Barely Breathing(5)

“You have time for a Starbucks run?” I asked, standing up and reaching for my purse.

“Always.”

“How’s my scarf?”

I walked around to the front of my desk and Cara rearranged it a little. She fluffed up my long, dark hair a little, too.

“Perfect,” she said. “Let’s just drop by my office so I can grab a scarf.”

“You don’t need one. It’s not cold or anything.”

She arched her brows at me. “It’s badass bitches wear a scarf day, Viv. Now let’s go find me one.”

“Not the one you used to tie up your personal trainer in bed.”

She threw her pretty blond head back and laughed. “No, that one’s at the dry cleaners.”

“Good call.”

I made not one, but two Starbucks runs during my work day, and also walked down to my favorite café for a long, quiet lunch with a book. By the end of the day, I knew coming back to work had been good for me. The police had come by yesterday to interview me about what happened with Eric and take photos of my neck. I’d follow his court case, but for now I had a sense of closure. It was time to move forward.

When I got back to my tiny downtown apartment and pushed open the steel front door, the lingering smell of brownies greeted me. I’d forgotten about making them yesterday.

It was a silly idea. Homemade brownies for the bouncer who’d pulled Eric off of me? It was all I could think of to thank him, because I was pretty sure Hallmark didn’t have a ‘thanks for saving me from sexual assault’ section of greeting cards. But maybe my thanks to him that night was enough.

I changed into yoga pants and a t-shirt and grabbed the dish of frosted, chocolately goodness from the kitchen counter, flopping into my favorite old living room recliner with it. I could have some of these brownies for dinner and then go to the gym.

Pulling off the lid, I considered it. But then I decided I should skip the brownies and just go to the gym. I could pick up dinner on the way home. I’d just drop these brownies off at Six on my way.

Decision made, I laced up my tennis shoes, grabbed my gym bag, purse and the brownies and went downstairs to hail a cab.

When I walked into the front door of Six after the ten minute cab ride, the after-work crowd was just starting to fill it up. I scanned the room and spotted Kane standing near the bar talking to a group of employees. He still wore the scowl I’d seen the other night.

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 motherf*cker.”