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Chapter Three

Garret

He’d known he’d fucked up from the moment he’d watched the beautiful blonde come his way, pretty chocolate eyes molten and all but shooting sparks.

Garret knew he’d pissed her off, but hadn’t comprehended why.

Had he broken something when he accidentally bumped into her?

He knew he probably should have stopped to help her pick up her things, to make sure she was fine, but he’d already been late and wanting to get the evening over with.

Not to mention the rant. He’d been spouting off to his best friend and former teammate, Kevin, like he’d earned a gold medal in ranting.

But then the woman had approached with fury written across her face, and so Garret had quickly hung up his call, pocketed his cell, and opened his mouth to apologize.

But he hadn’t managed to get more than a syllable out before she was assaulting him with a paperback and then telling him to check out the New York Times listings .

And that was the precise moment he realized the degree to which he’d fucked up.

Because the beautiful blonde wasn’t just a stranger he’d bumped into on the street.

Nope. She was his date.

A date he hadn’t wanted, but one that had been his investor’s idea. Heather O’Keith was a legend in the business world, and when she’d found out he was single and potentially looking for that status to change, she’d all but forced one Katherine Hart on him.

What was he going to say? No?

Of course not.

He wanted RoboTech’s investment, and he was counting on Heather’s business acumen.

So he’d agreed to the date.

But inwardly, he’d groaned and moaned and bitched as if his coach had dressed him down in front of the guys. And this inner whine-fest had only grown louder when Heather told him how she’d met Katherine and that her friend was a romance novelist.

First, Garret was a realist. He didn’t have room in his life for someone who spent time fantasizing over fictional eight-packs and happy endings that rarely came to fruition.

Second, he’d pictured a woman who looked like those from the backs of his mother’s books.

Bodice rippers still cluttered her nightstand and, well, this was going to make him sound like a Class-A asshole again, but the women whose pictures were on the back of those hadn’t exactly been his type.

They appeared a little frumpy, slightly awkward, and old enough to be his . . . well , his mother.

Of course, what he hadn’t expected was tall, lean, and gorgeous with angelic features and lush lips that any man would dream of kissing. Even her glasses had added to her allure.

Katherine—or Kay as she’d told him she went by—definitely had the sexy librarian vibe happening.

And if there was one thing that Garret dug, it was the sexy librarian look.

Contrary to his size as an adult, he’d been little growing up.

But now he was six-feet-four, two hundred and fifty pounds, and while he didn’t have that fictional eight-pack, he was in damned good shape considering his professional rugby career had ended five years earlier.

Still, he’d been the shortest in his class for years and as skinny as a beanpole.

The library had been his happy place, somewhere he could pretend to be strong and tall or a superhero or a Greek god.

And he’d had a crush on Mrs. Phillips, the librarian.

That had all ended, the summer before his junior year which had brought him eight inches and forty pounds. Not his love for literature, but his pathetic crush.

He’d done little over those months except eat, sleep, and groan during the miserable growth spurt. Every bone in his body had hurt, including his toes.

But he’d come out the other side and had picked up rugby.

Which wasn’t typical in the States—except Garret had been born in California to an American mother and an Australian father, so he had love for both countries.

His parents had divorced when he was in high school, his dad moving back to Australia and Garret’s summers permanently spent in a foreign country.

Not that Australia wasn’t great. There were parts that were amazing, and he loved the beaches, the people, and rugby. That he’d loved even before his growth spurt. After, he’d gotten good at the sport—so good that he’d managed to play professionally.

The only bad thing about spending summers in Australia had been being away from his friends and missing out on all the high school parties.

His lips curved when he remembered how upset he’d been about missing Beverly Hawkins' swim party. The girls had skinny dipped, and he hadn’t been there to witness it.

God, he’d been such a perv.

Was still a perv.

He was also fucked, he realized the moment that Heather walked into her office. He’d been waiting for the better part of forty-five minutes, her assistant plying him with coffee and snacks, and him assuming that another meeting had run long.

What he hadn’t expected was for Heather to come in, guns blazing, having already spoken with Katherine—Kay.

How did he know that she’d spoken to Kay?

Probably because she strode across the room, lifted her hand as though to slap him—though she didn’t—and glared. “I should slap you,” she muttered. “God knows you deserve it. But Kay has this pesky policy against physical violence, and so I’m going to abide by it, as much as it pains me to say.”

“I do deserve it,” he said.

She indicated he should sit before she crossed behind her desk and sat down herself.

“Yes.” Her eyes went flinty, steel entering her expression in a way that made this woman way more terrifying than any of his coaches had ever been.

“Next time you lie to me, our deal is off the table. I don’t fuck around, I don’t play games, and I don’t force people I work with to date my friends. ”

“I—”

“Frankly, it was hard fucking enough to get Kay to agree to the date in the first place. She hates meeting new people, and going out in general is like a worst-case scenario for her.”

She seemed to be waiting for a response from him, so he told the truth. “Me, too.”

Heather threw up her hands, as if she knew he’d say that. “Yes. Exactly . Which is why I thought you two would hit it off. She’s beautiful and brilliant and a homebody.” Blue eyes narrowed further. “Like you.”

Garret winced. “I—”

“Fucked up.”

He nodded. “I was an ass.”

“A total ass. A slap-deserving ass.” She stood up and started pacing the room. “How dare you call her a cow! Do you know how insulting that is? How fucking dismissive and disgusting?”

“Look”—he pushed to his feet—“Yes, I was an asshole, but I don’t need a dressing down from you. I was a prick, case closed, and I already apologized . . . or well, I sent an apology to Kay’s apartment this morning.”

Heather stared at him long enough that he struggled not to squirm.

“You apologized?” she eventually said.

A nod. “Yes.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair to her or even, women in general. I was showing off for a friend and being a dick. And, not that this matters at all, but I read the book she gave me”— cough , hit him with—“last night. It was damned good.”

Another long moment of staring and subsequent resisting of squirming.

Why would a grown man feel the urge to squirm in front of a woman half his size?

Because Heather was Heather fucking O’Keith.

And there was just something about her that made people fall in line.

“What happened in chapter twenty-eight?”

“You mean where the hero realized he was an ass and then went to grovel for forgiveness?”

Her lips curved slightly. And it was slight, but that barely-there smile was enough to allow Garret to relax.

Marginally.

“I hope you took notes,” she said.

“I did. I sent her a gift card to the local bookstore along with a ridiculously expensive notebook and stationary set I picked out myself.”

“Hmm.”

“And flowers and chocolates and a handwritten note.”

Heather crossed to her chair, plunked down into it. “Good. And you’re going to ask her out again?”

Garret blinked. “Well, I think I fucked that particular option up, don’t you?”

“Hmm.” Heather opened a folder on her desk. “Well, it just so happens that I need another man to round out my table at RoboTech’s fundraiser this Saturday.”

His brows rose, hope bubbled up in his blood. “And will your table include one Kay Hart?”

“Of course, it will.” A sage smile. “Now, about your proposal . . .”