uncomfortable silence passed before he spoke.
“You don’t need to make me brownies.”
A passing server glanced at us with an amused expression. I sighed deeply, still clutching the container.
“I already did. So, if you can just take them, I’ll be going.”
He looked at me like the Tupperware container was on fire. Jesus. I was going to have to walk back out of here with it. I’d be scarfing these brownies in horrified embarrassment later tonight.
“Alright,” I said, an edge in my tone. “I’ll just go.”
Kane suppressed an eye roll and glared at me. “No, I’ll take ‘em. I just . . .” He reached for the container. “Okay.”
“If you’re just going to throw them out—”
“I’m not throwin’ ‘em out. I’m gonna eat these things like a motherfucker.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Okay. Well, then. Have a good night.”
“How’s your neck?” He eyed my collarbone and I suddenly felt self-conscious about the bruises that had darkened and become more prominent there. But it wasn’t like I could wear a scarf to the gym.
I reached up and brushed my hand over my neck. “Oh, it’s . . . fine. I’m fine.”
“Cops call you?”
I nodded. “I have a friend who works for the prosecutor’s office who will let me know when the charges are filed. I’m an attorney.”
Kane nodded back. Damn, there was an intensity to his eyes. They were framed by dark lashes but still had a calculating edge to them. I felt like he was trying to decide how long he had to be nice to me before he could escape this uncomfortable conversation.
“So . . . I’m off to the gym,” I said, gesturing at the door.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Okay.”
“Bye.”
He nodded silently. I turned to leave, grateful to be making my exit. It wasn’t tension that existed between us, but awkwardness.