Page 15 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

Claire

Great. My grandparents have the wrong idea.

Benson is here. And he’s sent me flowers—a gorgeous mix of daisies, hyacinths, and tulips. And their Claire can’t be distracted from the task at hand to be entertaining a man. I have my career to consider.

I manage to hobble to them without the crutches. It’s good practice for Saturday night. See? I’m healing up so fast.

But Grandma is scowling like there’s no tomorrow, and they’re both giving Benson the stink eye. They don’t even know he’s part of the Tate family and they’re already hating on him.

They’ve disapproved of every man I’ve gone out with—not that there have been that many.

But this whole thing looks bad. First, he sends me flowers and then he shows up at my office building ?

And also? He keeps checking me out. What is that all about?

Does he like me?

Maybe? Maybe not. I have terrible guy-dar.

Theoretically, it’s fine. He’s attractive and obviously kind. But he’s not my type because he’s eight years older than I am and has an ex-wife and two kids.

He’s, technically, sort of a Tate. And while I’m flattered, I can’t go there. He’s Sophie’s brother-in-law, for heaven’s sake, not to mention my grandparents would be devastated.

I must nip this in the bud ASAP, regardless of the fact that he smells amazing and is nice and strong enough to carry my broken-down self to safety.

When he looks at me, his dark eyes hold the most tantalizing secrets.

His jaw is chiseled from stone. He has sinews and veins in his forearms that are forevermore ingrained inside me.

Except, right now, his hand stretches out to me, like he’s reaching for my…shirt?

“What are you doing?” I cover the collar of my blouse with my hand and then take a wobbly step backward. He steps forward, snakes an arm around my back to steady me, and then meets my shocked gaze.

“Claire, you’re hanging out of your top like biscuits from a can,” Grandma whispers. It’s like she’s truly in pain, with her brows jammed over her eyes and her mouth in a sneer. Then she levels her gaze at Benson again.

I glance down at my chest.

It’s on display. Nearly all of me is, really. I’m Megan Fox on the red carpet, with my neckline plunging almost to my belly button.

If only I were that beautiful .

I look ridiculous. My bra? Basic white and in poor condition. My skin? Also pasty white and in poor condition.

And now it’s clear. My grandmother thinks Benson and I were in the beginning stages of a, a… compromising situation here.

Which wouldn’t make sense, considering I’m at work. But all signs point to something very untoward…

“No,” Benson and I say at the same time. I wrap the two sides of my blouse together so tightly they’re overlapping.

He shoots out a palm in a stop gesture. “We weren’t—”

Grandpa and Grandma are in shock. Scandalized.

Furiously, I attempt to button up, but my fingers stumble, and I realize partway through that I’ve buttoned it wrong. I groan, unbutton the ones I’d already attempted, and begin again.

“You’re all making me nervous. I can’t even button up properly.” I turn my body to face the wall, still buttoning when I add, “Sorry to scandalize you all with a bit of cleavage here…” I toss Benson a look over my shoulder. Why didn’t he say anything?

Grandma clicks her tongue. “It wasn’t just a bit.”

“Well, it’s hard keeping myself together while I’m hobbling around on crutches!”

I turn back around. Out of sheer embarrassment, I rest my gaze on the flowers. Benson does the same. I can’t help but take a whiff of the hyacinth scent.

“And what are these?” Grandma stares at the flowers shrewdly before bouncing her gaze between us.

I finger my blouse, hoping the buttons are right, and clear my throat. “Benson brought them. ”

He makes a sound, like he’s about to protest.

What’s that all about?

“Well, actually, he had them sent to me,” I amend. Geez, stickler for the truth, huh? “Because he was there when I got hurt, so that was the nice thing to do, right? They look like the bouquet you gave me after the school play.”

“Are you going to introduce us properly?” Grandma asks.

“Oh. This is Benson.” I don’t mention he’s a brother to the Tate boys. That’s unnecessary info right now. “And Benson, this is Vernon and Patricia Hanson, my grandparents.” I supply a nervous grin. “But they raised me, so they’re like my parents!”

“We don’t want to…interrupt anything,” Grandpa says, his mouth turning down into a frown.

Again with the dagger eyes from Grandma. “We’re dropping off some essential oils for muscle healing.” She sets a small, clear vinyl bag on my desk. “Use them multiple times a day and you’ll be off those crutches in time for the big anniversary extravaganza.”

“Thanks.”

“And the dress I got you, is it in order?” She tilts her head to one side, appraising me like I’m cattle at the county fair.

“Does it fit you properly? I’ll be introducing you to everyone and so…

” She pauses, taking me in. “You’d mentioned getting a haircut.

” She frowns but waves me away. “I trust you’ll fix it in time, whatever you end up doing with it. ”

I palm my hair and bite my lip. “Of course I will.”

I don’t have time to get my hair done. A lot of Inez’s responsibilities have fallen to me since she’s had a difficult pregnancy. And I started tweaking my application for the city manager job again this morning and now it’s a mess.

Grandpa sighs. “Patricia, it’ll be fine.” Is he being supportive or only wanting to keep his wife from spiraling over every tiny, minute detail?

“You’re having an anniversary party?” Benson asks politely, his hands casually behind his back.

“An extravaganza , for our sixtieth, yes,” Grandma clarifies.

Benson’s cheeks go round as he smiles. “That’s exciting. Congratulations. Sixty years is something.”

“It deserves celebration, yes. Thank you,” Grandma says.

“Sounds like it’s going to be a big event.”

“We’ve invited hundreds. It will be a grand affair.” Grandma’s tone is clipped. She doesn’t care for Benson, does she? There’s no recognition in her eyes, though, so I doubt she knows he’s Tate-adjacent.

I admire her strength in not letting his looks get to her.

She turns back to me. “About the swans. They can’t be inside, so the venue is allowing us to open up the floor-to-ceiling doors leading to the patio off the ballroom.

Which should be lovely. I need you to make sure the swan handlers can set up the tank on the patio. ”

Grandpa leans into the conversation. “She’s been losing sleep over it, so yes, Claire, if you can keep your grandmother informed, I’m sure we’ll all rest easier.” He steps to the office door.

“I’m happy to call right away. Don’t worry.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Grandpa says to Benson.

“Likewise,” Benson says graciously.

But the way my grandpa said it? No, it wasn’t nice to meet him. They totally think we were…making out? Whatever it is, they’re not happy. Im agine how much worse this would be if they knew he was Thomas Tate’s son.

“Yes, we’d better be going,” Grandma adds. “Claire has a lot of work to do.” Her gaze at me is pointed.

They leave my office, but before they disappear down the hall, Grandpa takes a step back towards me. “A certain phone call needs to happen today.” His tone is that old dance between us, a sort of “wink wink” moment.

A push.

A not-so-gentle reminder.

They expect me to begin my quest for mayorship. And they probably want to explain what a horrible idea it is to receive flowers from a man, in a half-undressed state, no less.

I appreciate that they want me to succeed and do my best in life. But where’s the line between support and an unhealthy fixation, an unhealthy involvement?

Will they ever be satisfied with me?

It seems Grandma’s dissatisfaction of me is getting worse by the minute.

Once they’re good and gone, Benson makes a slight whistling sound. “Wow, I have so many questions.” Benson’s dark eyes sparkle, but then his brows jam down and he regards me carefully.

I collapse into my chair, spent. Completely worn out like a gladiator after a fight with a lion. Two lions. “I have questions, too. For instance, why did you refuse to tell me I was half undressed?” I drop my head in my hands. “I could press charges for that.”

A laugh bursts out of him. “Press charges? I didn’t unbutton you.”

Okay. So why are the words ‘unbutton you’ flitting through my body like they’re having a party against my will?

“Pressing charges” would be overkill, of course.

I don’t mean it. The thing is, he has unbuttoned me, metaphorically.

If unnerving and unbuttoning could be considered the same thing, then he certainly has.

“I’m just—why didn’t you say anything?” I clutch at the top of my shirt, my embarrassment weakening my spine.

“I tried! You were being sort of…excitable…and I couldn’t get a word in and then your grandparents showed up…”

“Excitable? You’re blaming me for this?” I shoot back. “Nice.”

“I honestly and truly had every intention of telling you. I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance.”

I swallow hard. He’s right. I realize now he did try to tell me and couldn’t speak over my talking.

My embarrassment has reached new heights, my cheeks scalding like two baked apples. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“You’re right. I didn’t give you a chance to tell me.”

“So, an extravaganza, huh?” His voice is just barely syrupy. Teasing. “With swans?”

I open my eyes. He’s smiling a little. Well, that’s something.

“It’s grown to these epic, crazy proportions. If my grandmother wants swans, she gets swans. It is what it is.”

I rub my lips together—they’re uncommonly dry, which is probably just a natural response to my Oscar-winning performance of a red-carpet starlet. That’s me, breaking hearts and taking names at the city offices here in Longdale, CO.

“Sounds like quite the party.”

“Extravaganza.”

He raises his brows .

“Sorry, force of habit. You can call it whatever you want. My grandma just likes calling it that.”