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Chapter Five

C arys

“Well, this is a first,” I say, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror. “I’ve never gotten dressed and put on a full face of makeup before six in the morning in my entire life.”

I pucker my lips.

“ Ew . Who let me buy this color?” I search the middle console for a napkin to try to blot some of the lipstick away but come up empty-handed. “It’s too late to worry about it now. Might as well forget about it.”

Ignoring the tightness in my chest, I grab my bag and step out of the car. The door squeals as I press it closed. I know. I feel ya. I don’t want to be up this early, either.

The parking lot is quiet, with only a few cars—most in the luxury price range. There is an unoccupied space between each vehicle. I can’t help but wonder if this is a rich person’s rule or a common courtesy that I don’t know.

I glance back at my little 1971 Gremlin with a white racing stripe. He might not be fancy, but he’s adorable.

“Here we go,” I say, blowing out a breath.

I step inside Tapo’s and am greeted immediately by creamy-colored walls and soft classical music. The lights are bright but warm, and the accent decor leans feminine. The vibe is ethereal but regal, and I wonder in the back of my mind how it would translate as a personal aesthetic.

“Table for one?” A pretty girl with a spattering of freckles interrupts my thoughts. “Or are you here for pickup?”

I blink. “People order pickup this early in the morning?”

She laughs. “I share that sentiment.”

“I’m here to meet someone,” I say, glancing around the restaurant for Gannon. “I don’t see him, though.”

“Are you looking for Mr. Brewer?”

“Yes, I am.”

“He said that he might have company today. Right this way.”

He said he might have company? Did he think I wouldn’t show up?

We wind our way through the building, passing trays of pastries and a glass case of baked goods. The closer we get to Gannon, the more nervous I get. My palms sweat as I clench my bag for dear life.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say, my voice low.

She smiles. “Of course.”

“Does Mr. Brewer come here often?”

“A few days a week, I’d say. I don’t usually work this early, but the other girls say he’s a regular.”

“Does he have a lot of business meetings this early?” I pry.

“Funnily enough, you are the first person we can remember ever joining him. It’s a running joke between us. How is a man that attractive always alone? It’s criminal.”

We laugh, and I play it off. But inside, I’m kicking my feet. It’s a boost of confidence to know I’m the only person, let alone the only woman, to join him here.

I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll take it.

“If he mentions me, I’m single,” she whispers, stopping next to a column. “There he is. Try not to drool.”

I follow her line of sight, nearly tripping over my own feet. “Wow.”

“I know.” She giggles. “Good luck.”

“Tha—yeah,” I say as I feast my eyes on Gannon. I’m stumbling over my words already. Fabulous.

He sits at a table with a coffee cup in front of him.

His long legs are clad in black jeans, and a black T-shirt hugs his torso like a second skin.

It teases the sexy line from his shoulder to his neck and highlights how fit the man is.

An olive-colored jacket hangs on the back of a chair next to him.

White sneakers give the look a hot millennial CEO at the top, sexy-as-sin playboy at the bottom vibe, and I am here for it.

He looks up from an actual newspaper, and the corner of his lip twitches beneath a dusting of scruff.

My God.

His brows lift slowly. “You came.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” I ask.

He stands quickly and pulls out my chair.

“Thank you,” I say, sitting down.

He resumes his place across the table, leaving me behind in a cloud of his delicious cologne.

“I didn’t know they still print newspapers,” I say, setting my purse on the vacant chair to my right.

“It would be much cheaper to read the news online, but I abhor the thought of a world with no tangible words.”

Okay, that’s hot as hell.

A server approaches us out of thin air with a carafe of coffee in hand. “Coffee for you, miss?”

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you … Joseph,” I say, reading his name tag.

He pours me a cup, leaves a menu, and promises to return.

“I figured a matcha latte was out of the question,” I say, earning the smallest sparkle in Gannon’s eyes. “Thank you for agreeing to see me this morning.”

His lips twitch. “You’re down to four minutes. You better get talking.”

“Why are you always so grumpy?”

“I’m not grumpy. I’m focused.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to determine whether he’s serious about the five-minute thing. There’s no way to be sure. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t put it past him. So I take a sip of my coffee, beg the caffeine to hit fast and hard, and pull a folder from my bag.

My breath shakes as I start to speak. I practiced my speech late into the night and during the morning drive. I know what I want to say by heart. I have facts, statistics, and fun anecdotes to share with Gannon. But sitting here now beneath his gaze, none of it feels right.

He takes pity on me, but not without a scowl.

“Your company, which consists solely of you, would come into our facilities a day or two a week and resurrect our plants. Is that correct?” he asks.

“Yes. Resurrect . I see you’ve done your homework and looked around your office.”

“Or I just pulled up your website and read your services page.”

Oh .

“I never go into a meeting unprepared, Miss Johnson.”

I lift my chin. “Neither do I, Mr. Brewer.” I pull a sheet of paper from my folder and slide it across the table to him. “This is a proposal of what I think you need and a price list. You’ll see I’ve given you a very deep discount, as promised.”

Gannon picks up the paper and inspects it like it’s a million-dollar deal.

“Since you’ve been on my website,” I say, “I hope you reviewed the testimonials. I’m thorough, careful, and professional. I pride myself on being on time. Many of my clients are wealthy, and they trust me to come into their homes and?—”

“It’s possible to talk too much in contract negotiations.” He gazes at me over the paper.

He sets the proposal down slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

The intensity of the connection between us makes me shift in my seat. I’m not sure what to make of it. Whatever he’s thinking is locked tightly behind his dark eyes, and I couldn’t access it if I tried.

“Are you ready to order?” Joseph asks, making me jump.

Gannon watches me expectantly.

My time is up if he’s serious about giving me only a few minutes. Because he’s so hard to read—so overwhelming in every way—I don’t know what to do. And that frustrates the hell out of me.

“Thank you, Joseph,” I say. “But I think my meeting with Mr. Brewer is finished.”

Gannon rolls his eyes. “Do you like salmon?”

“What?”

“Salmon,” he says. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. Why?”

He turns to Joseph. “Two potato and egg fritters with smoked salmon, please. Double crème fraiche.”

“Coming right up, sir,” Joseph says before turning away.

“You look hungry,” Gannon says, unfolding his napkin onto his lap. “Don’t overthink it.”

“You obviously don’t know me. I overthink everything.”

He takes a quick sip of his coffee. “Why should I hire you? Why do you want to work at Brewer Group so badly that you harass me via text outside of business hours?”

“Harass you? I sent you one text.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

I huff a breath. He’s not going to take me seriously, and I’m never going to get this job. He had his mind made up before I walked through the door. I should thank him for his time, leave, and be done with it.

But right before I excuse myself, his jaw stops clenching, and I see slight concern in his expression.

A peek of the man behind the icy exterior catches me off guard, stealing my breath.

A warm wave of hope ripples through me, and I cling to it like a lifeline.

Then I do what I do best—jump in without thinking.

After all, that’s how I got here in the first place.

“I was at my father’s when I texted you last night,” I say, holding his gaze steady. “I was outside on the porch because he was inside with his new wife, telling me without telling me that he didn’t want me there for dinner.”

His jaw sets again.

“He was bragging about her career accomplishments, going on and on about how many clients she has and how amazing she’s doing. Then he turns to me and asks how my little endeavor is going.” I laugh angrily. “He doesn’t even know that my business is called Plantcy.”

I sit back as the wash of emotions splashes through me again.

“Every time he looks at me, he sees a disappointment,” I say.

“And, yeah, Plantcy hasn’t been a tremendous success.

But it’s new. I’m figuring it out. I’m finding my way.

I know that leaving my job and starting this business on a whim wasn’t the smartest thing in the world, but …

” I pause, taking a deep breath. I’m so freaking sick of feeling like I don’t quite measure up. “Dammit, I want to prove him wrong.”

He nods, his eyes dark and brooding.

I take a deep breath until I settle down.

Shoulders back. Chin lifted. Gaze steady.

“You should hire me because I’m passionate about what I do, and I’m going to transform the energy in your office for pennies on the dollar,” I say. “If you don’t agree after a month, we’ll go our separate ways. Just give me a chance. Let me prove myself to you.”

Before he can respond, Joseph sets our plates on the table. He tops off our coffee and asks if we need anything else, then he is on his way.

“This plate is beautiful,” I say, taking it in from various angles. “It’s almost too pretty to eat.”

Crispy potatoes, silky crème fraiche, delicate salmon, and a perfectly poached egg is sprinkled with fresh chives.

I don’t even want to know what this costs.

“Nothing is too pretty to eat,” Gannon says, hiding a smirk as he slices into his meal.