The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(3)

I turn the envelope over in my hands. It’s sealed and has nothing written on the outside. “Should I open it now?”

“Up to you. You’re the boss.”

I would rather open it without her gaze on me. I get the feeling Winnie sees too much. But I can’t wait. I tear into the envelope, my pulse beating loud in my ears as I do so. Which is ridiculous. She got me a card on my birthday. Big deal. I hate birthdays. If she knew me for five minutes, she’d know that and she never would have gotten me anything.

Or maybe … that’s exactly why she DID get me something.

When I pull out the card, something smaller than a penny falls to the ground. Winnie quickly bends to retrieve it, but doesn’t give it back, closing it in her fist. I’ll ask about it in a minute, but I look at the card first.

The front has a picture of a cartoon plant, roots burrowing deep underground, a happy face on the thin stalk framed by green leaves. It reads, Here’s to planting the seeds… I open it, finishing the rest: of a fruitful partnership. The cursive is written over an apple, which also has a smiley face.

Okay, so NOT a birthday card. Winnie has written something underneath, and it takes me a moment to read it because her handwriting is worse than a toddler’s.

“Here’s to a great waltzing partnership?” I arch a brow. “Dancing isn’t in your job description.”

“My handwriting isn’t that bad!” she snaps. “It clearly says working—a working partnership.”

Winnie snatches the card from my hand. But I grab it right back, holding it above my head when her grabby hands reach for it again. I half expect her to jump for it, which would fully transport us to an elementary school playground, but she only hangs her head, muttering something under her breath.

“What was that?” I tuck the card in my back pocket, out of sight and out of reach.

“Nothing.” She holds out whatever fell from the card. “Here.”

Instead of taking it from her fingers, I hold out my palm, not wanting to risk another stupid reaction to her touch. She drops a tiny, black object in my hand.

“It’s a seed,” she says, speaking slowly like she thinks I won’t understand.

“I’ve heard of seeds. And what am I supposed to do with it?”

Winnie throws her hands up, and I bite back a smile at how flustered she is. “Plant it! Throw it away! Eat it. I don’t care. It was a gesture. Clearly a misguided one. Whatever. Forget the whole thing and tell me what I’m supposed to do—job expectations and all that. What’s my first task?”

I close the seed in my palm, torn between wanting to apologize and wanting to tell Winnie this job thing isn’t going to work after all. We aren’t going to have a waltzing partnership or a working one. There’s just too much EVERYTHING between us.

Instead, I clear my throat. “Work on the website. That’s what you’re good at, right?”

It’s the only reason I agreed to hire her when Pat begged, and then when Lindy, his wife and Winnie’s friend, begged some more. I’m barely getting off the ground and don’t need to take on a bunch of employees. But I also can’t build a website myself, so it’s part of the reason I said yes to her being a very temporary temp.

The other reason I said yes is guilt. Up until Tank purchased the town—because, yes, that is a thing even outside of shows like Schitt’s Creek—Winnie worked for the crooked mayor who sold the downtown property, took the money, and ran. With him gone, the city council eliminated Winnie’s position while they prepare for a special mayoral election, timeframe yet to be determined.

Winnie smirks, regaining her cool composure. “One of many things I’m good at.”

I try to keep my brain from chasing down that rabbit trail, wondering what the other things are. Don’t need to know. Don’t care.

“Great. We don’t have Wi-Fi set up yet, so work from home or wherever.” I wave a hand, dismissing her.

She frowns. “So, that’s it? Work remotely and build a website?”

“Yep.”

“No instructions first? No team meeting?”

“We aren’t a team.”

“I see.”

I hope she’s starting to. This won’t be a warm and fuzzy work environment. We aren’t partners, and I’m certainly not winning boss of the year.

Winnie is and needs to stay temporary in every sense of the word.

“Is that all? I could build a site for you in my sleep, assuming I know what you want. But I have no idea what you envision for the site. Branding, colors—”

“Whatever you do will be fine.”

“Somehow, I doubt it. I get the sense you want control of every aspect of every detail. So, why not sit down with me and talk through what you want?”

I hate how well Winnie reads me. I can’t let her know how right she is. Or how much my whole life has been spinning out of control lately, leaving me in a near-constant state of worry.

“No time.”

Which is actually true. I’ve got a contractor coming tomorrow afternoon so we can start mapping out the renovations to the interior. But the building is still half-filled with junk and I’ll be lucky if I can get enough done for a proper walk-through. The electrician will be coming later this week, and then the plumber. I have the proper permits filed, so at least the paperwork part is done. But I’m anxious about all the things left to do, most of which aren’t things I care about at all. I’m eager to get to my main thing: brewing. Unfortunately, installing the equipment and the brew kettles can’t happen until almost everything else is done. Winnie interrupts my thoughts, which were starting to sound like an angry mob.