The Bluff (Graham Brothers #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

James

I’m standing on the deserted sidewalk of a town ridiculously named Sheet Cake, staring at a run-down warehouse. Not just any building, but one I’m supposed to magically turn into a successful brewery in a matter of months. It is ground zero in a cascading number of bad decisions I’ve made lately.

This is why I don’t listen to other people. It’s why I work alone, why I shouldn’t care if my family teases me about being a control freak. Because when I loosen up, even a little, I end up here on my thirtieth birthday, questioning all my life choices in a tiny Texas town.

But even as I’m running through potential solutions as well as exit strategies, another bad decision appears, this one in human form. I hear the sound of her heels from halfway up the block. Who wears high heels on a street with more potholes than pavement, anyway? SHE does.

Stopping right next to me, close enough to make my skin itch, she mirrors my stance, arms crossed over her chest, facing the building. I refuse to look. If I ignore her, maybe she’ll go away.

Doubtful.

Winchester Boyd is a hangnail on my soul. The current bane of my existence. And as of today at nine a.m., my employee.

I glance at my watch. Nine-oh-one. I heave a sigh.

Winnie says nothing, and I continue pretending she isn’t there, even as every cell in my body seems to have swung her way like tiny, malfunctioning satellites. Being around her is like being massaged with rough-grit sandpaper.

Clenching my jaw, I force my attention to the empty warehouse and attached grain elevators.

All metal, mostly corrugated. A lot rusted.

While Winnie and I stand in tense silence, an orange cat with only one eye shimmies under the fence and saunters by like the place is his and we’re the trespassers.

On the plus side, a cat problem means there isn’t a rat problem.

My current bar for positive thinking is at an all-time low.

The cat blinks its yellow eye at me, then sits down and begins to give himself a bath, starting between his legs. Because of course it does.

“It’s a bit of a hot mess, isn’t it?” Winnie asks. “But—”

“Nice attitude.” I can’t help bristling at her words. I think I was already pretty well bristled by just her presence before Winnie spoke.

Why AM I so irritated by her? It’s the sassy, sarcastic mouth and maybe something deeper on a chemical level.

She and I are like magnets with the same pole facing out, creating this invisible yet palpable push between us.

From the first moment we met, she seemed completely wary of me for no good reason, like I offended her before even speaking. Which in turn offended me.

The thing is, I don’t disagree with her assessment about the building.

This place is a hot mess, but it’s MY hot mess.

At least, after some convincing from Tank and Pat, it’s mine.

And maybe I’m questioning the wisdom in all of this—the move to Sheet Cake, expanding from a smaller home brewing system to a ten-thousand-barrel operation and tasting room, and using this massive, rusted-out building—but I won’t admit it.

I will make this work. Because if Dark Horse Brewing fails, it’s not just my own savings on the line. THAT I could handle. But my family doesn’t just have a lot of nosy opinions about the business—they’ve invested financially. And I won’t fail them .

“I hadn’t finished,” Winnie says. “It’s a bit of a hot mess but—”

“I got the gist.”

I feel Winnie’s eyes on me, but I refuse to turn her way. Now I’m wondering what she had planned to say before I cut in. The need to know burns, making my fingers twitch.

But WHAT, Winnie?

She’s silent for a few long beats. Then I see her nodding from my peripheral vision. “I was wondering how our workplace dynamic would be. I get it now.”

“Do tell.”

“You like your employees to toe the company line. Not to speak the truth, especially if it hurts. Am I getting warm?”

This woman will be the death of me. Literally, figuratively, maybe both.

“Ice. Cold.”

I turn to face her now, which only makes everything worse.

Because, despite the way she can irritate me in an instant, all of Winnie’s individual parts work to create a tantalizing whole: silky blond hair, dark blue eyes behind black-framed glasses, lips painted a red that begs to be kissed off that smart mouth.

Her style, not that I really get style, is edgy pin-up girl: a button-down blouse tucked into a belted knee-length skirt, heels with a little cut-out for the toes, a high ponytail with a scarf tied around it.

For reasons I can’t explain, the lack of visible skin is somehow sexier than if she were wearing less.

The hint of her tattoos peeking out from her rolled-up sleeves makes me want to see more.

My attraction to her is a reflex, one I plan to eradicate. So far, it’s like trying to stop myself from sneezing.

Any day now, the things I dislike about her will sour the attraction. Any. Day. Now.

Today would be preferable. Right this second would be perfect.

“Why don’t you enlighten me, boss —what do you want in an employee?”

I don’t hold back the snarl in my voice. “Someone who knows their place and stays in it.”

Wow . I sound like a domineering jerk. A terrible boss. Not the kind of man I want to be. Not the man I am .

I may have the reputation of a grump, but it’s only in contrast to the rest of my family. Pat is bright, loud sunshine, and my dad, whom we all call Tank from his football days, is hardly ever without a smile and booming laugh. Collin is more serious and uptight, but still warm and kind.

Only my sister, Harper, shares my intensity and doesn’t pass out smiles like parade candy. But no one ever calls her a grouch. After losing Mom, we all closed ranks around our younger sister, and are way too protective to be critical of her.

In Winnie’s presence, I become what they tease me about—only worse. I’m a cartoon version of myself with a tiny storm cloud rumbling over my head. I’m a surly curmudgeon. My life is the lawn, and I’m yelling at Winnie to get off it.

She whistles, long and low. “Is part of my job fetching you coffee? Because you clearly haven’t had enough this morning.”

I drag a hand through my hair, irked by the idea of Winnie doing anything so personal as fixing my coffee. “You won’t be getting me coffee. Or picking up my dry cleaning.”

Winnie eyes my worn jeans and motorcycle boots. “Good. Because I can’t imagine your dry-cleaning bill for the month. Must be enormous.”

Coming from anyone else, this might elicit a chuckle. But it comes from her, so I bite the inside of my cheek. One thing I’ll say for Winnie—she’s whip-smart. At least conversationally. We’ll have to see how this translates to her job.

“I just want someone who will work hard. No drama.” I eye her, hoping she catches my implied meaning: Stop baiting me. Stop with the smart remarks.

“Got it, boss. Be neither seen nor heard while completing my non-coffee, non-dry-cleaning jobs.”

She gives me a jaunty salute which contains all the attitude of a middle finger. I am a bear, and she’s standing there, grinning and poking. So much for low drama.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” I ask, giving her a long look. Not the best idea, especially when I find my gaze snagging on her red lips. I jerk my attention back to the warehouse. “Not the best first impression.”

“Right back at you.” She gestures to the open gate in front of us. “I mean, not even a Welcome to Your First Day banner?”

“Sorry. I disbanded the party-planning committee.”

Winnie spins to face me, hands on her hips. I try not to look— I do —but it’s impossible. I turn to face her, mimicking her pose the way she did earlier. She blinks several times, then laughs. Head thrown back, ponytail swinging, the gentle curve of her throat exposed.

I swallow. I glare. I wait.

My whole body feels hot by the time Winnie’s laughter dissolves into giggles. She lifts her glasses, wipes tears from her deep blue eyes. I don’t move.

“Was that a reference to The Office ?” she asks finally, a smile lifting one side of her mouth.

“No.”

It totally was, but I’ll deny it until my deathbed. I do not make jokes outside of my family. Even then, it’s rare.

This was … an anomaly. A glitch. A mistake .

Not the tone I want to set on day one. I turn away, and the orange cat stares up at me with its one yellow eye like he totally sees through me.

Another cat, this one black, hops up on a nearby stack of wood pallets, and now it feels like Winnie and I are performing in front of a studio audience.

I make a mental note to add Get rid of cats to my already long to-do list. Then fight back a grin as I mentally add Get rid of cats to Winnie’s to-do list.

“Too bad,” Winnie says. “I thought for a moment you had a sense of humor hiding under all that.”

She waves a hand over my body, her gaze sweeping from my head down to my boots, then back up. My pulse kicks up, definitely without my permission. I shouldn’t like the way she’s looking at me. But I do, and I want more , even as I tell myself it’s a bad idea.

Her every word today seemed designed to get a reaction out of me. Might as well give her a taste of the same.

“Under all what ?”

For the first time, Winnie loses her composure. A tiny slip, but I see the way she shifts on her feet. I hear the way her breath hitches. I love watching her squirm.

“ You know,” she says. When I don’t respond, she groans. “Ugh. I have to say it? It’s surprising to find humor underneath the grumpy demeanor. The boots. The whole—everything. You’re the living embodiment of a fictional bad boy, ready to steal hearts and make ovaries explode.”

Did she say something about ovaries ? I frown. “Make … what ?”

Winnie covers her face with one hand and groans. “Please, please forget I said any of that.”

Gladly. For the first time, I realize she has a turquoise envelope in her free hand. “What’s that?”