Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
C arys
“No, no, no! Don’t fall!” I rush to the counter and snatch a jar of pickles midair before it smashes against the floor. Oof . “What do ya know? I still got it.”
I laugh at myself and place the sweet gherkins safely in the pantry.
“No one has ever, in the history of the universe, said you have good reflexes,” Courtney says through my earbuds.
“Because I do my most impressive feats when I’m alone. The best superheroes never display their powers for the world to see.”
“Sure.”
A gentle breeze blows through the open window above my kitchen sink, carrying with it the sweet scent of gardenias from outside. The midafternoon sunlight is bright and happy; the sky is cloudless. It’s a perfect Wednesday afternoon to catch up on midweek chores and prepare for the weekend ahead.
“What do I do about Quinton?” Courtney asks. “I like him. I like him a lot, actually. But he’s such a giant pain in the ass.”
A grin tickles my lips.
I made a point to stay far away from the executive level today. Through the grapevine, I discovered that Gannon routinely has meetings on Wednesdays in the large conference room, so I avoided that area of the building, too. I even steered clear of the lunchroom just to be safe.
Despite my best effort not to encounter Gannon today, we did cross paths. I know he passed the break room while I was chatting with Amanda and working on a hanging ivy. I caught Gannon walking by out of the corner of my eye, pausing momentarily at the doorway. But I kept my gaze averted and refused to make eye contact—just pretended I didn’t see him. Still, I could feel the heat of his attention on me. It was almost as if he was daring me to look.
“Here’s the thing, Court. We’ve known Quinton Humphrey for what? Six years? And he’s been the same guy the entire time.” I lift two cans of crushed tomatoes from a paper bag. Why did I get two cans ? “That tells me he’s not going to change.”
I put both cans in the pantry.
“I know,” she says. “But it’s such a waste. If he’d just get a little better at communication and show up when he says he will, he could be so great. He has so much potential.”
“Is he coming to your party on Friday?”
“He says he is. But can you really believe anything that comes out of that man’s mouth?”
“Invite Rick from your work,” I say, folding the paper bags and putting them away. Then I turn to the small crate of succulents the grocery had on discount. “If Quinton doesn’t show up, then you have a backup plan. And if he does, then it won’t hurt him to see someone else hitting on you.”
Courtney hums in thought. “It’s not a bad idea. But if they’re both there, they’ll both want my attention, and I just don’t know if I have the energy for that.”
“Oh, come on,” I say, laughing. “Don’t act like you don’t love the idea of a Why Choose situation.”
“Fair.” She laughs, too. “But I don’t think they’re into that type of a situation, which only makes it worse for me.”
I take my five new plant babies and place them in the infirmary, which happens to be the windowsill overlooking the side yard. Someone told me a few months ago that if grocery stores get a load of small plants to sell and they don’t move, they wind up throwing them away. To die . My heart can’t take it. I now buy every bedraggled-looking piece of vegetation to save it from an untimely demise.
“So where did you work today?” she asks. “I thought you had Wednesdays off now.”
“Oh, I did have Wednesdays off but not anymore. I found another client.”
“That’s great, Carys!”
I bite my bottom lip to keep from giggling. “You will never guess who I’m working for now.”
“Then just tell me.”
“It’s not a big deal.” I pause for dramatic flair. “Just Gannon Brewer.”
“ Shut up .”
I laugh, leaning against the countertop.
“Shut. Up,” she says again. “You’re lying to me.”
“I’m not.”
“What? How ? When did this happen, and why haven’t you told me?”
“I was in Tate’s office the other day, and it’s a long story. Basically, I spilled my latte all over Gannon and begged him to hire me. And then he invited me to breakfast?—”
“ What ?”
“So I met him at Tapo’s for a business meeting.”
“When? Oh my God, Carys ! You’ve been holding out on me. You’ve been having a rendezvous with arguably the hottest man in the universe, and you didn’t tell me?”
I laugh, my cheeks aching. Courtney has experienced the Brewer hotness firsthand. Let’s hope she doesn’t want a shot at Gannon, too. She’s definitely more his taste.
“Explain, woman,” she says. “Give me all the details.”
“There’s not really a ton of details to give. It’s not like I’m dating him for crying out loud.”
“Um, you had breakfast with the man. Business meetings happen at lunch. Does Tate know this?”
I shove away from the counter and make my way up the staircase.
“Yes, Tate knows about this because it’s no big deal ,” I say, although a giddiness creeps through me. “I didn’t even see Gannon today. It’s not like I’m working in his office or something. He just hired me.”
“Listen to me, lady. You’re so full of shit you obviously can’t see clearly.”
I burst out laughing. “That’s disgusting.”
“Gannon Brewer doesn’t talk to mere mortals like us,” she says, ignoring my interjection. “I don’t even think I’ve seen the man smile. Not that I particularly need to see him smile. I can ride his face with a frown just as well as I can with a grin.”
“Oh my gosh, Court.”
“You know you would, too.”
Yes, I freaking would . I open my bedroom door and go inside, flopping on my bed.
“Dammit,” she hisses. “I have to go. My boss is calling. I’ll be calling you back for details.”
“Bye, Court,” I say, teasing her.
“I hate you.”
I laugh as she hangs up on me.
Rolling over onto my stomach, I pull up my favorite food delivery service and order a pizza. Nothing like grocery shopping to make you not want to cook.
Just before I toss my phone onto the nightstand before grabbing a shower, it buzzes.
Tate: I need your help.
His four words make me roll my eyes. Still, seeing his name on my screen makes me happy. Besides a quick text exchange yesterday to see how things were going, we haven’t really touched base. Although I miss him, I’m kind of glad for the radio silence. I’m not sure what I’d say about Gannon if pressed on the subject, and I’ll need to be careful about it.
Me: Have you ever heard the fable about the boy who cried wolf?
Tate: My mom wasn’t the story time kind of mom.
Me: In that story, a little boy yells all the time that he sees a wolf. But he’s lying. One day, a wolf really does show up in their little town, and he starts screaming, and do you know what happens?
Tate: The wolf eats him.
Me: NO ONE COMES.
Tate: So I was right.
Me: That’s not the point.
Tate: What’s the point?
“Read between the lines, Tate,” I groan.
Me: The point is when you start a message with “I need your help” so often and never actually need anything serious that one day you’ll really need something, and I’ll think you’re being goofy again and ignore you.
Tate: Are you done?
Me:
Tate: Good. Now, back to my problem. I’m going to send you two pictures. Tell me which one is better for Social.
Me: OMG
Tate: I haven’t even sent them yet. But I do love the support.
Me: You’re misreading my reaction.
Chirp! Chirp!
Two pictures appear in my inbox. Both of them are of Tate shirtless.
The first one has him posed in front of a stove with a spatula in his hand like he’s been cooking something. Anyone who knows him will know that’s not true. I’m surprised he knows where the kitchen is in his house.
The second picture is of Tate standing in his closet. His grin is a little cheekier and his hair more tousled as if he just got out of bed.
Me: There are so many women who would love this job. Why can’t you pick one of them?
Tate: Pick.
Me: If you’re looking for flirty comments that probably don’t even make sense—like, come make me breakfast, baby—pick the first one. Go with number two if you’re just wanting women to tell you that you’re hot.
Tate: Numero dos it is.
Me: Glad I could help.
Before I can exit the app, my phone rings.
“I picked two,” I say without looking at the screen. “What else do you want from me?”
“Oh, that’s quite the open-ended question, beautiful. It’s one that I’d love to answer.”
My ex-fling’s voice dances through the line. It causes my stomach to tighten.
Victor Morrisey is a complete douchebag. At one time, that had been part of his allure. He had absolutely no interest in anything long-term, liked to fuck, and gave me space. It took me a while to discover that he not only got off by me riding his cock, but he also got off by making me feel the pain of his rejection.
And it was painful. It wasn’t an actual heartbreak, but it did hurt. What hurt the most wasn’t losing Victor. I couldn’t care less about him. What bothered me was the embarrassment that I thought he might actually like me for more than my looks. He made me believe that, but it was all a lie—one I bought into.
I won’t make that mistake twice.
“I’ll keep this short and sweet,” he says. “I have an event next weekend, and I thought perhaps you’d like to be my plus-one.”
“I’ll keep this short and sweet, too. I’d rather eat shit and die.”
“Come on. You don’t mean that.”
“It would be impossible to mean it more. So fuck off and lose my number.”
I end the call and block him.
My blood pressure pounding, I sit up and call Tate.
“I already posted the second picture,” he says.
“Believe it or not, this isn’t about you.”
“Weird.” I can almost hear his grin. “What’s up?”
“Guess who just called me.”
He pauses. “Carys, the options are endless.”
Tate’s tone is edgy, a mixture of boredom and irritation. He hates my dating life. According to him, I’m either whining about guys who want too much from me or crying about guys who don’t want enough. He says there’s no happy medium where I’m concerned. I say there is … I just haven’t found it yet.
“Victor,” I say, spitting his name.
“Did you tell that motherfucker to jump off a cliff?”
“Basically.”
“What the fuck did he want?” Tate asks, irritation taking over his voice. Yup. He’s pissed.
“He has a banquet or something and wanted me to go. Can you believe that? The nerve of that guy.”
He sighs. “I can believe it, actually. Out of all the guys you’ve been involved with, he’s the worst.”
“I have to agree.”
A microwave beeps in the background. “I haven’t talked to you much this week. How are things?”
“They’re good. Just talked to Court. She’s a mess, per usual. I had a call this morning from a music executive about helping his wife care for their plants while they’re out of town. I guess they split their time here and somewhere in the South. So that’s exciting.”
“That’s great.”
“Are you going to Court’s on Friday?”
“I’m going to try. Renn called me today and wants me to go with him to a wine-and-dine thing this weekend for a rugby player he’s trying to sign. I said I’d think about it because I’ve been traveling so damn much. But we all know I’ll wind up going.”
“You’re a sucker.”
“Don’t I know it.”
I laugh.
“How’s it been going with Gannon?” he asks, the question hanging uncomfortably in the air.
I sit up. There’s one topic I don’t want to discuss with my best friend.
I’m not sure how to answer his question. Things have been fine, just a little flirtier than I would’ve guessed. While I’m not mad about it, I know Tate won’t be pleased, and I don’t want to spoil a good thing.
“He’s … hard to deal with,” I say, nodding. That’s a fair assessment, so I know it sounds like I’m being honest.
“That’s true.”
“I’m just trying to stay out of his way so he doesn’t want to throw me out.” And to drive him crazy.
“Probably a good plan. I warned you that he can be a dick. So just keep a low profile, and you should be good to go.”
“Will do.”
The microwave beeps again. “My housekeeper left me food so I’m gonna go eat. Call me later.”
“Bye, Tate.”
“Bye.”
I free-fall back onto the bed with a sigh.
“I warned you that he can be a dick. So just keep a low profile, and you should be good to go.”
But therein lies the problem. I like Gannon’s dick-ishness, and I might like his dick, too.
What a conundrum this has turned out to be.