Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
C arys
“Hey, Carys,” Amanda says brightly. “Did you get everything figured out?”
I exit the elevator and step onto the executive level for the second time today.
Amanda was surprised to see me this morning, especially considering Tate is still in Portland and Gannon left his office just moments before I arrived. He left no instructions for me, and I was afraid to text him. So Amanda called Keisha in human resources, and off I went.
“Kinda,” I say, my arms wrapped around a potted snake plant. “Gannon hadn’t mentioned me to Keisha either, but she managed to get ahold of Tate before his plane took off to come home.”
“Oh, good.”
“Yeah. I’ve spent the day on a scavenger hunt around the office, cataloging every plant I can find.”
“How’d you do?”
I set the pot on the floor and sigh. “Not too bad. I’m about ninety-percent sure I found them all.”
“Did you find the ones in the conference room downstairs? Those are practically dead.”
“Yeah, I found them. Some guy with short light brown hair and an olive-y colored suit pointed me in that direction. Everyone I met today was super helpful, actually.”
“I’m glad. Everyone here is pretty nice.” She glances over her shoulder. “Really, Gannon is the prickliest out of the whole staff.”
“Must come with being the boss.”
She laughs. “It must.”
My stomach tightens at the thought of Gannon and his prickliness, and I look away from her.
I spent the entire weekend trying not to think about him. It turned out to be one of the hardest tasks I’ve had in a while. There’s no topic that doesn’t somehow lead back to the stunning businessman with the sexy smirk.
If I think about my business, my thoughts go to working at Brewer Group. If I think about food, my mind races back to the breakfast we shared. If I think of hanging out with friends, my brain reminds me that Tate is Gannon’s brother, and then I’m imagining Gannon’s hidden grins and the feel of his palm on the small of my back.
More than once, I’ve let my mind wander through a dangerous little game of what-if. What if he wasn’t Tate’s brother? What if I wasn’t on their payroll? What if he wasn’t a grumpy asshole and willing to lean into the attraction that I’m pretty certain he feels for me?
Because I see the wicked sparkle in his eyes. I notice how he unintentionally blurs the line between professional and personal—and then pulls himself back again just before he crosses the line. I hear the mischief riding just beneath the surface of his innuendos.
I’d ride that man like a horse.
“Mr. Brewer is back in his office,” she says, bringing me out of my reverie. “Want me to see if he’s available?”
I clear my throat. “Yes, please. Keisha asked me to check in with him before I leave, and I’ve finished up for the day.”
She nods, lifts the phone receiver, and presses a couple of buttons. “Mr. Brewer? Carys Johnson is here to see you.” She pauses, hiding a smile. “Sure. Thank you.”
My heart pounds.
“Go on back,” Amanda says.
“Thanks.” I pick up the pot again. “Wish me luck.”
She laughs in response.
I make my way down the hallway, catching my reflection in the glass. My overalls and sneakers are no match for the woman coming the other way in a smart suit and perfect makeup. I could’ve at least pulled my hair back again before I came up here.
My heart beats harder as I reach Gannon’s office. The door is cracked, leaving a sliver of visibility leading straight to his desk.
I stutter a breath. Damn.
He’s sitting with one hand in his hair and the other holding a pen. His sleeves are rolled part way up his muscled forearms. Without his jacket, his shoulders are even broader. Thicker. Sexier.
“It’s rude to stare, Miss Johnson,” he says without looking up.
Shit . I take a deep breath and push the door wider. “I was trying to decide whether to knock or just say hello.”
His hand slips off his head, and he sits upright, his eyes finding mine.
A shiver coils slowly up my spine, spreading through my limbs as I absorb the heat and intensity of his stare.
“I came by this morning at nine o’clock on the dot,” I say, entering his office like I do it all the time. “Amanda said you had just left.”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, his gaze drags down my chest, over the plant in my arms, and down the length of my overalls. A small smirk toys at the corner of his lips before he lifts his eyes to mine again.
Get it together, Carys. Ignore the pheromones and save the philodendron.
I shift from one foot to the other. “I know this isn’t exactly a Fortune 500 outfit, but I’m literally digging around in dirt all day. I hope that’s okay.”
“That seems practical.”
“Here.” I extend the snake plant toward him. “I brought you this.”
He quirks a brow.
“It’s a sansevieria trifasciata, also known as a snake plant,” I say. “It improves air quality, reduces stress, and some say it even reduces inflammation and strengthens your immune system. Plus, it attracts money and good energy, and you can practically forget it exists, and it still won’t die. It’s a jack-of-all-trades, plant style.”
He nods as if he’s slightly confused. “Um, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Where should I put it?”
I take a quick look around the room.
Gannon’s office is half again larger than Tate’s and is situated in the corner of the building. Bookshelves line the wall behind his desk. Two doors on the far side of the room are closed. Where do they go ? A small table with two chairs is situated in front of them. The long wall opposite the entrance is glass, giving a breathtaking view of Nashville.
“How about on the table behind me?” I ask.
“That works.”
“I can bring you a plant stand the next time I come if you want,” I say, getting the pot in place. “I have a black metal one that would look really nice in here.”
“Thank you, but that’s unnecessary.”
I step back and nod approvingly at my handiwork. Then I turn to Gannon. “Are you sure? You might want to use this table sometime.”
“If so, I’m sure we can move the plant to the floor.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Why are you here, exactly?”
I lift a brow. “Really?”
He leans back, a blasé look painting his features.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think Gannon Brewer didn’t like me. The man couldn’t look more apathetic if he tried. Lucky for me, I’ve had my fair share (or more) of encounters with sexy, powerful men who are used to being in control. Unfortunately for Gannon, I can see through him as easily as I can see downtown through his floor-to-ceiling windows.
“You don’t have to be mean anymore,” I say, teasing him.
“What are you talking about?”
I roll my eyes, leaning against a chair facing his desk. “Look, I’m not here to be your friend.”
“Oh, so you do just want me for my money.”
A grin lifts the side of his mouth, and it takes everything in me not to melt at his feet.
“If you’re offering alternative packages, I’d be happy to review them,” I say with a flirty smile.
His gaze darkens.
“But in lieu of those opportunities,” I say, “I’m here because Keisha asked me to swing by your office before I leave. She wanted to know if I was going on payroll as an employee or a subcontractor. I also don’t know how many days a week you want me to come.”
“How many days would you like to come , Miss Johnson?”
A blast of heat curls in my stomach. “In a perfect world, I’d come every day.”
He licks his bottom lip, grinning coyly.
“I could even come multiple times if that’s what you wanted.” My skin’s tingling as he undresses me with his eyes.
Gannon stands, running a hand down his chest to smoothen his tie. His jaw flexes beneath the sunlight streaming in through the windows. He’s tall, dark, and so freaking handsome—and he’s gluing me to my spot with nothing but a look.
Sweat dampens the back of my neck, and my breasts are heavy. Blood pumps through my body at double speed, and my lips fall apart to drag in cooler breaths of air.
“In this perfect world you speak of,” he says, his voice low and thick, “I’d have you coming every day. And I’d work you so hard that you’d beg to quit.”
“I think you underestimate me.”
“You’d go home sore,” he says, each word hanging in the air. “You’d be filthy and exhausted, wondering how in the hell you ever thought you could keep up.”
Each breath vibrates through my chest. Every exhale prickles the hair on the back of my head. I want to fire back, to hold my ground, but the way he pins me in place with his gaze steals the words from my tongue.
“And this , Miss Johnson, is why I didn’t want you to work here.”
I grin innocently up at him. “Why? Because you don’t want me getting dirty?”
“Because you’re trouble.”
He brushes against me on his way to the windows.
“ I’m trouble?” I laugh. “You were the one who started the innuendos. I was merely answering your questions.”
His hands shove into his pockets as he turns his back to me.
I watch him for a long minute, and then two, giving him time to respond. But the longer I stand quietly, the quicker the power dynamic shifts to favor him. It’s nothing I haven’t experienced before, and I know what to do—leave while I still have a somewhat upper hand.
Leave him scratching his head instead of vice versa.
“All joking aside, I have openings on my schedule on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I don’t think it’ll take three days as soon as I get everything repotted, treated—that sort of thing. At that point, we can probably do two days.”
He turns slowly to face me.
Keep talking. Stay professional.
“I inventoried all the plants today and took pictures and notes,” I say. “There are forty-seven. Getting them all tended to will take a bit of time, just so you’re clear.”
He lifts a brow. “There are forty-seven plants?”
“There are. John from your accounting department, I think, helped me during his lunch hour.”
Gannon’s jaw sets.
“He was super helpful,” I say, grinning. “Great guy. Do you know him?”
Instead of answering me, he tugs on the collar of his shirt.
My body screams at me to stay in his orbit. It begs me to slide in a cheeky comment to get him worked up again. But my brain tells me that’s a bad idea. I need to leave while I can.
“As long as it’s okay with you, I’ll let Keisha know I’m a subcontractor and not an employee of Brewer Group, and I’ll be here as long as it takes to get the job done. I’ll stay out of your way. You’ll never even know I’m here.”
His brows furrow. “Great.”
“And, I know I’ve said this to you before, but I’ll say it again. Thank you, Gannon. In all seriousness, I truly appreciate you giving me and Plantcy a try.”
He nods. “Of course.”
A buzzer rings through the air, cutting the tension in half. I heave a breath. Gannon’s shoulders instantly soften as he moves toward his desk.
“Yes, Kylie,” he says.
“Mr. Brewer, you have a call from Mr. Tom Siegfried,” she says.
I take a step backward. “I’m going anyway. Thank you again.”
Gannon starts to speak, then stops. “Thank you, Carys.”
Before I can say anything else, I leave.