Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
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.
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.