The Merger

Chapter 1

Chapter One

C arys

“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 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 wrinkle my nose. “Don’t be gross.”

“You two kill me,” Amanda says, outright laughing.

“Don’t encourage her.” Tate shakes 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 ambience 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, dammit.”

“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, and I’m a barrel of fun, so 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 blond. 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 point a chipped nail in his direction.

“You’re so full of shit.” Tate chuckles. “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 I think he really does love her. 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 come. 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 snort.

“You’re right. It was fifteen hundred.” He winks at me before settling back in his seat. “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 better 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, 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.