The Auction Block (Agents of Interpol 1)

Page 20

I shake my head and climb from the front seat. The back door opens as I reach for the handle. Blake steps out and slams the door, looking down at me. I sigh and roll my eyes.
"Mr. Mason, for security purposes, please wait until one of us opens the door before jumping out of the vehicle." I try to keep my voice pleasant.
He raises his eyebrows. "Seriously?"
He shakes his head and mumbles something under his breath."Shall we?" He glances from me to the restaurant.
I nod and keep pace next to him as we walk to the building. Opening the door, I hold it, allowing him to enter before me. He strolls to the podium where a young girl is organizing menus. She looks up, her eyes going wide as she gives Blake the once over. A flirtatious smile spreads across her face.
"Good Morning, Mr. Mason."
"Good Morning, Andrea. Table for two."
Her eyes narrow and she glances around him, meeting my gaze. She purses her lips together and pulls out two menus.
"Follow me, please."
I follow Blake to an isolated booth in the back corner. He slides in gracefully, and I attempt to do the same, but have to readjust my gun holsters to sit more comfortably.
"You'd probably be more comfortable if you carried fewer weapons." He smirks, holding a menu out to me.
I take it and set it down in front of me, not bothering to look at it. "You'll end up dead if I carry fewer weapons."
He chuckles. "I doubt that. For some reason, I don't think you even need those to hurt people."
"That's a nice way of putting it." I try to keep the smile off my face.
"How would you put what you do?" He sets his menu down, lacing his fingers together in front of him.
I meet his eyes, sending a round of uneasiness through my body."I wouldn't call it anything. I don't generally talk about what I do."
Stop looking at him . . .
I try to pull my gaze away but can't. It's like being trapped in some kind of vortex, drawing all my attention toward him. Involuntarily, I lean forward on the table, the proximity sending a round of trembles through my hands. His eyes never leave mine, so he doesn't notice.
A loud bang and the shattering of glass shock me out of the moment, and I sit straight, shaking my head before scanning the room. Blake chuckles and shakes his head as well.
I glance up as a younger, male waiter steps up next to our table. He's lanky and scrawny. His blonde hair lies flat on his head, his face clear of acne, but he still can't be more than seventeen. He looks from Blake to me— his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open.
Blake's face is set in a hard, irritated state, eyes narrow, lips pressed together. He clears his throat and the waiter flushes scarlet, tearing his eyes from my face to look at Blake.
"Hi, sir. Ca . . . can I start you all off with something to drink?"
"I'll have a hot tea and water with lemon, please."
"An . . . and . . . yo . . . you, ma'am?"
"Coffee, black, no sugar."
He writes the drink orders down and walks away, glancing back at me twice. I roll my eyes, huffing. I chance a look at Blake and he's staring at me again.
"I think you're too pretty for your own good."