The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(47)

I can hear the suggestion in her voice, the offer implicit in her words. Winnie’s fingers tighten on my arm.

“We’re aware of Texas geography,” Winnie mutters.

Winnie is definitely staking a claim, then. Interesting.

“And you two … work together?” the woman asks, her eyes flicking to Winnie’s hand on my arm.

“Very closely,” Winnie says, and I barely keep myself from breaking into a grin. Jealousy is a look I like a little too much on her. Especially when it’s jealousy involving me. I stay quiet, happy to watch this play out.

“And what do you do?” the woman asks, taking a sip of her beer. She’s very clearly undeterred and rather seems to be taking Winnie’s actions as a challenge. I feel a little like a steak that’s been thrown between two lions, and I’m not sure how I got here.

“A little of everything,” Winnie hedges, and again I hear the uncertain note in her voice.

I think of how I told her on the way here I essentially didn’t want her around. How I ditched her after check-in, heading downstairs almost as soon as she went inside her room. How I kept her in my sights in the expo hall, just so I could stay out of her line of vision.

Not just so you could stay out of her line of vision.

Fine. If I’m being completely honest, I enjoyed observing Winnie without her knowing. Total creeper behavior, I know. But despite myself, I find her fascinating.

And attractive.

Dude. How about we ease up on the honesty, subconscious?

Yes, it’s no hardship to look at Winnie. But I found a sense of admiration growing as she approached tables, asking questions, putting people at ease, scribbling notes and cramming her bag full of promotional materials and business cards.

To be honest, she’s probably done more than I have for Dark Horse at the conference so far. I spaced out in the two sessions I attended, either thinking about Winnie or stressing out about all the things I still have to do, things I don’t know how to do.

“Ah,” the woman says, her smile sly. “Kind of an assistant, then? Daniel, we should really think about hiring a secretary too.”

Winnie’s nails dig into me, and I’m thankful I’ve got on long sleeves.

The guy on Winnie’s other side, who must be Daniel, says, “I think technically, that all falls under my task list. Are you saying I’m slacking at my job?”

The other guys laugh, but Winnie and Pleather or whatever her name is kind of just bare their teeth in poor attempts at smiles. The server arrives with our sandwiches and I miss the opportunity to say something—anything—to defend Winnie, to say how necessary she is to Dark Horse.

What would I say? Because she isn’t necessary. I don’t need her. A glorified assistant is pretty much what she is. Taking notes doesn’t really fall too far outside the role of an assistant, after all.

When her hand falls away from my arm, I tell myself it’s because Winnie needs to eat, not because she’s upset I didn’t stand up for her. I also tell myself I don’t miss her touch on my arm.

But the same stupid part of my subconscious that keeps calling me out whispers that I’m bluffing.





As we eat, I settle into a silence just broody enough to keep people from shooting questions my way. Pleather finally gives up. I half listen as the conversation hovers around the morning sessions, different kinds of beer (which has Winnie looking like she wants to pull out her notebook), and the rooftop party tonight, which I totally forgot about, since I wasn’t planning on attending.

That’s my general stance on parties: NO.

“Are you going tonight?” I realize Daniel has asked this question of Winnie. And only to Winnie.

My back stiffens. I ball up the napkin in my lap, waiting for her answer. Winnie’s eyes dart my way, then back to Daniel. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Come on—it’ll be fun.”

He bumps his shoulder into hers, and she shifts closer to me. Without giving myself time to think about how stupid this is, I stretch my arm over the back of the bench, my fingertips resting lightly on Winnie’s upper arm. She tenses under my touch, and I curl my hand more firmly around her shoulder, massaging gently. She releases a breath and relaxes against my arm.

“We’ll be there,” I find myself saying.

Because I really want to attend a party … with Winnie, of all people.

Now I’m the one acting jealous, staking a claim. And because I tend to go all in whether I’m playing a game or making a mistake, I don’t remove my arm.

Daniel scoots a little farther away from Winnie. “Cool. Yeah, we’ll probably see you guys there.”

When our table mates get up to leave a few minutes later, my arm is still behind Winnie’s back, my fingers still cupping her shoulder. My fingertips are tingling, because my hand fell asleep a few minutes ago. The moment Daniel and his ponytail are out the door, I remove my arm, shaking out my hand.

Winnie scoots down the bench and crosses her arms. “Is this how it’s going to be?”

“How what’s going to be?”

“This whole possessive thing?”

“You started it with Pleather.”

Winnie blinks at me for a second, then laughs, muttering, “Pleather.” She digs in her pocket, pulling out a balled-up napkin and tries to hand it to me. I just shake my head. With a roll of her eyes, she opens it to reveal a scrawled name and number.