Chapter 29
Chase
Istared at the Patterson file for the fifteenth time, reading the same paragraph over and over without processing a single word.
Our settlement proposal was solid, my talking points were ready, and I was fairly certain I’d anticipated every possible counterargument.
Hell, I’d prepared responses and organized my notes into color-coded sections because that’s what I did when I was anxious.
I was as prepared as I was going to be.
I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. The office was dead silent. It was just me and the ever-present hum of the air conditioner and the water tower thing in the kitchenette.
My phone sat on the desk, its screen dark. I picked it up and flicked it to life to check the time.
6:47 p.m.
I don’t know why I swiped past the clock, opening to the desktop. I wasn’t even aware of my thumb opening the text app. By the time my weary brain caught up to my devious thumb, the text exchange with Finn from earlier was staring back at me.
I smiled despite myself.
I glanced at the Patterson file.
Looked at my phone.
Checked the clock again.
The bar would be packed by now. The Lightning game would be nearing its end, maybe even finished, and a hoard of horny gays would be anxiously awaiting the newest episode of Horny Rivals, which would air on every television Barbacks owned.
Finn would be working, completely in his element, probably too busy to even notice if I showed up.
But I could watch him work.
I could sit in my corner booth and drink a beer, maybe try one of the few dishes I hadn’t tasted yet.
I could . . . just . . . be near him.
It had only been hours, but I wanted to see him again.
“This is pathetic,” I told my empty office. “I’m so fucking pathetic.”
My empty office didn’t argue.
I stood and grabbed my keys. I left the Patterson file on my desk—prepared enough was good enough for once—and walked out.
I could hear Barbacks before I reached it. The roar of the crowd, the sound of TVs blaring, and a myriad of voices all blended into the chaotic energy I was starting to associate with Finn’s bar.
I pulled open the door and was hit with the wall of sound and heat and humanity. The place was packed—even more packed than last Sunday. Every seat was taken, and people stood everywhere. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the TVs showing the last seconds of the Lightning game.
I scanned the crowd, looking for—
Finn.
He was behind the bar with Benji, both of them moving at lightning speed (pun intended), pouring drinks, taking orders, and somehow managing to keep up with the chaos. Finn’s hair was mussed, and his black T-shirt clung to his chest and arms. He looked stressed and focused and completely alive.
God, he looked beautiful.
Then his head snapped up like a deer sensing the sudden presence of a predator. Our eyes met, and his face broke into a wide smile. I raised my hand and offered that same dorky wave from this morning—because apparently that’s what I did now.
Before I could even process what was happening, he was moving.
Out from behind the bar.
Weaving through the crowd.
Coming straight toward me with purpose and determination and something that looked like urgency.
And then Finn was grabbing my wrist.
Not gently.
“Finn—” I started.
He didn’t answer. Just pulled. Hard.
I stumbled after him, trying to keep up as he navigated through the packed bar. “Where are we—”
“Move!”
He was walking fast, practically dragging me, pushing past people—“Excuse me, sorry, coming through”—pulling me along like he was on a mission and I was cargo.
We passed tables.
Passed the bathrooms.
And kept going.
We shot through a door marked “STAFF ONLY,” entering the kitchen where a stocky guy with a graying goatee looked up from a stove and raised his eyebrows.
We kept moving.
Down a short hallway.
To a door at the very back.
Finn pulled me inside, slammed the door shut behind us, and turned the lock with a definitive click that echoed in the sudden quiet.
I stood there, utterly baffled, trying to process what had just happened.
The office was small and cluttered. Filing boxes lay stacked in corners, and a decrepit rolling chair sat before an ancient metal teacher’s desk. There was barely enough room for two people to stand without touching.
Finn pressed his back against the door, looking at me with an odd intensity in his gaze.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I managed. “That was—”
I didn’t get to finish that sentence.
Finn took one stride forward and crashed his mouth into mine. His hands found my hips, gripped tight, and pulled me closer as he pressed me back against the desk. Whatever I was going to say vanished, taking every conscious thought I’d ever had with it.