Page 2 of Take the Blame (Seaside Mergers #3)

I was less than thrilled to be running into her. On top of her usual no nonsense behavior, I was sure she hated my guts. I wasn’t too fond of her either, though I tried not to show it as I turned to face her.

“Good morning, Grace.”

“Morning, Alta. Now, about that meeting?” She closed the last few feet between us and took a power stance in her power suit. Arms crossed, hip out, heeled foot tapping. “You’re needed. ”

“Actually, I don’t really do much in those meetings, so I was just going to show Ox something,” I said, trying to side step her.

She stepped with me, reassembled her power stance, and glared. “Alta, your brother is busy. He does not have time for family reunions during work.”

And there we go. At least once a day Grace couldn’t help herself from commenting on the fact that Ox was the CEO and also happened to be my brother.

Apparently, it was an egregious insult to be related to anyone in this business, or maybe it was just when I was the one related to him.

Because from what I’d seen, Lis had never once gotten a comment like that one from anyone.

I swallowed down my first instinct to feel sorry for myself and tried again. “Grace, he’s just in there with my mom. It’ll only be a minute.”

“Actually, he’s in there with his wife, and he’s requested not to be bothered for the morning,” she said, looking down on me. The only thing she knew how to do .

“Oh,” for the first time that morning I felt some of the steam leave me. Looking down at my materials I resisted the urge to kick the ground dejectedly. Bending, I started to gather my stuff. “Okay, I’ll grab him later then.”

“What’s this?” Grace asked, her voice going up in a mocking or curious tone. I couldn’t tell which. “A class project?”

Definitely mocking.

Anger rushed me. It was hot and prickly and somewhat foreign. I was usually pretty even-tempered, but like I said, Grace was like this with me all the time. It got tiresome. Which is probably what possessed me to say something that wasn’t entirely true. Or more accurately, a complete lie.

Straightening, I brought my gaze up to Grace’s shoulder in a glare because I couldn’t quite look her in the eye as I lied.

“Actually, it was a pitch meeting. Ox is considering a new marketing initiative, and I was supposed to pitch it today, but if Clem’s in there it must be important. I’ll try him later.”

I moved to head toward the all important meeting I was supposed to be attending when I heard genuine curiosity shape her tone. “Hold on.”

I halted and Grace pounced on me, moving to my side and circling me like prey. “A new initiative you say?”

“Mhmm.” I fought to keep my voice steady even as I squeaked.

“Fully funded?” she asked.

“That’s what he said,” I barely coughed out. I was going to hell for sure.

Grace’s eyebrow rose as she looked over my materials. “And you have an official pitch?”

“I do.”

“Hmm.” She ceased her circling and came to a stop in front of me yet again, scoffing. “Well then. Be in the conference room in ten minutes. Myself and the marketing team will judge your presentation on Ox’s behalf.”

“Grace, no! There’s really no need for that!” I rushed out, immediately regretting my lie and wanting to please, please, God please take it back. But she had already turned around and sashayed back the way she came before I could even argue.

And this is how I found myself not only becoming a liar for the first time in my life but also pitching my imaginary marketing plan to Grace and the marketing executives before breakfast.

The whole thing was both anticlimactic and disastrous.

Almost as soon as I got to the conference room, I was rushed to begin my presentation (a presentation I had made specifically to peak my brother’s interest, not random business suits I didn’t prepare for.) This made me nervous and twitchy and lord help me—I developed a mild stammer.

Grace wasted no time chastising me about it and whispering comments to the colleagues around her, which made me even more nervous .

It was over before it even began.

“Well, thank you Ms. Fernandez for… that , but I don’t think we will be needing this particular initiative at this time,” Grace said, rising from her seat not five whole minutes after taking it.

“Get rid of those charts and get back to your desk. Don’t bother worrying Mr. Fernandez with this showing.

It’s unnecessary and not the right time anyway. ”

Yep. Today sucked , and this poor plant I had my hands around was going to pay for it.

“ Ma’am .”

I jumped at the smooth, deep voice behind me. The shock of being snuck up on quickly iced over, and the familiarity of that voice just made me squeeze the plant harder.

Strangling potted grass wasn’t a gateway to, like, serial killing, was it?

Whatever. I was already committed to this.

Clearly, ignoring the owner of that voice didn’t seem to dissuade him one iota.

Instead, he sidled right up to me, coming way too close to my back as big corded arms caged me in on either side.

I blinked down momentarily as warm coffee-colored hands rested themselves on the tall outdoor planter in front of me.

I could’ve become entranced with the way his veins were strikingly visible as he held onto the concrete, or how I could feel the heat radiating off of him as he hovered just close enough to my back to be familiar but not disrespectful.

I could’ve . But I didn’t. Instead, I just squeezed harder. Hating how my heartbeat ratcheted up the second I registered his voice in my ears.

Observant, on top of being annoying, he noticed my heightened irritation and tsked as if he was scolding a disobedient child.

I felt him move closer, that heat getting warmer, and his breathing more audible in my space.

I jumped again as his voice tickled me right behind my ear.

“Alta, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the plant. ”

“I’m tending it,” I said.

“With your hands wrapped around it?” he asked.

“Precisely,” I said, but rolled my eyes at myself. I probably looked like a maniac right now, and of course he of all people would happen to see.

He chuckled, the mirth in his tone grating on my nerves as it always did. He never seemed to laugh at anyone half as much as he did me. It was infuriating. “Let it go, Alta.”

“No.”

“Yes,” he said, that voice the same teasingly amused tone he always held. Like I was just so funny.

I squeezed harder.

“I’m not on your clock yet Mr. Harper. So, no .”

Another tsk. “Now, what could I have done to be getting Mr. Harper’ed already?”

“That’s your name.”

“C’mon, Alta. My name is Gus or Aug or literally anything other than ‘ Mr. Harper’ . Please, I’m not that much older than you,” he said.

“Define, ‘ that much’ ,” I said.

He tsked again, his laugh lacking humor this time, and I couldn’t deny the tiny blip of satisfaction at actually landing something today, even if it was a cheap blow at one of my most irksome clients.

He was only feigning injury anyway. Despite his sound effects I knew for a fact I hadn’t hurt his insurmountable ego.

It was near indestructible. Case in point, him leaning even closer, basically speaking into my ear as he lowered his voice on a barely suppressed laugh. “Unhand my plant, Ms. Fernandez .”

“No thank you. ”

“Not really a suggestion.” Lowering his voice to a stage whisper, he said, “You’re scaring my customers.”

I didn’t move. Seconds ticked by and I wondered why he wasn’t saying anything when, on cue, he added, “Who, as of one minute ago, are officially your customers for the next hour. Let it go, Boss Lady.”

It was the nickname—the one he’d given me on that day —that had me loosening my grip on the plant and spinning around to meet his warm gaze.

While I pasted a smile on my face, the one on his pricked at my teetering control. Just what was always so funny to him? Whatever it was, had the special skill of annoying the living daylights out of me. It always had.

I’d like to let the record show, I do not hate anyone .

I try my best to be nice, and happy, and good .

When I was thirteen, I gave my first place spelling bee trophy to my best friend because she was absent on competition day.

When I was a freshman in college, I switched dorms with a girl for an entire month so she could be closer to her crush.

I could smile when everyone else was frowning.

I could be positive when nobody else saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

But there is just something about Gus Harper—or officially, Augustus Montez Harper—that grinded even the most resilient of my gears.

I’m not sure if it was the megawatt smile that was always curling away from his perfectly lush brown lips.

Or the sepia skin that always seemed to be glowing, no matter if it was sunny or the darkest overcast outside.

Or even the absolute canvas of inky black tattoos he had running from his wrists to the rim of his short sleeves, which I suspected spanned much more of his body than was ever visible to me—not that I was hoping to ever see them or anything.

It could be his height—upwards of six-two.

Or his hair—the perfect mix of cropped curls and a tapered shave that ran into an immaculate stubbly beard.

Or maybe his captivating eyes, which were simply regular brown—Dark, brown bear brown—but held so much attention behind them that they ensnared me every time I found myself lost in them.

It could very well be any of those things. But all of those were traits I’d encountered in other people before, and had no problem being nice and agreeable like I was with everybody.

Everybody else.

But with Gus— Mr. Harper? Truthfully I hadn’t landed on something to call him.

Gus sounded like an old dog’s name and Augustus was so proper—I took one look at that smile, or worse, those never ending brown eyes and I was tumbling down the foreign path of annoyance, irritation, and at my worst, anger.

And I had no idea why.

So I tried my best to ignore it and him as I moved to push past him and into Ink and Mar, the tattoo shop he owned and I had taken on as a client at the start of the year. I didn’t get far. One step in the direction of those floor to ceiling glass windows and a large hand rose to stop me.

Not touching me, I noticed. Never touching me.

“Nuh-uh,” he said in an easy command.

“What?” I asked, blinking past him to his shop that was sitting there waiting for me.

“Go ahead. Tell me what’s wrong,” he said. Deep voice puffing out in the crisp fall air.

I squinted up at him, skeptical. “Nothing that concerns you.”

He huffed, head shaking as he set his hands on his hips. Then he leaned toward me just enough to make me lean back, fighting to keep his annoying face and that scent he always carried—musk and leather—away from me.

“When you’re out here strangling the shit out of that stupid Pompei grass or whatever the fuck I had to pay the HOA out the ass to get, it concerns me ,” he said .

I crossed my arms over my chest, looking away. “It’s called Pampas Grass. It’s a good investment, people like the ambiance of it.”

“Don’t care—” he started but stopped as soon as I whipped a look straight up to his eyes, brown abyss be darned.

He was used to that look. It was one I’d been giving him since the very first time I walked into his shop and he’d turned his nose up at me.

It was the one of a kind, ‘you better not finish that sentence’ look.

One of a kind because it was only ever administered to him, and every time I tried to replicate it with somebody else it came out peppered with regret and hesitation.

His familiarity with it was probably what brought his hands up in placating surrender.

“Sorry, Boss. I care about the marketability of the shop, please no more lectures. What I meant was, that’s not important right now. ”

“And what is?”

“Getting to the bottom of what’s driving the nicest girl in town to plant murder outside of my shop,” he said.

There was a beat of silence. One in which I felt dark eyes steady on me.

I ignored them which led to a deep sigh.

Suddenly, his voice went serious. Not a playful note in earshot.

“You’re going to worry people if you go in there like this, Alta.

I’m used to it, but nobody else is. So let’s sort it out. Yeah?”