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)
Tate: I can’t have this conversation with you.
Me: You texted me.
Tate: Because I can read a room.
Me:
Tate: I mean it.
Me:
“Because I can read a room, huh?” I say, staring at our exchange. I wonder what that means.
Carys is too young, too beautiful to want me. And Tate surely understands that I wouldn’t lead a girl like that along—let alone his best friend. Relationships are for the young and dumb; fortunately, I am neither of those things.
“I’m desperate if you haven’t noticed. Don’t make me go back to insurance.”
I want to shake this off and forget about Miss Matcha, but something about that line bothers me. Why is she desperate? Or was she being dramatic? Does she actually need this job?
I mosey around my office, stopping at the windows overlooking the city. It’s a beautiful evening. The sky boasts pinks and purples, and the traffic below crawls peacefully—from up here, at least.
Carys’s proposition lingers in the back of my brain, and I mull it over. Her sales pitch was impassioned. And if I’m not being a complete dickhead, she did make some sense. But logically speaking, I don’t need plant care to keep my staff happy. They’re paid well and respected. And my clients are mostly men who don’t give a damn about vegetation.
Still, if she wasn’t Tate’s best friend, and I wasn’t sure I’d struggle to keep my cock out of her mouth, I’d probably hire her for the hell of it.
I nibble at my bottom lip and then glance at the clock. I press 0 before I can overthink it.
“Yes, Mr. Brewer?” Kylie asks.
What am I doing?
“Hey, Kylie. How many office plants do we have in the building?”
“Sir, I have no idea. Do you want me to count them?”
Her question hangs in the air like I’ve lost my mind. Have I?
I rub my forehead, frustrated with myself. “No. Just take a guess.”
“Um, well, there’s one on my desk, and there are two or three, I think, in the lobby downstairs. There are three in the break room, but one could probably be thrown away. It’s been crunchy for weeks. Oh! The main conference room has a couple of trees, and I think they stuck the potted plant your accountant sent over for the holidays in the small conference room. It was starting to drop leaves and getting all over the place. So that’s at least ten. There are a couple in the hallway in marketing and—”
“That’s fine,” I say, sighing. How are there that many plants in this office, and I never knew it? “Who takes care of them?”
“Well, I take care of the one in here. I don’t really know who takes care of the others. I’d venture to say no one is, considering most of them look dead.”
Fuck. “Where do we get these plants? Who brings them? Why are they here?”
“Some are gifts. Employees sometimes leave them behind once they are promoted or leave the company. Some of the others were here when I started last year, so I don’t know where they came from. Others just seem to appear.” She pauses. “Mr. Brewer, are you okay?”
It seems not. “Yes, why?”
“Because this is just really random, and you’re not usually … random.”
I ignore that. “Do you think anyone cares if they’re healthy or not?”
“Meaning if they are healthy or the plants?”
“The plants, Kylie.”
“Oh. Right. I’m not sure if people care. If I had to guess, I’d say they do. Dying plants are depressing.” She pauses again as if she can’t keep up with the conversation. “Would you like me to round them up and get rid of them? If they bother you, I could donate them to a nursing home.”
Not a bad idea. “Maybe. I’ll get back to you on that.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks, Kylie.”
I click the button and catch a glimpse of myself in the window. My hair is messy, and my eyes have bags under them. Maybe I do need to figure out how to relax a little.
“One messy meeting with Carys Johnson, and I’m causing my staff to question my sanity,” I say to the empty office.
And this is why Tate’s best friend will definitely not be caring for Brewer Group’s plants … or anything else.
She’s a fucking ten.
She’s also a fucking no.
Chapter Four
Carys
“Here goes nothing,” I mutter, then ring the doorbell.
A random wooden chair with a pale blue cushion is next to the window on my left. A porch swing sways gently in the evening breeze to my right. Ferns hang from the ceiling, and a windchime floats lazily from a shepherd’s hook by the stairs.
Dad’s new house he bought almost a year ago when he married Aurora is cute. Homey, even.
It’s too bad that my father has never lived anywhere that felt like home to me.
“Hey.” Aurora smiles brightly as she pulls open the door. She’s barefooted with perfectly manicured toes. A yellow sundress highlights her raven-hued hair that she has pulled up in an elegant knot, and her eyes shine as she invites me inside. “Your father and I are so happy you could make it over for dinner.”