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)
He turns slowly to face me.
Keep talking. Stay professional.
“I inventoried all the plants today and took pictures and notes,” I say. “There are forty-seven. Getting them all tended to will take a bit of time, just so you’re clear.”
He lifts a brow. “There are forty-seven plants?”
“There are. John from your accounting department, I think, helped me during his lunch hour.”
Gannon’s jaw sets.
“He was super helpful,” I say, grinning. “Great guy. Do you know him?”
Instead of answering me, he tugs on the collar of his shirt.
My body screams at me to stay in his orbit. It begs me to slide in a cheeky comment to get him worked up again. But my brain tells me that’s a bad idea. I need to leave while I can.
“As long as it’s okay with you, I’ll let Keisha know I’m a subcontractor and not an employee of Brewer Group, and I’ll be here as long as it takes to get the job done. I’ll stay out of your way. You’ll never even know I’m here.”
His brows furrow. “Great.”
“And, I know I’ve said this to you before, but I’ll say it again. Thank you, Gannon. In all seriousness, I truly appreciate you giving me and Plantcy a try.”
He nods. “Of course.”
A buzzer rings through the air, cutting the tension in half. I heave a breath. Gannon’s shoulders instantly soften as he moves toward his desk.
“Yes, Kylie,” he says.
“Mr. Brewer, you have a call from Mr. Tom Siegfried,” she says.
I take a step backward. “I’m going anyway. Thank you again.”
Gannon starts to speak, then stops. “Thank you, Carys.”
Before I can say anything else, I leave.
Chapter Nine
Carys
“No, no, no! Don’t fall!” I rush to the counter and snatch a jar of pickles midair before it smashes against the floor. Oof. “What do ya know? I still got it.”
I laugh at myself and place the sweet gherkins safely in the pantry.
“No one has ever, in the history of the universe, said you have good reflexes,” Courtney says through my earbuds.
“Because I do my most impressive feats when I’m alone. The best superheroes never display their powers for the world to see.”
“Sure.”
A gentle breeze blows through the open window above my kitchen sink, carrying with it the sweet scent of gardenias from outside. The midafternoon sunlight is bright and happy; the sky is cloudless. It’s a perfect Wednesday afternoon to catch up on midweek chores and prepare for the weekend ahead.
“What do I do about Quinton?” Courtney asks. “I like him. I like him a lot, actually. But he’s such a giant pain in the ass.”
A grin tickles my lips.
I made a point to stay far away from the executive level today. Through the grapevine, I discovered that Gannon routinely has meetings on Wednesdays in the large conference room, so I avoided that area of the building, too. I even steered clear of the lunchroom just to be safe.
Despite my best effort not to encounter Gannon today, we did cross paths. I know he passed the break room while I was chatting with Amanda and working on a hanging ivy. I caught Gannon walking by out of the corner of my eye, pausing momentarily at the doorway. But I kept my gaze averted and refused to make eye contact—just pretended I didn’t see him. Still, I could feel the heat of his attention on me. It was almost as if he was daring me to look.
“Here’s the thing, Court. We’ve known Quinton Humphrey for what? Six years? And he’s been the same guy the entire time.” I lift two cans of crushed tomatoes from a paper bag. Why did I get two cans? “That tells me he’s not going to change.”
I put both cans in the pantry.
“I know,” she says. “But it’s such a waste. If he’d just get a little better at communication and show up when he says he will, he could be so great. He has so much potential.”
“Is he coming to your party on Friday?”
“He says he is. But can you really believe anything that comes out of that man’s mouth?”
“Invite Rick from your work,” I say, folding the paper bags and putting them away. Then I turn to the small crate of succulents the grocery had on discount. “If Quinton doesn’t show up, then you have a backup plan. And if he does, then it won’t hurt him to see someone else hitting on you.”
Courtney hums in thought. “It’s not a bad idea. But if they’re both there, they’ll both want my attention, and I just don’t know if I have the energy for that.”
“Oh, come on,” I say, laughing. “Don’t act like you don’t love the idea of a Why Choose situation.”
“Fair.” She laughs, too. “But I don’t think they’re into that type of a situation, which only makes it worse for me.”
I take my five new plant babies and place them in the infirmary, which happens to be the windowsill overlooking the side yard. Someone told me a few months ago that if grocery stores get a load of small plants to sell and they don’t move, they wind up throwing them away. To die. My heart can’t take it. I now buy every bedraggled-looking piece of vegetation to save it from an untimely demise.