The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(10)

In short, other than the financial investment—which was hard enough to get me to agree to—my family isn’t involved.

“It’s nothing,” I say, just as Winnie settles next to me on the stool her brother just vacated.

“Tomorrow is a workday at the warehouse,” Winnie says to Collin, ignoring my glare. “Aren’t you going to be there?”

I wait for him to beg off and almost choke on my cake when Collin says, “What kind of workday?”

“Like you’d come work,” I scoff.

“It’s heavy lifting and cleaning,” Winnie says, then catches my dark look. “Allegedly.”

Collin huffs, then lifts his shirtsleeve and flexes. “I can do heavy lifting.”

I shove him, catching Winnie trying to hold back a laugh. At least she doesn’t look all doe-eyed and impressed by Collin showing off.

“Is Tank coming?” Collin asks. “What about Harper and Chase?”

“He’s busy watching Jo this week. And I assume Chase and Harper are doing their jobs, so I didn’t ask.”

“Well, I can be here. I’ll check with everyone else.”

Before I can stop him from getting everyone involved, Mari appears and passes a slice of cake to Winnie. Only, Winnie doesn’t start eating. Instead, she steps farther over the very solid line she just crossed.

“Mari, could you take over Jo duty tomorrow so Tank could come help James?” she asks.

“Of course,” Mari says, brushing a hand through her white hair with a smile. “We’re all helping watch Jojo. It takes a town.”

“I think you mean a village,” Winnie says with a smile.

Mari only laughs. “Town, village, city. Whatever. I can certainly help tomorrow.”

“I don’t need help,” I say, but Mari is already walking Jo back to the kitchen, presumably to help wipe the icing off her face. The rest of my family is deep in conversation a few feet away, probably talking about me not telling them about tomorrow. Harper shoots me a disapproving look. Yep. They’re definitely discussing me.

And this is why I don’t like involving all of them in this or any of my business. Because they get involved.

“Why don’t you want your family to help you?” Winnie asks. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Speaking of getting involved …

“I do mind.” Because it’s none of her business. Just like inviting other people wasn’t her business.

Winnie takes a big bite of cake. I can’t help but wonder if she did so in order to keep from saying something she’d regret. But then she groans and her eyes roll back in her head. Maybe she just really likes cake.

Whatever the case, I shouldn’t be watching her as she licks her lips, groaning again and wiggling on her stool. My thoughts are no longer on her crossing lines or on my family. I am completely focused on the last woman I should be focused on.

“Do I taste beer in this frosting?” Winnie asks, wiping her mouth with a napkin. The red lipstick she wore this morning has been replaced by a soft pink shade. The smallest speck of chocolate remains in the corner of her lips, and I have the ridiculous urge to wipe it away with my thumb.

Now, THAT thought needs to die. I scoot a little farther away from Winnie, training my eyes on the counter, where there’s a coffee stain resembling a three-legged elephant.

Mo, collecting empty plates, tilts his head toward me. “It’s from Dark Horse. Ask James.”

Winnie spins on her stool to face me, leaning one elbow on the counter. Her knees brush my thighs and I slowly inch my legs out of reach.

“I haven’t tried any of your beer, you know.”

“It’s not sold here.”

“I have an in with a guy who could probably procure me some,” Winnie says, tapping her lips in mock thoughtfulness. “Though he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who likes sharing.”

“I share just fine. With people I like.”

This makes her throw back her head and laugh. Why does that sound make something inside me shift? I should probably leave. But I don’t move a muscle.

Winnie nudges me with her elbow. “All two of them? Or is it one?”

“I like lots of people.”

“Sure you do, boss. Anyway, back to your beer. I should probably have some familiarity with my new company’s product.”

I grunt, which is more polite than the words on the top of my tongue. Words which would remind Winnie it’s not her company. She’s a glorified temp, and I don’t care if she knows anything about my beer. I realize also that sharing with her, letting her taste the recipes I spent hours and a lot of failures developing would feel much too personal. If anything, Winnie and I need to be less personal.

“Maybe you could set up a private tasting? You, me, and your beer?”

I really need to NOT have that idea in my head. “No.”

Before she can argue or throw some sharp retort my way, a big hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes.

“What time do you want us tomorrow, son?” Tank asks. I’m grateful for the interruption, even though I can tell by Dad’s tone he’s not happy I didn’t tell him or anyone else about the workday.

“Eight thirty,” Winnie answers before I can. She shrugs when I give her a look. “Right? That’s the time you told me.”