The only thing I managed to do was lock down a time when Teresa and Avery could bring the guys and come to the Academy. Excitement poured through Avery’s voice on the phone at the prospect of achieving what had long since been a dream of hers and Teresa’s, and she also couldn’t wait to tell Cam he would be having dinner with his idol.

Scheduling things with people who had kids or were ready to pop one out proved to be difficult. We were looking at the second week of November, a Friday evening.

And now I was on my way to this dinner with the investors, and all I wanted to do was eat that bag of Cheetos while curled up on the couch, marathoning old episodes of Supernatural.

That wasn’t going to happen.

“You okay over there?”

Tearing my attention from the window, my gaze flickered over the interior of the extremely expensive car. I’d never really paid attention to the cars in the parking lot, and since I usually arrived and left before Brock, I didn’t know what he drove.

But I wasn’t surprised to see that it was a sleek, black two-door Porsche waiting for me Wednesday morning. Seeing the car made me want to ask Brock once more why he’d taken this position. I knew he’d agreed that he could live comfortably without working, so it wasn’t like he’d blown through all the money from his fights and sponsorships like so many athletes did.

I glanced over at Brock and felt an unsteady flip in my chest. His eyes were on the road as he turned left, onto Route 45.

I’d never been a facial-hair kind of girl. Ever. But the scruff of his was filling in, and it looked good on him. Way good. I couldn’t help but think what it would feel like when he kissed—

Okay.

So didn’t need to think about that.

Bad life choice right there.

“Yeah,” I answered, focusing straight ahead as I smoothed my hands over the pencil skirt I’d worn. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”

I widened my eyes. Not like I was going to tell him exactly what was on my mind, but I said, “I’m nervous.”

“What’s got you nervous?” he asked, and when I glanced over at him, I saw that his gaze had been briefly on me before he refocused on the road.

“This whole . . . wining and dining thing is not my forte,” I admitted.

“Oh, I think it’s up your alley.”

I snorted like a little piglet, one of those tiny, fat ones. “I think you’re on drugs.”

“And I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,” he replied. “You grew up with these guys coming in and out of the Academy. You know how to talk to them. You know how to handle them.”