Chapter 5
Chapter Five
C arys
“Well, this is a first,” I say, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror. “I’ve never gotten dressed and put on a full face of makeup before six in the morning in my entire life.”
I pucker my lips.
“ Ew . Who let me buy this color?” I search the middle console for a napkin to try to blot some of the lipstick away but come up empty-handed. “It’s too late to worry about it now. Might as well forget about it.”
Ignoring the tightness in my chest, I grab my bag and step out of the car. The door squeals as I press it closed. I know. I feel ya. I don’t want to be up this early, either.
The parking lot is quiet, with only a few cars—most in the luxury price range. There is an unoccupied space between each vehicle. I can’t help but wonder if this is a rich person’s rule or a common courtesy that I don’t know.
I glance back at my little 1971 Gremlin with a white racing stripe. He might not be fancy, but he’s adorable.
“Here we go,” I say, blowing out a breath.
I step inside Tapo’s and am greeted immediately by creamy-colored walls and soft classical music. The lights are bright but warm, and the accent decor leans feminine. The vibe is ethereal but regal, and I wonder in the back of my mind how it would translate as a personal aesthetic.
“Table for one?” A pretty girl with a spattering of freckles interrupts my thoughts. “Or are you here for pickup?”
I blink. “People order pickup this early in the morning?”
She laughs. “I share that sentiment.”
“I’m here to meet someone,” I say, glancing around the restaurant for Gannon. “I don’t see him, though.”
“Are you looking for Mr. Brewer?”
“Yes, I am.”
“He said that he might have company today. Right this way.”
He said he might have company? Did he think I wouldn’t show up?
We wind our way through the building, passing trays of pastries and a glass case of baked goods. The closer we get to Gannon, the more nervous I get. My palms sweat as I clench my bag for dear life.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say, my voice low.
She smiles. “Of course.”
“Does Mr. Brewer come here often?”
“A few days a week, I’d say. I don’t usually work this early, but the other girls say he’s a regular.”
“Does he have a lot of business meetings this early?” I pry.
“Funnily enough, you are the first person we can remember ever joining him. It’s a running joke between us. How is a man that attractive always alone? It’s criminal.”
We laugh, and I play it off. But inside, I’m kicking my feet. It’s a boost of confidence to know I’m the only person, let alone the only woman, to join him here.
I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll take it.
“If he mentions me, I’m single,” she whispers, stopping next to a column. “There he is. Try not to drool.”
I follow her line of sight, nearly tripping over my own feet. “Wow.”
“I know.” She giggles. “Good luck.”
“Tha—yeah,” I say as I feast my eyes on Gannon. I’m stumbling over my words already. Fabulous.
He sits at a table with a coffee cup in front of him. His long legs are clad in black jeans, and a black T-shirt hugs his torso like a second skin. It teases the sexy line from his shoulder to his neck and highlights how fit the man is. An olive-colored jacket hangs on the back of a chair next to him. White sneakers give the look a hot millennial CEO at the top, sexy-as-sin playboy at the bottom vibe, and I am here for it.
He looks up from an actual newspaper, and the corner of his lip twitches beneath a dusting of scruff.
My God.
His brows lift slowly. “You came.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” I ask.
He stands quickly and pulls out my chair.
“Thank you,” I say, sitting down.
He resumes his place across the table, leaving me behind in a cloud of his delicious cologne.
“I didn’t know they still print newspapers,” I say, setting my purse on the vacant chair to my right.
“It would be much cheaper to read the news online, but I abhor the thought of a world with no tangible words.”
Okay, that’s hot as hell.
A server approaches us out of thin air with a carafe of coffee in hand. “Coffee for you, miss?”
“Yes, that would be great. Thank you … Joseph,” I say, reading his name tag.
He pours me a cup, leaves a menu, and promises to return.
“I figured a matcha latte was out of the question,” I say, earning the smallest sparkle in Gannon’s eyes. “Thank you for agreeing to see me this morning.”
His lips twitch. “You’re down to four minutes. You better get talking.”
“Why are you always so grumpy?”
“I’m not grumpy. I’m focused.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to determine whether he’s serious about the five-minute thing. There’s no way to be sure. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t put it past him. So I take a sip of my coffee, beg the caffeine to hit fast and hard, and pull a folder from my bag.
My breath shakes as I start to speak. I practiced my speech late into the night and during the morning drive. I know what I want to say by heart. I have facts, statistics, and fun anecdotes to share with Gannon. But sitting here now beneath his gaze, none of it feels right.
He takes pity on me, but not without a scowl.
“Your company, which consists solely of you, would come into our facilities a day or two a week and resurrect our plants. Is that correct?” he asks.
“Yes. Resurrect . I see you’ve done your homework and looked around your office.”
“Or I just pulled up your website and read your services page.”
Oh .
“I never go into a meeting unprepared, Miss Johnson.”
I lift my chin. “Neither do I, Mr. Brewer.” I pull a sheet of paper from my folder and slide it across the table to him. “This is a proposal of what I think you need and a price list. You’ll see I’ve given you a very deep discount, as promised.”
Gannon picks up the paper and inspects it like it’s a million-dollar deal.
“Since you’ve been on my website,” I say, “I hope you reviewed the testimonials. I’m thorough, careful, and professional. I pride myself on being on time. Many of my clients are wealthy, and they trust me to come into their homes and?—”
“It’s possible to talk too much in contract negotiations.” He gazes at me over the paper.
He sets the proposal down slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
The intensity of the connection between us makes me shift in my seat. I’m not sure what to make of it. Whatever he’s thinking is locked tightly behind his dark eyes, and I couldn’t access it if I tried.
“Are you ready to order?” Joseph asks, making me jump.
Gannon watches me expectantly.
My time is up if he’s serious about giving me only a few minutes. Because he’s so hard to read—so overwhelming in every way—I don’t know what to do. And that frustrates the hell out of me.
“Thank you, Joseph,” I say. “But I think my meeting with Mr. Brewer is finished.”
Gannon rolls his eyes. “Do you like salmon?”
“What?”
“Salmon,” he says. “Do you like it?”
“I love it. Why?”
He turns to Joseph. “Two potato and egg fritters with smoked salmon, please. Double crème fraiche.”
“Coming right up, sir,” Joseph says before turning away.
“You look hungry,” Gannon says, unfolding his napkin onto his lap. “Don’t overthink it.”
“You obviously don’t know me. I overthink everything.”
He takes a quick sip of his coffee. “Why should I hire you? Why do you want to work at Brewer Group so badly that you harass me via text outside of business hours?”
“Harass you? I sent you one text.”
“You’re not answering my question.”
I huff a breath. He’s not going to take me seriously, and I’m never going to get this job. He had his mind made up before I walked through the door. I should thank him for his time, leave, and be done with it.
But right before I excuse myself, his jaw stops clenching, and I see slight concern in his expression. A peek of the man behind the icy exterior catches me off guard, stealing my breath. A warm wave of hope ripples through me, and I cling to it like a lifeline. Then I do what I do best—jump in without thinking. After all, that’s how I got here in the first place.
“I was at my father’s when I texted you last night,” I say, holding his gaze steady. “I was outside on the porch because he was inside with his new wife, telling me without telling me that he didn’t want me there for dinner.”
His jaw sets again.
“He was bragging about her career accomplishments, going on and on about how many clients she has and how amazing she’s doing. Then he turns to me and asks how my little endeavor is going.” I laugh angrily. “He doesn’t even know that my business is called Plantcy.”
I sit back as the wash of emotions splashes through me again.
“Every time he looks at me, he sees a disappointment,” I say. “And, yeah, Plantcy hasn’t been a tremendous success. But it’s new. I’m figuring it out. I’m finding my way. I know that leaving my job and starting this business on a whim wasn’t the smartest thing in the world, but …” I pause, taking a deep breath. I’m so freaking sick of feeling like I don’t quite measure up. “Dammit, I want to prove him wrong.”
He nods, his eyes dark and brooding.
I take a deep breath until I settle down.
Shoulders back. Chin lifted. Gaze steady.
“You should hire me because I’m passionate about what I do, and I’m going to transform the energy in your office for pennies on the dollar,” I say. “If you don’t agree after a month, we’ll go our separate ways. Just give me a chance. Let me prove myself to you.”
Before he can respond, Joseph sets our plates on the table. He tops off our coffee and asks if we need anything else, then he is on his way.
“This plate is beautiful,” I say, taking it in from various angles. “It’s almost too pretty to eat.”
Crispy potatoes, silky crème fraiche, delicate salmon, and a perfectly poached egg is sprinkled with fresh chives.
I don’t even want to know what this costs.
“Nothing is too pretty to eat,” Gannon says, hiding a smirk as he slices into his meal.
My stomach clenches, and I press my thighs together.
“Tell me about your job before Plantcy,” he says, lifting his fork. “What did you do?”
“I worked for my mother’s insurance agency.”
“Which one?”
“The Redding.”
He nods. “Did you like it, or is that why you left?”
I watch as his lips wrap around his fork’s tines.
Forcing a swallow, I turn my attention to my breakfast. “I hated it. I only worked there because my degree in business administration isn’t useful—which would’ve been helpful to know before I took out loans to pay for college.”
I take a bite, and it melts in my mouth. The flavors are rich. The textures are luxurious on my tongue. I can see why Gannon comes here often. If I had to be up this early and had time for food, I’d come here, too.
“Anyway, I couldn’t find a job, so I went to work with Mom. And it’s literally the worst thing ever. You’re only needed when something bad happens—a death, a fire, a tornado. You want to help these people but must follow the contract terms. Those are never in their favor. So you’re the bad guy when you only want to make things better for them. It’s a terrible position to be in.”
“You get the terms before you sign the contract,” he says before taking a sip of coffee. “Clients agree to it. There’s no reason for you to be the bad guy.”
“That’s not how emotions work. When people are upset, they unload on whoever answers the phone. And I can’t blame them, but I also can’t be the one to be dumped on, either.”
He leans back, the light above making his face sharper. His cheekbones higher. His eyes darker.
“That’s why emotions are dangerous,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
The sound races up my arms, leaving a wake of goose bumps behind.
We sit quietly, eating our breakfast and pausing here and there for idle chitchat. The longer we sit together, the easier I can breathe. Gannon’s shoulders relax, too, and he chews slower.
I have so many questions I’d love to ask him, but every time I venture in any semi-personal direction, he changes topics.
“Does Tate know you joined me for breakfast?” Gannon asks, picking up his coffee mug.
“No.” I pat the corners of my mouth with my napkin. “I haven’t talked to him since just before I texted you last night.”
He smirks. “Did you have to get his permission to text me?”
I lay my napkin down gently, holding his gaze. “I don’t ask permission from anyone to do anything. I’m a big girl, Mr. Brewer.”
“What do you think Tate would say if he knew we were here together?”
“It’s just a business breakfast. What could he say?”
Gannon chuckles quietly. A grin crosses my lips. Tate would have a lot to say about it, and we both know it.
“You and Tate have always been just friends? Never anything more?”
“Tate is my best friend in the world. I love him, I think he’s great, but …” I laugh. “He’s not my type. At all. And I think he’d rather die than be with me.”
He nods, amused. “What is your type, exactly?”
You.
“I want what every woman wants,” I say.
“Money?”
“Respect. What about you? What do you want?”
His eyes bore into mine as the air between us grows hotter. Thicker. I hold my breath, wondering if this is the moment he gives me more than the superficial.
“What do I want?” The corner of his lip lifts as he nods to someone off to the side. “Currently, the check.”
The check. I exhale a long breath, watching humor dance in his eyes. Fucker.
Does he do this just to remind me he’s an asshole?
“Here you go,” Joseph says, laying the bill face-down on the table.
Gannon reaches into his pocket. “I’ll save you a few steps and give you my card now.”
“Oh no,” I say, dashing for my wallet. “It’s my treat.”
Gannon fires me a dirty look.
“I begged you for this meeting,” I say. “Breakfast is on me.”
He hands Joseph his card moments before I get my hand extended with mine.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll be back in a moment,” Joseph says.
“I wanted to pay,” I say as soon as we’re alone. “This was a business meeting, Gannon. I was prepared to cover the bill.”
My protest falls on its face. He doesn’t listen, or if he does, he pays no attention to me. It’s irritating. So I do the only thing I know I can do to get some kind of a reaction from the bastard.
“I feel like I just took advantage of you,” I say coyly.
He licks his lips, hiding a smile.
“Well, maybe I don’t quite feel like that. I imagine that would feel better than this.”
He struggles not to show his amusement as he takes his card from Joseph. He signs a slip of paper, then promises to see the server soon.
He looks at me again. “Are you ready?”
“Sure.”
Gannon stands, shoving his card in his wallet, and comes to my side of the table. He pulls my chair back as I get to my feet, and I gather my purse as he slides on his jacket. Then he grabs my folder off the table.
“Should I leave the tip?” I ask, feeling like I should do something.
“You should stop talking so we can leave.”
He presses his hand lightly to the small of my back. The contact burns through my crimson dress and singes my skin just above my butt. He guides me toward the door as if I’m somehow supposed to be able to walk under such conditions.
The sun is brighter as we step outside. The air is warmer, too. Gannon slides on a pair of sunglasses and faces me.
“Thank you for breakfast,” I say, wishing I could see his eyes. “I appreciate you picking up the tab.”
He smirks, mocking me. “Who hurt you?”
I laugh, the force of it vibrating through my body. This is the first time he’s made a joke and not tried to hide it. The first time he’s not just a CEO, but a man.
I could get used to this.
“I have a meeting in twenty minutes, so I must go,” he says, scanning the parking lot. “Is your car here?”
“Yeah. That’s him.” I point at my pride and joy and sigh. “He’s not as fancy as the other cars here, but he’s handsome, isn’t he?”
Gannon looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “That’s your car?”
“Yup. I traded my AMC Pacer for the Gremlin last year. It’s faster. Sportier.”
“It was built in the seventies, Carys.”
I nod, beaming. “It’s a classic.”
He nods like he’s not sure what to say. “Yeah. Okay.”
I pause, waiting for him to say something about the purpose of this rendezvous. Surely, he has to know I’ll go batshit crazy if he doesn’t give me an answer about Plantcy one way or the other. Then again, it would be too easy if he brought it up first.
Jerk.
“Anyway, about the contract …” I bite my lip. “What do you think?”
He lifts his chin and pulls his brows together. He looks like a model with his glasses and the olive jacket perfectly complementing his skin. It frazzles my brain.
“I need to think about it,” he says, his voice low and even. “Some of us don’t make rash business decisions.”
“Ouch.”
He gives me a half grin. “I’ll watch you get into your car before I leave.”
He takes a step back as if this officially ends the discussion. And I guess it does.
“Thanks again. Have a good day,” I say, turning toward my car.
“You, too, Miss Johnson.”
I feel his gaze on my back as I walk through the parking lot. My hips naturally want to sway a bit in response, so I let them. Can’t hurt anything.
Without looking back, I pop open my door and climb inside. I sigh as soon as I’m alone.
“Well, that was … something, I guess,” I say to the Gremlin.
But why couldn’t this have happened at noon?