Measuring His Love (Side Hustle #3)

Chapter One

Morgan

Today could be the first day of the rest of my life.

So it goes without saying it is going awful.

My truck wouldn’t start this morning. Shooter, my new collie took off during our morning routine potty break.

My entire neighborhood is keeping an eye out for him.

My brother Ethan is having trouble on our newest job site, and my other brother Tanner is just..

.slacking on his job site. It’s been one hell of a day and it’s not even noon.

"Morning Morgan," Josie Pierce, a contractor and the only woman with a hammer in town calls as I pass her. "That good of a day, huh?"

Wincing, I nod at her because if she can see how wound up, I am, I need to take a moment to unwind. "Yeah, one of those days. How’s things going at The Halo?" I mention the new swanky lofts downtown that she has taken over maintenance on.

"Going well, I suppose. Since it is all brand-new you would think I had nothing to do there. You would be wrong. Good luck in there today, Dexter mentioned you guys have something up your sleeve."

Nodding at the bank behind her, she smiles at me then heads out. I shake my shoulders out. My brothers and I do have something up our sleeves. It’s the same thing we tucked into our back pockets years ago. We want to make our dream of Brant Brothers Construction a reality.

We’ve taken jobs on the side since high school, did summer apprenticeships in all manners of building trade, and both Ethan and Dexter went to college for their trade.

I went for business at my father’s suggestion.

Even though we talked about making something out of the nothing we had growing up, I was never sure how to get it started.

It was Dexter who suggested we make those side gigs fixing doors for friends or working together on a bathroom remodel into a real business.

I was never sure we could work together because we’re all such different personalities, but it’s been good for all of us.

Only thing is, all the side jobs turned into full time jobs and bigger, better contracts.

It is up to me to convince the bank that we’re a viable investment.

"Here goes nothing, boys," I let out a unsteady breath, fix my suit jacket, and head inside the bank.

I cancelled two meetings on my schedule to be here today.

I am the oldest Brant brother, the one everyone assumes is the most put together.

I suppose that has a little to do with my day job.

I tell people I play with other people’s money all day, and it’s basically the truth.

I am good at investments, at betting that certain companies will fail while others succeed—to try and beat the average market returns to make my clients a profit.

I am good at what I do because I take educated guesses, I research the market to stay on top of returns and losses. I do not love what I do. At least not when I am stuffed in a suit, sitting in a stuffed-up office, playing with numbers that blend together until I swear I am reading a Matrix code.

What I do love doing is hanging drywall, framing out a window, and building something real with my hands.

It was something our father taught us all to do.

He said we should know how to fix our home and our cars.

I am happiest getting my hands dirty—whether that is under the hood of a car or with paint or sawdust to create a home.

We just need someone to buy into how much we love what we do.

"Morning Mr. Brant," the front desk clerk greets with a big smile. "Ms. Carter will be with you in a moment," she tells me.

I panic. Who is Ms. Carter? My appointment to talk about this business loan was with Mr. Tomford, the bank manager, and a friend of my father's. I was sure he would believe in us enough to give us what we need to build this dream of ours. We want Brant Brother’s Construction to be more than odd jobs and small builds.

We want to be the go-to here in True Ridge, and I believe we’re good enough, passionate enough that we can do it.

All of my prep for this meeting was to present our loan proposal to Mr. Tomford.

Not a woman I have never heard of. Wait, yeah, who the hell is Ms. Carter?

I might not know every single person in True Ridge, but with a population of exactly two thousand, I know a lot of them.

This is a town where you grow up here, find your partner here, do your work here, and retire here.

Even if you go off to see the world or try somewhere else, you always come back here because this place is just.. .home.

"Who the hell is Ms. Carter?" I whisper to myself as I take a seat to wait for her.

Checking my watch, I flip through any new information in my head that may answer that for me.

There is a new lumber crew working in the area I know.

Part of Mack Felle’s crew over in Driftwood.

There’s a new garage in town, Dexter told me last week.

All ladies turning wrenches. I am all for equality—we were thrilled to hear we had a woman handyman—would it be handy woman—when Josie came to town.

Thinking about the women in town I do know, I can’t help but feel a little glum.

I have never figured a relationship out, though I gave it a few good tries.

Pop said love happens exactly when it is meant to.

Of course, he said that—he met our mother and married her within a month.

My work, my brothers and my family, come first for me.

I guess that would change if I found the right woman.

"Mr. Brant, I apologize for keeping you waiting," a sweet voice calls, startling me from my thoughts.

Glancing up, I blink. Who. Is. That? Is...is she supposed to be talking to me? I even glance behind me to see who else she might be apologizing to. Blinking again, I try to force out words. Only no words come as I sit staring up at her. Because there is no way this woman is looking to talk to me.

Waves of crimson hair spill down past her shoulders, her fair skin looking almost dewy in the morning light.

Freckles dust her nose and cheeks, and I find myself flushing as I start trying to count them.

With big, bright blue eyes the color of the sea and soft pink lips that quirk up at the corner as I sit there soundless, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

I swallow hard, trying to get some words out.

A greeting. A response to her apologies, because she should never have to apologize for anything.

I even stand up. I tower over her, my gaze eating up the way her silk blouse nips in at her waist, how her skirt is just short enough to be demure but also somehow make me want to shove it out of my damn way.

What the actual hell is going on with me?

"Mr. Brant? Were you ready for our meeting?"

Ms. Carter. This beautiful vision is the woman I am about to beg for a loan from? Well, fuck. "Y-ye-yes. I am... I am prepared. I thought I would be meeting with Mr. Tomford, I hope this is not a... not a..."

"I have taken over that portion of his duties," she informs me, her voice clipped, her shoulders going back in defiance. Those blue eyes flare up at me, and I flush again. Somehow, with one sentence I’ve offended her.

"I-I don’t mean...did not mean that to sound..."

"Dismissive? Rude? No worries, Mr. Brant, I am used to it. Come on, let’s go see what you prepared for Mr. Tomford."

Turning, she stalks briskly away, down the hall to her office.

I hesitate. I do not want to go through with this.

Not now. I looked stupid then insulted her.

There is no way this is going to go the way we hoped it would.

Sighing, I follow her, doing my very best—and failing—not to watch the sway of her hips and the way her ass looks in that little skirt.

I am not a typical chauvinist guy who catcalls women because of how they look in a skirt.

I have never been a slave to carnal needs.

However, there is something about her a skirt, the way her hips sway hypnotically left to right, the click of her heels on the marble floors, that has me thinking all manner of carnal things—all of them wildly improper.

The moment I step inside her small office, I am inundated with them.

Visions of me spreading her out on her desk, clearing it dramatically with a sweep of my warm.

I imagine sitting behind my own desk with her on her knees for me, that pink mouth popped open, waiting for me to shove past her lips so she can please me like a good little girl.

Who am I right now?

Ten minutes ago, I was an upstanding guy who came to talk about a business I want to build with my brothers.

Now, as I take a seat across from the beauty who just twisted my head up, I am not sure where that guy went.

My hands flex anxiously, I bounce a knee as I watch her open the portfolio we sent over last week.

My gaze traces the gentle line of her neck, across her collar, down between her breasts.

I bite back a groan when I see the faintest hint of nipple through her cream blouse. Lord help me.

"Mr. Brant...I have read the portfolio you presented. I see the numbers. All the pieces, the parts you want a bank to see. How about all the important pieces. Tell me about your brothers, what you want to build with them."

Swallowing hard, I nod. That, I can do. "I am the oldest, but it is not that obvious once you see us together.

Dexter is the ringleader as it were, he is the one we look to for, I guess, guidance, he is the idea man.

Ethan is kind of our heart, a conscience for all of us.

Tanner is...well, Tanner. I guess I round us out, I am best at making decisions, choosing the right contracts. "

"Yet you came to ask for a loan and thought it was a good decision to insult the loan officer," she accuses with a little smirk. It should not be so fucking cute that she is condescending to me, but it is. That’s a new thing.

"I was not insulting you, Ms. Carter," I argue, truly wanting her to understand I was surprised by her, not bothered that a woman has the final decision in the future of Brant Brother’s Construction. "I was just surprised. I know Mr. Tomford, he has known us most of our lives, I just thought..."

Sitting forward she cocks her head at me, those pretty eyes narrowing. If looks could kill, I’d be decimated. "You just thought a good ol’ boy would never think of turning down a loan for a bunch of local good kids, yeah?"

Frowning, I sit forward too. "Ms. Carter," I let the formality hang in the air a moment. "We are, in fact, good local kids. Grew up here, learned to swing a hammer with our pop, celebrated our parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary with half of the town who loves them, and we work for free so often we’ve yet to turn an actual profit.

We love what we do, we want to do it together, to build something good and worthwhile here in True Ridge. "

"Mr. Brant, I am sure you..."

Holding up my hand, I cut her off. "I am not sure how often you deal with chauvinists or pricks pretending to be good ol’ boys.

That ain’t us, that ain’t me, you took me by surprise because.

...well, because you’re the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on and it took me a moment to believe you were not a figment of my very lonesome imagination," I admit without a dose of restraint.

"Mr. Brant, that is not even remotely..."

Once again, I cut her off, reaching across the desk to take the folder from her.

"Proper? I am well aware, Ms. Carter, of how improper my words seem. How improper my thoughts became the moment I saw you. Doesn’t change any of it.

I am not here to beg for a damn thing. We can find another bank who gives a toss about what we want to do with Brant Brothers Construction instead of judging me for being a little. ..stupefied."

"Do you believe tossing some compliments at me will forgive your sexist assumptions about dealing with a woman? You sit there glowering in your thousand-dollar suit with your hand out to this bank, Mr. Brant, but let’s get one thing straight: equality isn't about you 'accepting' that I can do my job despite being a woman. It’s about the fact that what’s between my legs shouldn’t have crossed your mind in the first place.

Clearly, it did—which tells me all I need to know about you. "

Standing, I loom over her desk, breathing heavily because there is something hot as hell about arguing with her.

"Oh, Ms. Carter, I most definitely thought about what is between your thighs. My preference would be me, since we’re on the subject.

Though I am not sure you could handle what I would do to you," I hurl the words at her almost as if I am making a threat.

I guess in a way, I am. I am threatening her with a damn good time.

"See yourself out, Mr. Brant. I will let Mr. Tomford know about the status of your loan request. Let you two good ol’ boys chat about it."

Letting out a huff of a sound, I spin on my heel to march out of her office.

Before I do, I turn back once more. Partly to get another good, long look at her because, Jesus she is something else.

Also, to unnerve her because I have this sneaking suspicion that this entire exchange turned her on as much as it has me.

I let my gaze eat her up, not even trying to hide it now.

My gaze drops to her name placard on her desk.

Maren Carter. Our gazes meet, hers flaring bright blue, her chest rising, falling, her skin flushed.

Oh, sweet Maren, I am in deep trouble. Because all I want to do is storm across the office to slam my mouth to hers.

I want to shut her up. I want to make her get loud for me, call my name out as I please her, I want her to forget all about this stupid meeting and just see me as I am.

Alone, needy, absolutely enchanted by her. I have never felt this sort of thing before. I think briefly about my parents. With a hard cock and arousal pumping through my veins, it is a weird time to think about their romance but here I am. Wondering if Pop had it right all along.

Perhaps I met Ms. Carter exactly when I was meant to.