Page 21 of Missile Strike

The butterflies turned to stone.

There it was. Exactly what she didn’t want to hear. What had meant everything to her had been a source of shame for him.

“No, you didn’t.” She picked up her phone, staring at the screen to avoid the pity that was sure to be in his eyes.

Forty minutes.

So much for being able to make it an hour. “I have to go.” The chair scraped the polished concrete floor as she scrambled to her feet and gathered her belongings.

Danny stood with her. “You haven’t eaten your pastry.”

“I’m not hungry. You can have it—you paid for it.”

“Bella.” The way he said her name was like a velvet caress. “Are you going to be able to work with me?”

His question stayed her feet.

Could she?

If she asked her father to find a different head of security, he’d want to know why, and that was not a question she was prepared to answer.

She lifted her chin. “Of course.”

Their past was just that. History. Old news. One more event from her childhood that didn’t need to be spoken of again.

He held her stare long enough to make her fidget, then nodded. “Good. Can I drive you somewhere? My car’s at The Waverly.”

“Mine, too.”

“I’ll walk you to it, then.”

They headed back to the parking garage. A dark gray Honda sat two spaces down. Isabella pointed to it. “That’s mine.”

Danny opened the driver’s door and stepped back so she could slide in. He crouched to her eye level. “Have dinner with me tonight. There’s an Ethiopian restaurant I’m dying to try on the east side that has great reviews.”

Her head was shaking before he finished. “I don’t think—”

“Please? You wouldn’t leave a guy all alone in a strange city, would you?” His tone gentled. “We’re going to be working together. It will be easier if we can establish a level of comfort with each other.”

He had a point, although comfort might be stretching things. “Ethiopian?” Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t know…”

Amusement creased the corners of his eyes. “Have you ever even tried Ethiopian cuisine, Bella?”

“No,” she admitted. Then, “No one calls me Bella.” The words rushed out. Her face heated. “Except you.”

His expression sobered. “Do you want me to stop?”

She fixed her gaze on the steering wheel.

Did she?

It was the one thing she shared with him and no one else.

“No.”

“Good. I like having something that’s only between you and me. Pick you up at six-thirty.” He closed her car door, leaving her speechless and staring after him as he sauntered over to a shiny, royal blue Mustang.

Isabella rolled down her window. “I didn’t say yes to dinner. And you don’t even know where I live.”