Page 7

My stomach clenches, and I press my thighs together.

“Tell me about your job before Plantcy,” he says, lifting his fork. “What did you do?”

“I worked for my mother’s insurance agency.”

“Which one?”

“The Redding.”

He nods. “Did you like it, or is that why you left?”

I watch as his lips wrap around his fork’s tines.

Forcing a swallow, I turn my attention to my breakfast. “I hated it. I only worked there because my degree in business administration isn’t useful—which would’ve been helpful to know before I took out loans to pay for college.”

I take a bite, and it melts in my mouth. The flavors are rich. The textures are luxurious on my tongue. I can see why Gannon comes here often. If I had to be up this early and had time for food, I’d come here, too.

“Anyway, I couldn’t find a job, so I went to work with Mom.

And it’s literally the worst thing ever.

You’re only needed when something bad happens—a death, a fire, a tornado.

You want to help these people but must follow the contract terms. Those are never in their favor.

So you’re the bad guy when you only want to make things better for them. It’s a terrible position to be in.”

“You get the terms before you sign the contract,” he says before taking a sip of coffee. “Clients agree to it. There’s no reason for you to be the bad guy.”

“That’s not how emotions work. When people are upset, they unload on whoever answers the phone. And I can’t blame them, but I also can’t be the one to be dumped on, either.”

He leans back, the light above making his face sharper. His cheekbones higher. His eyes darker.

“That’s why emotions are dangerous,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.

The sound races up my arms, leaving a wake of goose bumps behind.

We sit quietly, eating our breakfast and pausing here and there for idle chitchat. The longer we sit together, the easier I can breathe. Gannon’s shoulders relax, too, and he chews slower.

I have so many questions I’d love to ask him, but every time I venture in any semi-personal direction, he changes topics.

“Does Tate know you joined me for breakfast?” Gannon asks, picking up his coffee mug.

“No.” I pat the corners of my mouth with my napkin. “I haven’t talked to him since just before I texted you last night.”

He smirks. “Did you have to get his permission to text me?”

I lay my napkin down gently, holding his gaze. “I don’t ask permission from anyone to do anything. I’m a big girl, Mr. Brewer.”

“What do you think Tate would say if he knew we were here together?”

“It’s just a business breakfast. What could he say?”

Gannon chuckles quietly. A grin crosses my lips. Tate would have a lot to say about it, and we both know it.

“You and Tate have always been just friends? Never anything more?”

“Tate is my best friend in the world. I love him, I think he’s great, but …” I laugh. “He’s not my type. At all. And I think he’d rather die than be with me.”

He nods, amused. “What is your type, exactly?”

You.

“I want what every woman wants,” I say.

“Money?”

“Respect. What about you? What do you want?”

His eyes bore into mine as the air between us grows hotter. Thicker. I hold my breath, wondering if this is the moment he gives me more than the superficial.

“What do I want?” The corner of his lip lifts as he nods to someone off to the side. “Currently, the check.”

The check. I exhale a long breath, watching humor dance in his eyes. Fucker.

Does he do this just to remind me he’s an asshole?

“Here you go,” Joseph says, laying the bill face-down on the table.

Gannon reaches into his pocket. “I’ll save you a few steps and give you my card now.”

“Oh no,” I say, dashing for my wallet. “It’s my treat.”

Gannon fires me a dirty look.

“I begged you for this meeting,” I say. “Breakfast is on me.”

He hands Joseph his card moments before I get my hand extended with mine.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be back in a moment,” Joseph says.

“I wanted to pay,” I say as soon as we’re alone. “This was a business meeting, Gannon. I was prepared to cover the bill.”

My protest falls on its face. He doesn’t listen, or if he does, he pays no attention to me. It’s irritating. So I do the only thing I know I can do to get some kind of a reaction from the bastard.

“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?