The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(4)

“When do I check in? How should I contact you?”

“Text is fine.”

“Let me guess—you don’t like talking on the phone?” she asks with a smile.

I don’t answer. I don’t need to, apparently, as my closed-off expression somehow reads to Winnie like an open book. I need to do something about that.

We exchange numbers, and almost immediately, my phone buzzes with a text from her. It’s a gif of Michael Scott.

I frown. She grins. I’m going to regret making that reference to The Office. I’m also going to regret giving her my number.

“And as for my hours—should I just make a spreadsheet?”

“That’s fine.” I don’t tell her I hate spreadsheets. Harper is always getting after me about them. I know they’re a necessary evil for business, but if I never had to look at another one again, it would be too soon.

“Well, if that’s it, I guess I’ll head out and do my thing.” She starts to shift away.

An unfamiliar sense of desperation makes my mouth go dry. As much as I want Winnie gone, I also hate for her to leave. I make a split-second decision, one I regret even as the words leave my mouth. “Tomorrow, be here at eight thirty.” I look her up and down. “Dressed prepared to work.”

Winnie’s hands go to her hips, and when her glasses slide down her nose, I barely resist the urge to reach over and push them back up. “I’m prepared to work now.”

“Not to do hard labor or heavy lifting, you’re not. Wouldn’t want you to break a heel or a fingernail cleaning out the building.”

Winnie laughs, a sound that clutches my heart like a fist. “Oh, James. This is going to be so much fun.”

Fun is the very last word I would consider to describe what working with Winnie will be like. Torture is a more apt choice.

She pats me twice on the shoulder, then winks, making the heat rise up my neck all the way to my scalp. I am not a man who blushes, but my temperature spikes to an unsafe level under the surface of my skin.

“I’ll come prepared, boss.”

The way she puts emphasis on the word boss puts me on edge. Because I like the way it sounds when she calls me boss, and I can’t have that. I won’t have that. I simply nod in response, a rough jerk of my head.

“See you tomorrow,” Winnie calls as she walks away.

Tomorrow. When I start work on this building I don’t fully believe in, located inside a town I don’t want to live in, with one employee I don’t want to work with. The orange cat meows, and I glance over, seeing several more cats who have joined him. All looking rough, all looking at me like they’re daring me to take over their home.

I smile, knowing tomorrow I’ll get to tell Winnie her other job is to get rid of the cats. Something to look forward to.

Happy birthday to me.





CHAPTER TWO





Winnie



“That’s it? You’re fine with us breaking up?” I ask, unable to keep down the sharp pitch of my voice. “Fine is the word you want to use?”

Dale’s sigh makes me want to throw my phone against the wall of Val’s art studio. “What would be a more acceptable word choice, Winnie?”

Val catches the look on my face and winces, then lifts her brows, silently asking if I’m okay. I wave a dismissive hand before I step outside. The November air holds the slightest chill and I shiver, wrapping an arm around my waist. The main house where Val’s aunt Mari lives is dark, but I hear the thump-thump-thump as one of the dogs wags its tail from the porch. I appreciate the show of solidarity.

I take a deep breath and do what I do best when nervous or upset. I don my snarky armor and pick up my sarcasm sword. Just like I did earlier today when I made a fool out of myself in front of James.

I had every intention of starting the new job off well. I brought him a card and a symbolic seed, which now makes me cringe. So juvenile! I envisioned the two of us discussing his website over coffee at Mari’s diner, sitting on the same side of the booth while looking at colors and layout options on my laptop. I’d be the model employee.

Instead, James looked at me like I was gum on the bottom of his shoe. No—lower. I’m the dirt stuck in the gum on the bottom of his shoe. I lost confidence and got snappy, covering my vulnerability with dry humor and sarcasm.

The way I am right now.

“We’ve been together for a year, Dale. I’d expect a reaction other than just fine.”

“You’re the one breaking up with me. Do you want me to beg? To cry?”

I want you to feel something. I want to feel something.

And that’s the exact problem. This plain oatmeal kind of breakup is the very reason for the breakup. I felt more this morning arguing with my surly boss than I do right here and now, ending a yearlong relationship.

And that’s why I’m doing it. Not because of James, the too-handsome, too-muscly, dark-haired grump. Nope. I’m not touching that man with a ten-foot pole even while wearing a hazmat suit.

That said, being around James only highlighted what I’ve known and avoided for months—Dale and I have zero passion, zero chemistry between us.

Our relationship is … fine.

Our breakup is … also fine.

Fine, fine, fine.