Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“I feel like I just took advantage of you,” I say coyly.
He licks his lips, hiding a smile.
“Well, maybe I don’t quite feel like that. I imagine that would feel better than this.”
He struggles not to show his amusement as he takes his card from Joseph. He signs a slip of paper, then promises to see the server soon.
He looks at me again. “Are you ready?”
“Sure.”
Gannon stands, shoving his card in his wallet, and comes to my side of the table. He pulls my chair back as I get to my feet, and I gather my purse as he slides on his jacket. Then he grabs my folder off the table.
“Should I leave the tip?” I ask, feeling like I should do something.
“You should stop talking so we can leave.”
He presses his hand lightly to the small of my back. The contact burns through my crimson dress and singes my skin just above my butt. He guides me toward the door as if I’m somehow supposed to be able to walk under such conditions.
The sun is brighter as we step outside. The air is warmer, too. Gannon slides on a pair of sunglasses and faces me.
“Thank you for breakfast,” I say, wishing I could see his eyes. “I appreciate you picking up the tab.”
He smirks, mocking me. “Who hurt you?”
I laugh, the force of it vibrating through my body. This is the first time he’s made a joke and not tried to hide it. The first time he’s not just a CEO, but a man.
I could get used to this.
“I have a meeting in twenty minutes, so I must go,” he says, scanning the parking lot. “Is your car here?”
“Yeah. That’s him.” I point at my pride and joy and sigh. “He’s not as fancy as the other cars here, but he’s handsome, isn’t he?”
Gannon looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “That’s your car?”
“Yup. I traded my AMC Pacer for the Gremlin last year. It’s faster. Sportier.”
“It was built in the seventies, Carys.”
I nod, beaming. “It’s a classic.”
He nods like he’s not sure what to say. “Yeah. Okay.”
I pause, waiting for him to say something about the purpose of this rendezvous. Surely, he has to know I’ll go batshit crazy if he doesn’t give me an answer about Plantcy one way or the other. Then again, it would be too easy if he brought it up first.
Jerk.
“Anyway, about the contract …” I bite my lip. “What do you think?”
He lifts his chin and pulls his brows together. He looks like a model with his glasses and the olive jacket perfectly complementing his skin. It frazzles my brain.
“I need to think about it,” he says, his voice low and even. “Some of us don’t make rash business decisions.”
“Ouch.”
He gives me a half grin. “I’ll watch you get into your car before I leave.”
He takes a step back as if this officially ends the discussion. And I guess it does.
“Thanks again. Have a good day,” I say, turning toward my car.
“You, too, Miss Johnson.”
I feel his gaze on my back as I walk through the parking lot. My hips naturally want to sway a bit in response, so I let them. Can’t hurt anything.
Without looking back, I pop open my door and climb inside. I sigh as soon as I’m alone.
“Well, that was … something, I guess,” I say to the Gremlin.
But why couldn’t this have happened at noon?
Chapter Six
Carys
“No, I’m not okay, Court,” I say, pushing my earbud deeper into my ear, hoping to hear my friend a little better. “I got up before the sun. My bra is killing me, and I haven’t had enough carbs today.”
“But I bet you still look pretty.”
My shoulders slump as a smile slips across my cheeks. “You’re the best.”
“Tate better watch out. If he slips up again, I’ll take his best friend spot again.”
We laugh at the memory of Tate being mad at me last year and telling me to get a new best friend. So I did—to make a point. I started telling him I was too busy for his side quests. No more being his wingwoman at the bar. I didn’t have time to pretend to like baseball so he didn’t have to go to the games alone. He was on his own when choosing an outfit for a date.
It didn’t take long until he was sorry.
Just like I told him he would be.
“Gosh darn it,” I say, inspecting the last plant of the day.
“What?” Courtney asks.
“Mrs. Galbraith keeps getting water on the leaves of her African violet. I’ve asked her just to let me handle things—that’s what she pays me for—but the woman is literally loving these poor things to death.”
“You’re speaking in a language I don’t understand.”
I laugh as I pluck off the dead leaves and toss them in a small container I keep by the workbench Mrs. Galbraith set up for me in her sunroom.