Chapter 2
Chapter Two
C arys
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 rib cage. I take a quick breath before beginning my apologies, hoping 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 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.
“Not that I give a shit,” 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 laughter 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 backs 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.
“Dammit,” 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 houseplant? Because they do. Unfortunately, many people don’t know how to care for them.”
“Fascinating,” Gannon deadpans.
“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 groans, 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.
Dammit.
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.