*this is not fully edited and subject to change.
Chapter One
Carys
“I can’t just get over it. It was limp!”
Tate Brewer eyes me with skepticism as if my emphatic declaration in the middle of the Brewer Group lobby is overly dramatic.
“It’s downright embarrassing,” I continue, holding his gaze. “I can’t believe that you aren’t humiliated. Soft and shriveled is not a good look.”
He sighs as Amanda, the executive level receptionist, giggles behind him.
“No one wants to do business with someone with a flaccid shaft, Tate,” I say, fighting a grin.
He looks over his shoulder at Amanda. “For the record, she isn’t talking about me.”
“Of course, I’m not talking about you,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “Don’t be gross.”
“You two kill me,” Amanda says, outright laughing.
“Don’t encourage her,” Tate says, shaking his head as he passes the desk. “Carys, follow me before you corrupt our entire staff.”
I follow my best friend down the long hallway toward his office. “It was nice to see you again, Amanda.”
“It was great to see you, too,” she says, her words echoing down the corridor after me.
The Brewer Group office building never fails to dazzle me. Rich, tobacco-colored walls, elegant brass accents, and showroom-worthy furniture create an ambiance of understated luxury. Even the air is scented like a five-star hotel. Light pours in from tall windows, offering unobstructed views of Nashville. It brings liveliness to the space, helping to offset the sadness created by the dying plants in the downstairs lobby.
Tate holds his office door open as I step inside.
“I’m glad one of us benefits from the free slot in my afternoon schedule,” I say, sliding Tate’s driver’s license across his desk before plopping into an overstuffed chair. I place my iced matcha latte on the table next to me.
“I thought you were booked up again?”
“Nope.” I watch Tate drop into his office chair. “I met with a woman last week who asked me to start Monday. But she called this morning and canceled.” I make a sour face. “I guess she’s fine with committing planticide because I’ve seen her ficus. It won’t survive and she’ll have its chlorophyll on her hands.”
Tate snorts. “Planticide?”
“Humans taking the life of plants.”
“What if it was unintentional? Maybe it’s just plantslaughter?”
I narrow my eyes at him, making him laugh.
“I don’t find this funny,” I say. “I’m one rent payment away from returning to work for my mother. And, while I love the woman dearly, I want to make my little business successful, damn it.”
“Just putting this out there—this is why you think through ideas before you jump balls-deep into things.”
“I don’t have balls, for one. And, for two, I know, asshole. But it’s too late now.”
I huff, reminding myself why I abruptly quit my sales job and started a mobile plant care business on a random Wednesday six months ago.
I’m not sure who told me that a business degree would get me far in life, but they lied. I graduated from college with a piece of paper that seems pretty worthless at this point. It certainly didn’t open any doors. My only choice was to work for minimum wage as a glorified receptionist or take a sales job with my mother, and neither choice was attractive. So, I went to work with Mom until I couldn’t possibly take it any longer.
“You’ll figure it out,” Tate says, picking up his license. “I know you will. And, if you need help, I’m here.”
“I know and I appreciate that. But I don’t want to run to my billionaire bestie to save my ass. I want to save it myself.”
He runs his fingers through his hair, returning my smile. A lock of hair falls across his forehead in a casually cool kind of way. On anyone else, it would simply look unkempt. But him? It exudes an easy confidence. Then there’s his blue-green eyes, boyish smirk, and admittedly great body. But it’s his air of self-assurance that causes women to lose their minds around him.
Except me.
Tate and I are more like brother and sister than anything. I love him as much as I hate him sometimes. He’s my partner in crime and the person I’d call if I had to bury a body, but the thought of anything remotely romantic with Tate makes me want to gag.
When we first met in college, I thought something would bloom between us. We were both young, good-looking, and available. He’s charming. I’m a barrel of fun. It felt inevitable. But the more time we spent together, the more we realized we weren’t a match—not like that.
He likes tall, thin brunettes. I’m five six, curvy, and strawberry blonde. I like broody, emotionally unavailable older men. Tate is a golden retriever who falls in love fast and hard. He runs toward relationships while I check out when things get serious.
We’d be a match made in Hell.
“Thanks for bringing this by,” he says, flashing his license at me before returning it to his wallet. “Where did you find it?”
“My pocket.”
He glares at me.
“Rude,” I say, taking a drink of my matcha.
“I looked for this all night, and it was in your pocket?”
“It wasn’t technically in my pocket, but that’s how it wound up at the bottom of my laundry basket. You’re lucky I found it.”
He snaps his wallet closed. “No, you’re lucky you found it. You’re the one who took it from the cop yesterday and didn’t give it back to me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I was too busy getting you out of a speeding ticket to remember to return your license.”
“You didn’t get me out of a ticket, Carys. Eighty-two in a seventy isn’t exactly speeding.”
I grin. “That’s not what Officer Charlie said.”
Tate leans back in his chair and shrugs. “Maybe not, but he didn’t give me a ticket.”
“He didn’t give you a ticket because I was wearing my good bra, and my cleavage was on point, buddy.”
“I didn’t get a ticket because twelve miles per hour over the limit isn’t exactly ticketable, and we all knew it.”
I sigh dramatically. “Typical male. You think you’re special and above the law while failing to read the room—or, in this case, the situation.”
“What in the world do you mean?”
“My ample cleavage was my way of saying thank you to the courageous public servant tasked with keeping our roads safe from entitled assholes like you,” I say, pointing a chipped nail in his direction.
“You’re so full of shit,” Tate says, chuckling. “What are you up to for the rest of the day, anyway?”
I paste on a fake smile that Tate sees right through.
“What?” he asks.
My shoulders fall. “I’m having dinner with my father and Aurora tonight.”
“How’s that situation going?”
“About as good as it’s going to get. At least now I know he’s capable of loving someone other than himself, because he really does love her, I think. She is forty years-old and looks twenty-five, though. I’m sure that helps.”
My stomach tightens, and the latte inside it sloshes uncomfortably.
The first thing I remember wishing for was my father to want me. I was six years old, and my parents had just divorced. Mom threw a party for all my first-grade friends. We were at the dining room table with six candles flickering on my unicorn cake. “Make a wish!” Mom said while the rest of the room sang Happy Birthday. I closed my little eyes tight, and with all the force I could muster, I wished for my daddy to show up that weekend as promised.
I didn’t share my wish with anyone, but he still didn’t show up. So much for wishes coming true.
“Want me to go with you?” Tate asks.
“Only if you can charm the pants off Aurora … literally. Save us both from my father.”
Tate gives me his best ornery smile. “You know I’m always up for a challenge.”
I laugh at him. I can always count on Tate.
“Speaking of challenges,” I say, taking another sip of my drink. “Can you still get good money from selling pictures of your feet?”
“I just paid a grand for one last night, so …”
“You did not,” I say, snorting.
“You’re right. It was fifteen hundred.” He winks at me before settling back in his seat. “So, why are we contemplating selling pictures of our feet?”
“Because I really, really don’t want to go back to selling insurance with Mom. Not only do I hate insurance with a passion, but I’ll have to admit that Plantcy was … what did she call it?” I think for a moment. “Impulsive, careless, and unrestrained.”
Tate watches me with a half-smile but stays quiet. Even though I know he agrees with my mother, he won’t make me feel stupid. And, if it comes down to it, he’ll take my side regardless. There’s no judgment with him.
“I had a business plan,” I say. “I found my niche. There’s virtually no competition for Plantcy. I mean, do you know of any other mobile plant sitters?”
He shakes his head and fights a chuckle.
“Ugh. Why is this so freaking hard?” I ask. “Why does it feel like this is falling apart around me?”
Tate leans forward, resting his forearms on his desk. “It’ll only fall apart if you let it.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not easy, but it’s not impossible. How can I help? Need to brainstorm?”
I sigh. “I’m hoping I can parlay Courtney’s party next weekend into a job. Her godmother and I chatted about her struggle with orchids at Courtney’s last get-together. I’m hoping I can strike up another conversation with her, and one thing will lead to another.”
“I forgot about that party.”
“Not me. Courtney’s parties are always fun and I need the distraction.”
Tate wiggles his brows.
“Stop it.” I shake my head. “The last time the two of you screwed around—”
“Was a lot of fun.”
“It was a disaster! You two almost ruined our friend circle with your bullshit.”
He holds his hands in front of him. “We patched it up. All is well.”
Thankfully.
I sit back, resting against the chair’s soft fabric, and glance around Tate’s office. A picture of him with his mother and five siblings is on the shelf behind him. There’s a stack of books next to it that I bet he hasn’t read. On top of the books is a sad, little succulent.
At least it’s not as malnourished as the philodendron downstairs.
I start to ask him if he’s going to the party when a bolt of inspiration hits me. I sit up in my seat, my mind racing. What if …
This isn’t what I had in mind for Plantcy, but it’s not a bad idea.
A thought begins to take shape, developing into a full-blown plan. And the longer I think about it, the more it makes sense.
I tap a fingertip to my lips.
It’s kind of perfect, actually. Even though I don’t want to ask Tate for help, this isn’t asking for a handout. I’d be earning my keep. Besides, he always tells me to let him know how he can support me.
I hum as I think. “Tate …”
“What?”
A slow smile spreads across my lips. “I have an idea, actually.”
“Well, don’t.”
“You just asked if I had any ideas!” Logistics and math spin through my head. “Just hear me out.”
“I asked before you had that look on your face. I know that look.”
“One of enlightenment?”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s more like entrapment.”
“And you call me dramatic.” I roll my eyes. “I just need you to listen to me with an open mind.”
He doesn’t agree but doesn’t fight me on it, either. So, I press on.
“I have an idea that will kill two birds with one stone. It’ll save Plantcy and make you money, too.” I squirm in my seat as my plan continues to come together. “The concept behind Plantcy is brilliant. I stand by that. But I know where I went wrong. It just came to me.”
“Where did you go wrong?”
“I was too niched down. Too … exact.”
“That’s possible.”
“People do need plant care in their homes. But that’s not the only place plants are kept and loved.” I pause for dramatic flair. “They’re also kept in offices.”
I watch as Tate puts two and two together.
“Offices, Tate. Plant caretakers are also needed in offices. Think about it. You hire landscapers for the outside, right? Well, why not the inside? Heck, you could argue that healthy plants are more important in offices than homes.”
“No one has ever made that argument, Carys.”
I give him a look to be quiet and listen. He closes his mouth, aware of who wears the pants in this friendship.
“Think about it,” I say. “It’s what I was saying earlier, only then I was talking shit to mess with you. I was onto something and didn’t even realize it.”
“No one wants to do business with someone with a flaccid shaft, Tate.” I smile at the memory. I was foreshadowing my own epiphany. I’m a freaking genius.
“Healthy plants demonstrate commitment. Vigor. They show the world you pay attention to details and have a heart, which is important to prospective clients, right?” I scoot to the edge of my chair. This is almost too easy. Why didn’t I think of this before? “When someone walks into the lobby right now, all flaccid jokes aside, they see a lack of follow-through. They see a forgotten obligation. They see … a company who would rather watch something die than jump into action and save it.”
Tate picks up a pen and taps it against his desktop. I can see the wheels turning as he considers my idea in his clever, too-smart-to-be-fair brain. It’s one of the things I love most about him. He gives my random thoughts and obscure tangents percolating time, and he never makes me feel silly about them.
“Look, if you don’t want to do this, I understand,” I say. “I won’t be mad. But it would help me until I can build my roster, and I’d make sure you got your money’s worth of my time and energy. I wouldn’t even charge Brewer Group full price—just enough to get me through this rough spell and save me from insurance hell.”
My chest is heavy as I lift my eyes to Tate’s. His are filled with concern.
“You’ll have to convince Gannon,” he says, exhaling harshly.
I perk up.
“Gannon,” he repeats as if a warning. “You’ll have your work cut out for you. He won’t crumble from you batting your lashes like the cop yesterday, so be prepared if you really want to do this.”
“Oh, no,” I say in my most innocent voice. “Please don’t tell me I’ll have to show your deliciously hot older brother my cleavage, too. That would be awful. I might die.”
Tate sobers. “Don’t be a smart-ass. You know that isn’t funny.”
“I know you don’t think it’s funny.”
He grimaces. “This is probably a terrible idea because the two of you would kill each other. But I see your point, and it would be unfair of me not to let you try.”
“Any suggestions on how to win him over?”
“Appeal to his practicality. Make him feel like he’s getting a good deal. He’s a sucker for a bargain.”
I wait for him to laugh or tell me he’s joking, but he doesn’t. I’m sort of shocked. Tate makes a point to keep me away from Gannon because he says Gannon will hurt my feelings.
Maybe he realizes that the insurance business would hurt my feelings way more than his hunky brother.
“You’re really going to let me do this?” I ask. “You’re going to let me talk to Gannon?”
“Against my best judgment, I guess.”
“Eeek!”
My mind races again, this time with thoughts of negotiating with Gannon Brewer. The idea alone sets my body on fire. I take a long drink to try to cool myself down.
Six three. A wall of muscle. Dark, shiny hair and even darker eyes. He wears suits like they’re handcrafted just for him, and he smells like heaven. From afar, he looks like a gentleman. Up close, his smirk will melt you to your core. But it’s the wicked twinkle in his eye that makes you gasp, promising that behind that polished exterior is a damn good time.
If Gannon wasn’t my best friend’s brother, and totally off-limits, I’d climb that man like a freaking tree.
I nearly pant thinking about it.
“I’ll call Kylie before you leave and see if you can swing by Gannon’s office or set up a meeting for later,” he says.
My cheeks ache from smiling. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“I need to practice my pitch,” I say, feeling lighter than I have in weeks.
Still, my heart pounds.
I know Plantcy inside and out, and I know how to make it appealing to prospective clients. That’s not the problem. The problem is that he isn’t a random person on the street or a grandma in a bakery who loves her plants as much as I do. This is Gannon freaking Brewer. He’s the head of one of the biggest corporations in the country and, by all accounts, one tough businessman. Not to mention distractingly gorgeous …
I hop to my feet. “I’ll go outside, knock on your door, and then come in and pretend to give you my spiel. You can give me tips.”
Tate rubs his forehead. “Yay.”
“I’ll be irresistible,” I say, moving to the door. “I just need to work out the kinks, and you know your brother better than anyone.”
I yank open the door and step forward—right into a six-foot-three wall of hard, broody businessman.
Crap.
Chapter Two
Carys
This can’t be happening.
Ribbons of grassy green matcha latte sail through the air in slow motion. They lift from my cup, bending gracefully toward Gannon Brewer as if they, too, are drawn to the man like a magnet.
“No,” I command as if I can stop the liquid midair. Why? Why did I bring this with me?
My eyes widen as I shove away from him, my fingers raking over his torso. I watch helplessly as my drink splashes across his jacket, pristine white shirt and silky tie.
In the distance, Tate groans.
My heart pounds against my ribcage. I take a quick breath before beginning my apologies, hoping that I haven’t already ruined my chances. But instead of clarity and pace, my senses are flooded with Gannon’s intoxicating cologne. It’s clean and fresh with a subtle woodsy vibe that hints at power and seduction.
Not helpful. I’m seduced.
The breath I worked so hard to draw in is quickly exhaled.
“In a hurry?” Gannon asks, his tone prickled with irritation. The richness, though, licks at my already-frazzled nerves.
I look up and gasp.
His eyes are the color of a midnight sky with the slightest twinkle of an erotic intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. Stubble dusts his cheeks, giving ruggedness to his polished look that makes my heart skip a beat. But the smirk—arrogant yet rogue and absolutely sexy—turns my knees to jelly.
“I’m sorry,” I say, watching one of his large hands flick the droplets from his clothes. “I didn’t see you.”
“That’s great for the ego.” He switches his attention to Tate. “Am I interrupting something important?”
Do something, Carys.
I glance over my shoulder. Tate’s head is tipped to the ceiling, and his hands are running over his face. Next to his elbow is a box of tissues. I grab a handful before he notices.
“Good thing I don’t care,” Gannon huffs at Tate’s non-reply. “Jason said you’re flying to Portland on Friday. If so, I’ll postpone the operations meeting until next week. You need to be there.”
“Yeah, I’m going to Portland,” Tate says. “I don’t want to, but there’s a dinner on Friday night and a charity gala on Saturday hosted by our Arrows investors. It would be a bad look if none of us showed up.”
“Poor you,” Gannon says as a blob of my latte pools at the end of his thin black tie and then drops to the floor, barely missing his shoes.
I can’t take it anymore. “Here, let me help you.”
Before he can protest, I step in front of him and press the wad of tissues against his chest.
“What are you doing?” he asks crisply, peering down at me.
“Cleaning you up. You’re dripping on the floor.” I snort. “That was your line.”
I start to laugh at my joke, but when my gaze collides with his, the laugher fades.
My God.
My hand stalls against him as heat radiates off his body. His eyes burn into mine. I force a swallow, willing my face not to turn beet red and my body not to pool on the floor beside my matcha.
“Again, I apologize,” I say, dragging my hand down his chest before it falls to my side. “I was just trying to help.”
“Help by staying over there.” He lifts a brow, reaching for tissues before patting as much liquid from himself as possible. “Who are you, anyway?”
I stare at him and try my hardest not to get lost in his eyes. What the hell?
“Really, Gan?” Tate asks.
“Who am I?” I ask, repeating Gannon’s question. While we haven’t exactly had a conversation before, I know damn good and well that he knows who I am. “That’s good for the ego.”
His lips twitch in an almost smile as if my irritation pleases him. This man is a menace. “I’m terrible with names.”
“That seems like an unfortunate deficiency for a CEO.”
“Fortunately, that’s my only one.”
“That’s what they all say,” I fire back without missing a beat.
Tate sighs from behind me.
My skin feels too tight for my body as I stand beneath Gannon’s intense gaze. Is he humored by this exchange or pissed about the drink? Or both? I’m not sure. I don’t know him well enough to read him. My knowledge of Gannon Brewer is limited to the basics.
He’s grumpy. Tate says Gannon is always borderline churlish. If he smiles, something must be wrong. He’s emotionally unavailable. I overheard Tate telling this to a woman at a party who wanted Gannon’s phone number. Gannon is thirteen years older than me—a man of beekeeping age. And, most importantly, as Tate’s brother, Gannon is absolutely, one hundred percent forbidden. Tate would kill me.
Gannon is simply a giant red flag. Regrettably, giant red flags are my weakness.
I press my lips together and implore myself not to grin at the sexy beast.
“This room isn’t big enough for the three of us,” Tate says. “One of you is going to have to leave.”
“I’m on my way out,” Gannon says, never taking his eyes off me. “I need to run by my office and switch my shirt, tie, and jacket since I’m now wearing a matcha latte.”
“Impressive,” I say, nodding approvingly.
“Because I can identify a beverage?”
I smirk. “You don’t seem like you get out much.”
And up goes that brow again. The man does love being challenged.
“If you’re this easily impressed,” he says, “then you should let me—”
Yes!
“That’s enough,” Tate says.
Buzzkill.
Tate’s chair scratches against the floor as he rolls it away from his desk.
Gannon turns to his brother. “Since Carys is your friend, I assume you’ll pick up my dry cleaning tab?”
“Oh, so you do know my name,” I say, a smile splitting my cheeks.
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t be flattered. It’s written on your cup.”
Sure enough, my name is scrawled on the container in my hand.
“Hey, Gan,” Tate says, coming around his desk and sitting on the corner. “Carys had something she wanted to talk to you about. We might as well do it now since the ice has been broken.” His gaze drops to the floor. “Or spilled.”
Gannon groans as if this five-minute interaction might ruin his entire day. I consider telling him I could rock his world in five minutes and make it up to him, but I think I’ve done enough damage for one interaction.
“Just appeal to his practicality. Make him feel like he’s getting a good deal. He’s a sucker for a bargain.”
Showing my cleavage was so much easier.
I clear my throat and lift my gaze to Gannon’s. He’s watching me closely, the irritation from before softened by curiosity.
“I’d be happy to handle the dry-cleaning,” I say sweetly. Bonus points if I get to help you undress. “Since it’s my fault and all.”
His head cocks to the side, but he says nothing.
“But before we get you out of those clothes,” I say with a wink. “I have a proposition for you.”
Gannon smirks.
“Damn it,” Tate mutters.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling and squeeze my thighs to fight my libido from exploding over that sinful look on Gannon’s face.
I extend a hand. “Since we’ve never officially met, I’m Carys Johnson. I’m Tate’s best friend and the owner of Plantcy. We’re a new mobile plant care company in Nashville.”
Gannon’s brows tug together as he takes my hand in his. His palm swallows my fingers, and his skin scratches against mine. The contact sends sparks through my body. Holy hell.
He shakes my hand snugly before releasing it. My arm falls to the side as I fight to maintain decorum. He doesn’t miss a detail. He also doesn’t react.
I clear my throat again. “Did you know that two thirds of homes in America have at least one house plant? Because they do. And, unfortunately, many people don’t know how to care for them.”
“Fascinating,” Gannon says, deadpan.
“It is fascinating. I’m glad you agree.” I give him a fake, broad smile before heading to Tate’s sad, little succulent. “What do you feel when you look at this, Gannon?”
I hold the pot up in my hand.
“I generally try not to feel anything, if possible,” he says. “Can we cut to the chase? While this is riveting, I have things to do this afternoon.”
Tate looks at me and shrugs as if saying I warned you.
“Absolutely.” I set the plant down and face Gannon. “Let’s cut to the chase. You need me, Gannon Brewer.”
“I need you?” He scoffs under his breath. “I’m not sure where you got that impression, but I assure you, I don’t need anyone.”
I grin. “Who hurt you?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m kidding.” I blow out a breath. Kind of. “Look, you’re a successful businessman. You’ve obviously spent a lot of time and money to create a solid reputation for Brewer Group. That’s respectable.”
“I’ll sleep well tonight knowing you think that.”
Even sarcasm looks good on the man. Oof.
I point at him. “But you’d sleep better if you were surrounded by happy, healthy plants all day. That’s a scientific fact.”
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, twisting his lips in dissatisfaction. “The point?”
“The point is that when I walked in today, I noticed a weak spot in your business—one I can fix.”
“Which is …?”
“The philodendron in the lobby downstairs is one drink away from death. It’s absolutely dreadful.”
Gannon exhales, rolling his eyes. “I don’t have time for this bullshit.”
“Wait!” I step between him and the door. “I know you think I’m just blowing smoke, but I’m not.”
“Actually, this isn’t how I imagine you looking when blowing—”
“Stop. Please,” Tate says, pained.
I ignore the butterflies in my stomach, erase the mental imagery in my head, and focus on paying the bills.
“Tell me this,” I say, imploring Gannon to listen. “Do you want potential clients to think you can’t commit to projects and are coldhearted?”
“Why not? They wouldn’t be that far off from the truth.”
I sigh, my frustration growing. “I can come in a few times a week and change that experience. When people come in, they’ll see things thriving. They’ll feel energized. Your staff will be happier and healthier, too.”
Gannon leans forward. “If you haven’t picked up on this, Carys Johnson, I don’t really care if people are happy or not.”
Bastard.
“I’m cheap,” I say, trying not to beg.
“Good to know. Now, if you’ll step to the side, I need to change and get to a meeting.”
“You’re going to regret this decision.”
He winces. “Doubtful.”
“Do you want to see my cleavage?” Yup. That just came out of my mouth.
I start to cringe but stop. I’m this far in. Might as well play it off with confidence.
Gannon’s eyes widen for a split second before they drop to my chest.
“Carys, so help me God, I’m going to kill you,” Tate says through clenched teeth.
“Tate, I was only kidding,” I say before glancing at Gannon and winking.
Gannon runs a hand along his jaw and refuses to make eye contact with me.
“I’m desperate if you haven’t noticed,” I say, pouting. “Don’t make me go back to insurance.”
He steps to the right, but I step in front of him. He’s not getting away from me this easily.
“I’m supposed to meet with a CEO tomorrow for a consultation,” I warn, moving again to stay between him and the door. “I told Tate I’d give you first dibs since he and I are best friends, and I’ll give you a great deal.”
“One question,” he says, coming to a standstill.
I stop, too. “Shoot.”
He grins. “Do you always bring a matcha latte or was today a special occasion?”
“Your boorishness has no effect on me, Mr. Brewer.” I smile prettily. “You don’t intimidate me.”
He licks his lips. “If I give you my business card, will you move out of my way?”
I want to say no, but I think he might pick me up and set me aside. Although the thought of Gannon’s hands on me is tempting, I’ve probably pushed my luck too far today already. Besides, if he leaves, it’ll give me time to come up with another angle of attack.
“Fine,” I say, sighing.
Gannon slides a hand into his pocket and pulls out a cream-colored business card with matte black and gold font. He plops it in my hand without touching me.
“Wait,” I say before he can flee.
I grab one of Tate’s business cards and a pen off his desk. I scribble my name and contact information on the back and hand it to Gannon.
“When you have a moment to consider my offer and inevitably change your mind, call me. Email me. Text me,” I say. “I’m here for you.”
He doesn’t look at the slip of paper before shoving it in his jacket pocket … of the suit he’s about to have laundered. Then he looks over my head.
“Tate, I’ll add the new operations meeting date to your calendar.”
“Fabulous,” Tate says.
“Don’t you want to leave your clothes …” I call out, but the door slams before I’m finished.
Damn it.
There goes solving my problem this afternoon. But if his smirk earlier was anything to go by, I’ll take a note from the Brewer playbook.
I’ll change tactics and press on until I get what I want.
I might be down, but I’m not out.
THE MERGER releases on February 24th. PREORDER HERE.
