The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(29)

This realization does not bode well as far as my mental well-being when it comes to the brooding hulk of a man I work for.

As I head to the bathroom, I try to remind myself of reasons I don’t like James. He’s rude. Seems to have even lower expectations of me than most people. Wears a dark cloud of negativity like a backpack wherever he goes. Is too hot for his own good. The shining crown on top is that James does not like me.

I’m not the kind of woman to chase after an uninterested man. For friendship or anything else. Though James did get possessive a few minutes ago when Collin baited him. I didn’t imagine that. Or the way he held onto my hand much longer than he needed to if his goal was to keep me from dropping the bottle.

Whatever. He’s your boss. And you don’t need a man. Especially not so quickly after getting out of a spectacularly stupid relationship. You obviously are terrible at making decisions with regard to men.

I wish all of my logic was enough to keep me from peeking into the shower and lifting the bodywash up to my nose. I assume since this is the guest bathroom it belongs to James, but when I smell it, I’m certain.

There are educational programs in schools across the country warning about the dangers of drugs. But there should absolutely be a similar program about the dangers of men’s body products. Aftershave, bodywash, cologne—all of them need warning labels. Maybe prescriptions or age restrictions.

May cause infatuation, wild bouts of lust, obsession, or addiction. Please use responsibly.

I set the bottle back down and catch a glimpse of my dilated pupils in the mirror.

“Gross,” I whisper, pointing an accusing finger at my reflection. “You are not this person.”

But I am this person—the one with a very stupid, illogical, and inconvenient crush on her very obstinate, uninterested, irritating boss.

I open the bathroom door and nearly run straight into Tank. For a second, I thought it was James. Their builds are so similar and other than the light gray at Tank’s temples and the smile lines—well, and the fact he’s smiling—he could almost be James’s older brother.

“Sorry,” I say, trying to step around him.

But Tank blocks me, shooting a furtive glance back toward the open living area where I can hear laughter, conversation, and the distinct clink of chips. “I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

“Anything.” My answer is automatic, an instinctive response to the power and charisma Tank exudes. I absolutely understand why he had gigs lined up on ESPN and other places after his time on the field ended. But I definitely didn’t mean to say yes so quickly. Especially because I’m pretty sure this favor will have to do with his broody son.

His voice lowers. “Go with James to the conference. Make the reservations for the hotel. I’ll happily cover it if I need to. I’ll give you my credit card number.”

This is one of those moments that feels too good to be true. Like a stranger appears, granting the secret wish you never spoke out loud.

“I can do that.”

I'm not about to argue about the payment. I know Tank and the other brothers are investors, so this is a business thing. Plus, my finances are like a pair of too-small jeans right now.

Tank nods and seems ready to slip back to the poker table, but I stop him with a word.

“Why?”

Again, he glances out to the big room, I’m sure nervous James will hear this conversation. I don’t need to be told he wouldn’t like it.

Tank sighs. “I have some concerns. James is brilliant at brewing. But there are so many parts to what he’s trying to do. More than what one person can achieve. And he won't accept help.”

“Imagine that.”

Tank chuckles. “He needs someone who can be a sounding board, who can help with the details he won’t admit are not his forte. Someone he trusts.”

“He definitely does not trust me.”

“That will change.” Tank seems sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s right.

“He’d hate that you asked me,” I say.

Tank spins the gold band on his finger. His wedding band. The sight makes my heart shudder, a tiny movement I feel all the way to my toes.

“You already seem to understand him in ways most people don’t,” Tank says, and this statement gives me a little thrill of pleasure, like a gold star next to a teacher’s red-scrawled Excellent Work! at the top of a paper. “If I didn’t absolutely think he needs this, I wouldn’t put you in this position. If you can’t go because it’s too last minute, I understand.”

“Oh, I was planning to go.”

When Tank smiles, a tiny, joyful explosion goes off inside me.

“I think you’re going to be good for him, Winnie.”

That remains to be seen. At the very least, I’m shaking the man like he’s a can of soda, just waiting to pop the lid and watch the spray.





CHAPTER TEN





James



It’s not unusual for me to be relieved when a poker night ends. I tend to split immediately after we cash out, done with people and talking, even though it’s our family.

Tonight wasn’t just family, but I find myself wanting to linger casually, the way Harper, Chase, and Collin are with Winnie. Only … I don’t really DO casual lingering. Someone—or several someones—would have to vacate the couch to make room for me. And I’m not about to ask. Or sit on the floor. Instead, I hover around Tank, helping put up the chips while trying to make out what they’re talking about and what Winnie is showing them on her laptop.