Chapter 3 #2
“Because everyone’s going to think I got the job because Graham is my brother. And I did.”
She laughs. “It’s not like you graduated with a degree in interior decorating and Everett is hiring you to lead a crew of astronauts to Mars.
You’re very qualified for this job, Ginny.
Your brother is intelligent enough to tell his best friend about you, and his best friend is intelligent enough to trust him.
But of course, you’ll have to prove to Everett you can do the job.
I’m sure he’s not going to hire you just based on Graham’s word.
” She smiles and opens her car door. “Think of this weekend as a mini-job interview.”
Yeah, that’s a great idea. Not intimidating at all. And not at all a terrible idea.
I want to relax with my family for the holiday. I want to eat four kinds of pie. And maybe one kind of cake because, major pie holiday or not, that cake sounds awesome. I want to drink a lot of wine and watch a parade and some football.
Dammit.
I shove my car door open.
“You’re right,” I say. “Everett doesn’t even know me. So this weekend I have to make sure he knows me professionally. Just because he’s staying here for a holiday doesn’t mean that we’re going to be friends or anything like that.”
I say it for myself as much as for my mother. She needs to not start treating Everett like another son. The cake and sheets are enough.
Mom frowns. “There’s nothing wrong with being friendly with your boss.”
Actually, there are many problems with being friendly with your boss. But being polite to my new boss is perfectly acceptable. Actually, probably a good idea.
Polite. I can do that. For sure. But that’s it.
I don’t want him to think that I’m trying to butter him up, or that I am expecting favors.
I can be polite and cool. Maybe even a little standoffish would be good.
Nothing to put him off, of course, but I think I’ll stay away from the wine and maybe sit out any cutthroat games of Pitch or Settlers of Catan.
We head into the house, laden with bakery goods, and I dig for a good attitude.
I don’t need wine. And I can stop at one piece of pie.
And one helping of mashed potatoes. But I’m having two helpings of stuffing, I don’t care what my new boss thinks.
But I won’t play board games because I’m very competitive, and I swear a lot when I do even if I’m not drinking.
If I want wine, I’ll make Harlow take me to Jefferson’s house and hang out on the couch with me, where we can watch too-early TV Christmas movies.
Or maybe I can convince Harlow, Jefferson, Graham, Margot, Carver, and Kaelyn to all go over there, and we can play Settlers of Catan there.
No, that would probably be rude to leave Everett alone with my parents.
Dammit.
I come around the corner from the back hallway into the kitchen, and a tall, broad-shouldered man I am not related to turns to face me.
And I drop the three pies that I am holding.
“Clark?”
But yes, those broad shoulders and that dark hair and that mouth are connected to Clark Kent. The guy I spent the night with in Denver.
I feel a little light-headed.
Graham turns from the counter where he’s talking to Jefferson. “Hey, Harry.” He looks at the man who I can easily picture naked…and now am. “Do you know Clark?”
I look at my brother, then back to Clark Kent.
“What are you doing here?”
He’s staring at me as if I just punched him in the stomach.
“Diana?”
Margot steps out from behind Graham.
She looks from me to Clark and back to me. “No. Way,” she says.
I look at her and nod. “This is…”
“What’s going on?” my mom asks, stepping into the kitchen behind me. “Ginny!” she exclaims when she sees the pies on the floor. “What happened? You dropped the pies?” She sets her pies down and then bends to retrieve those at my feet.
I haven’t moved yet. I don’t think I’ve even blinked.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Clark again. Really, that’s the only important question at the moment.
“I’m…” He looks at Graham. “I’m here with Graham.”
Well...fuck.
“This is Everett,” Graham says, frowning at me.
All of the air whooshes out of my lungs.
“This is…the guy?” Margot asked me.
I nod.
“You’re Harry?” Clark, I mean, Everett asks.
“What the hell is going on?” Jefferson asks.
“I—”
But there’s no way for me to really answer that question.
Because apparently the universe or something hates me intensely.
I had the best sex of my entire life, sex that I still think about every single night, nearly a month later, with the man whom I need to be nothing more than polite to this weekend.
Because he’s my new boss.
“Everett, this is my sister Ginny. Her first name is actually Harriet, but she goes by her middle name,” Graham says. “Carver and I call her Harry. It’s just a dumb nickname.” He shoots me a grin. “That she hates.”
“And Everett’s last name is Clark,” Margot says, clearly trying to be helpful. “Graham just calls him Clark most of the time.”
Yeah, that would have maybe been good information to have.
But, then again, it wouldn’t have mattered, really. Everett didn’t give me his real first name that night. Because I told him not to.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
“I need to talk to you,” I say, reaching out and grabbing his sleeve. I start for the back door.
“Ginny!” my mom starts.
“Just need a minute, Mom,” I say, not slowing down.
Sure, it probably looks weird for me to be dragging Everett, Graham’s best friend, who I’ve supposedly never met before, out of the room, but I can’t care about that. It’s vitally important that he and I talk and get a few things straight before we get any further into this weekend.
Oh my God, he’s staying for this whole weekend.
In Carver’s old bedroom.
The bedroom right next to mine.
I shake my head as I drag Everett down the back hallway, through the garage door, out of the garage, and around to the side yard.
I can’t think about bedrooms and Clark Kent right now. I really can’t. Not without wanting to climb his big body and kiss the hell out of him, at least.
He’s your BOSS!!
Yeah, that’s the other problem.
I stop and turn to him. “I…”
But what should I say? I can’t be angry that he’s here, or that he’s Graham’s friend. None of that is his fault. He didn’t know who I was either.
“We can not tell them what happened between us,” I say.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he says.
“Yeah, well, ditto.” I cross my arms and ball my hands into fists to try to keep my palms from itching to run over his chest.
“This is wild.” He steps forward. “You’re Graham’s sister?”
“Yes. And you’re his best friend and business partner.”
“Yes. But the chances of us meeting are crazy, and now we’re both here. I never thought I’d see you again.”
I lift a shoulder. “That was the plan.”
“I’ve thought about you every single day.”
Jesus. I grip my hands tighter. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a very weird coincidence, but it doesn’t matter.”
“The fuck if it doesn’t.” He steps forward again, frowning. “I went back to the bar the next morning, trying to find out if anyone had more information about you. I went to every hotel in a five-block radius looking for you.”
My eyes widen. That’s…oh, dammit. That’s kind of nice. And romantic. “You were stalking me?”
“Not at all. Because I couldn’t find you.”
“If you had found me, you would have stalked me?”
“No.” He leans in. “Because you would have happily let me into your room. And your bed.”
He’s right. What can I say?
“Until I found out who you really are,” I tell him, stepping back.
“I’m Graham’s friend. Surely that’s a pretty great reference. You should definitely see me again. A lot more. You should spend all your time with me while I’m here. You should let me fly you back to Denver next weekend.”
Wow. He’s intense.
And, if he wasn’t who he is, I might really like that.
But…
“You’re my new boss.”
He opens his mouth, then stops. Frowns. Then starts again. “So what?”
“So I can’t date my boss. Or sleep with my boss. Or even be too friendly with my boss. You being my brother’s friend and being close to my family is bad enough.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s absolutely not,” I argue. “If you don’t have policies about dating your subordinates, you should.”
“But you got the job completely separate from us sleeping together. And I became addicted to your pussy without it having anything to do with your job with my company.”
How could I have forgotten his blunt way of talking?
Heat twists through my lower belly even as I force myself to say, “But now we know. We can’t keep seeing each other.”
“I disagree.”
“It was a fling. A one-night stand. A one-weekend thing where we were strangers. It didn’t mean anything, Clar…Everett.” It feels weird to call him Everett. Clark feels natural, but my brother calls him Clark.
“It didn’t mean anything?” he repeats.
“Right,” I lie. “It was fun, I’ll admit. But now we’re going to have a professional relationship, and that’s all it can be.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then his jaw firms, and he steps forward.
“Let’s see,” he says.
Then he cups my face and kisses me.
And damn him, for nearly a minute, I can’t even spell IES.