Page 14 of Three Bossy Boyfriends (Honeysuckle Harbor #3)

Tucker

“Mr. Hastings, how are you today?” a cool blonde with a very professional smile asks me from behind the front desk when I enter the office of Banks, Anderson, Davis, and Banks.

“I’m downright shitty,” I tell her flatly. “How are you?”

I have a headache, the coffee I’m carrying in a paper cup is cold, and we’ve been behind schedule all day because I fired Joe, the catcalling asshole.

He might be a prick to women, but the crew listens to him.

Without his barking orders, the crew was like toddlers wandering around an amusement park unsupervised.

Safety regulations were violated—the replacement forklift driver was sent home after it was obvious he was high as a damn kite—and three guys went on lunch and didn’t return for three hours.

Add to that I honestly don’t understand the legal paperwork I signed, and I barely slept last night because I couldn’t stop thinking about Finley Anderson getting fucked by a suit, and I’m in a really bad mood.

Mama said there’d be days like this, and she wasn’t fucking joking.

Today can suck my dick.

The receptionist’s eyes widen.

For a split second, I think I said that last part out loud, but then I realize she’s just reacting to my own response to her very innocent and perfunctory question about my day. No one asks, “How are you?” and actually expects an honest answer.

“I…” she doesn’t seem to know what to say.

Contrite, I put my hand up. “My apologies. Rough day at work. I just need to drop off this paperwork for Mr. Davis.” I waggle the envelope Finley gave me yesterday in the air.

I don’t want to see my lawyer or Finley. I want to ditch the paperwork and text my buddies to meet me at our favorite dive bar for a beer.

“Let me let Mr. Davis know,” she says, fingers clacking on her keyboard. “He’ll be right out.”

I wave the envelope harder. “I don’t need to wait. Just give this to him.” I’m already backing up one boot step at a time. I’m not in the mood to be polite right now and I really can’t take any bad news.

The paperwork sounded pretty damn ominous, from what I could glean from it. A contract for the firm to negotiate on my behalf, to file an affidavit, and a bunch of other stuff that sounded like this is not going to be wrapped up tomorrow.

“I just pinged Mr. Davis,” she says, clearly undeterred. “He’ll be out in a minute.”

“I’ll take it to Christopher,” Finley says, popping up from behind a cubicle wall. “I’m working on this case, Shonda.”

Shonda looks relieved to have someone running interference. “Oh, great. Thanks, Finley.’ She gives me a look like she’s scared of me, then returns her gaze to her computer.

With a heavy sigh, I turn to face Finley, who right now feels like my nemesis. Like she’s a metaphor for everything that has gone wrong today. Like she’s the mischievous, bratty little witch wreaking havoc in my life—and sleep.

Which she is.

Even if she’s unaware of it.

Not that any of today was her fault. It was Joe’s fucking fault.

But she’s still the one girl who can get under my skin and make me feel like a six foot four idiot.

“Hey, Tucker, rough day?” she asks, sounding excited by the prospect of that.

I frown at her.

Is she…wearing the same outfit as yesterday?

Or do all black skirts and girl shirts look the same?

She’s also wearing slippers, which seem very out of place in the very traditional office with heavy wood furniture.

“Is that coffee?” she asks, reaching her hand out.

Not firing on all cylinders, I hand her my coffee cup.

The corner of her mouth goes up. “No. The paperwork, Tucker. I need the paperwork.”

Right. “Then why did you ask if I have coffee?”

“Because that sounds like a great idea. No one around here thinks it’s wise to drink caffeine after ten a.m. so no one ever sends anyone out for coffee, and I’m on a tight budget. No DoorDash fifteen-dollar coffee deliveries for me.”

All I can think of doing in response is grunt. I don’t care that Finley is on a budget. Her parents are well-off, and her brother is loaded. She has a dump truck full of privilege with her family background and her fancy-ass law degree.

Even her boyfriend is a lawyer.

While I’m getting sued.

Her eyebrows lift. “Feeling chatty today, I see. About time you kept your mouth shut.”

That has me shoving the paperwork at her. “What is your problem? Look, I get you’re mad about something I said that you weren’t supposed to hear ten fucking years ago, but aren’t we adults now?”

Finley stares at me.

The moment goes on so long that the receptionist clears her throat and stands up. “I’m heading out for the night. Goodnight, Finley. Mr. Hastings.”

“Goodnight, Shonda.” Finley turns and gives her a smile.

“Miss,” I say, nodding my head. “Have a pleasant evening.”

“So you do still have some Southern charm trapped inside of you,” Finley says. She makes a “tsk, tsk” sound. “Guess I just bring out the worst in you.”

My temples are throbbing. I toss my cold coffee in the wastebin by the receptionist’s desk. “Are you done poking at me?” I ask. “Or can I leave now?”

Finley tosses the envelope onto her desk and disappears under the desk briefly. It causes her skirt to pull tight across her ass and my brain is flooded with all the inappropriate things I could do with her in that position.

Both my tongue and my cock suddenly feel twice their normal size.

When she emerges, she’s holding her shoes. She puts a hand on her cubicle wall and kicks off her slippers. “You’re taking me to get a coffee.”

I would rather be boiled in hot oil than be subjected to another round of Finley-takes-cheap-shots-at-me. I shake my head. “No. I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I still have at least an hour of paper pushing, and I need the caffeine.” She slips into one heel, then the other.

“Order DoorDash. My treat.” I start toward the door.

Finley follows me, grabbing her coat off the coat tree by the main entrance. “You can just as easily pay for my coffee across the street at that adorable little coffee shop. They have brownies there too. We can split one.”

“Your sisters make the best pastries in Honeysuckle Harbor.”

“But we’re in Charleston,” she says breezily, yanking open the door.

The cool evening air hits me in the face, and I suddenly remember my manners. I take the door and hold it open for her.

And somehow, for whatever reason, a few steps later, I’m pressing the button for the streetlight to change to walk her across the street.

I also hear myself asking her as we wait, “So what did you do after college? Before law school? There must have been a gap of a few years there.”

I’ve been curious about that. Hell, I’ve been curious about all things Finley ever since high school.

Every time my friends would label something a “Finley,” I genuinely wondered what she was up to.

If I had asked around town, someone would have been happy to tell me, but I never wanted it to get back to Finley that I was asking about her.

Small-town gossip travels across state lines these days.

“I worked in personal entertainment.”

We start to cross the street. “You were a…” I can’t think of anything that would fit that description. Nothing that I want to picture her doing, anyway.

She shoots me an amused look. “Don’t get too excited, big guy. It was just working in the social media department of an event planning company.”

I can't decide if I’m relieved or disappointed. “Interesting,” is all I can manage. My headache is still throbbing.

“Not even remotely interesting. I thought it would be fun to be a part of live entertainment, but it was just a boring entry-level job. I didn’t see a future, and it didn’t feel meaningful.”

The sidewalks are filled with people leaving offices and shops and heading in various directions for the night, but when I open the coffee shop door and we step inside, it’s warm and quiet inside.

“We close in twenty,” the male barista calls out. “Just so you know, Finley.”

“Thanks, Dylan, I just need a large crème br?lèe latte,” Finley says. “With a?—

“Salt rim,” he finishes. He gives her a smile. “I remember, Finley.”

“Thank you, Dylan—you’re a sweetheart to remember.” She smiles back at him.

My head is about to explode for many, many reasons. “Can I get a water?” I ask as I approach the counter. Maybe I’m dehydrated.

“Sure.” Dylan the sweetheart barely glances at me.

While I pull out my wallet to pay, he slaps down a plastic cup filled with three ice cubes and about two inches of water. I’m not about to argue. I just tap my debit card on the screen.

“Thanks,” I say and pick up the cup. I drain it in one gulp. I pop the lid off and chew a piece of ice while we wait for Finley’s latte.

Immediately my headache dulls to a minor throb.

If even that little bit of water helped, it’s safe to say I was dehydrated.

I try to remember the last time I ate or drank that day.

No water at all. Just coffee and a fistful of peanuts around one o’clock.

I should know better, but I’m lousy at listening to my body when I’m working. I just push it.

Finley takes the cup out of my hand and turns back to the counter. “Dylan, fill his water up again, please.” She gives me a smile. “Come sit down for a minute.”

As Dylan aggressively shoves my refilled cup back over to me with a glare, I realize what’s going on. He likes Finley. Therefore, he does not like me. I don’t bother telling him he’s read the room all wrong. I just suck the straw aggressively and follow Finley to the nearest table.

“Are you wearing the same clothes as yesterday?” I ask as I sit down on the metal chair with a heavy sigh. “Just out of curiosity.”

Finley grins as she sits down across from me.

“I am. I had an unplanned sleepover at Evan’s last night.

I could have gotten up early and had him drive me home to change but isn’t one pencil skirt the same as another?

It didn’t seem worth the effort. No one noticed but Kyle, the other paralegal.

Well, Shonda might have, but she’s too polite to say anything. ”

“I noticed.”

“Clearly.” Finley sits back in her chair. “Why do you think that is?”

That’s a damn good question. I don’t fully know the answer.

I just know that even when she was one hundred percent out of my life, I’ve always been aware of her on a certain level.

Back home, right in front of me at the law office, on my own construction site?

It’s impossible not to be aware of every aspect and nuance of her physical, intellectual, and emotional presence.

To give myself time to consider my answer, I stand up and retrieve her latte from a grumpy Dylan. “Thanks,” I say. His response is a curt head nod.

When I sit back down, I gently push the cup across the tabletop.

There’s no lid on it. “Because,” I tell her.

“I’ve never forgiven myself for hurting you the way that I did.

I never, ever wanted that to happen. I always thought you were interesting, unique, and intelligent—hell, intimidating even. I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

Finley flicks the tip of her tongue across the rim of the cup, taking up foam and salt. I tense in my chair, imagining what she can do with that tongue. Imagining what she did to Evan Young the night before. My cock starts to harden.

“Thank you for saying that,” she says. “It doesn’t change anything, but thank you for saying that.”

That has me cracking a grin. “Well, I tried. Enjoy holding your grudge, Finley Anderson.” I make like I’m going to stand up and leave.

“You’re just going to leave?” she demands.

“Closing time,” I tell her, gesturing toward Dylan.

“We still have seven minutes.”

I stay in my chair. “What can I do to make it up to you? I’ll give you one shot to humiliate me publicly. Then we call it even.” We can wipe out all that bad karma and lousy luck in one fell swoop if she can get back at me.

“That is…insane. But very tempting.” She sips her latte.

Finley has foam on her lip. I hand her a napkin.

“Why are you giving me a napkin?” she asks, staring at me blankly.

“You have foam on your lip.” I don’t dare blot it myself. She has a boyfriend, and her lips look too damn soft to touch without my head going places it shouldn’t.

“Swanson’s,” she says, then wipes her mouth. “Karaoke night. You need to sing a love ballad and then profess over the mic to the bar that you’re madly in love with me.”

My jaw drops. Then I start laughing. I sit back and cross my arms over my chest. “No. No fucking way.”

“You said one shot. That’s my shot.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Fuck around and find out, big guy—that’s what you did. Now, this is your chance to make it right. I’ll even lift the curse.”

“There’s no curse.”

“Maybe not. But maybe there is.”

Jesus. I don’t want to believe there is a curse, but there are some unexplained things that have happened in the last decade… fuck .

I’m going to do it.

“Deal.”

Finley gives a very triumphant squeal of delight.

“But I pick the song.”

“You’re going to regret this,” she says with a wicked grin.

“I already do.”

But, surprisingly, my headache is gone.

And I feel relaxed for the first time all damn day.