The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(77)

But I WANT to work for him. After this weekend, I’m practically burning up with ideas for Dark Horse. I’ve got a whole notebook full of session notes and to-do lists. I want Dark Horse to succeed. I want James to succeed. And I want to be a part of it all.

NOT as a temp but as more of a partner. Not, like, officially, like a partner making equal pay. More that I want to be fully on board, to have James see me not as a temp, but a part of what he’s doing.

The issue is … I don’t know where I stand with James, personally or professionally. He kissed me in front of Chevy, which was a declaration, but not a DTR. And his favorite nickname for me only emphasizes the fact that he doesn’t see me as a permanent part of the team.

Maybe what I need to do, at least in terms of the job, is make sure James knows I’m indispensable to him, both personally and professionally. And I think I have the perfect idea of where to start.

Lindy yawns again. “You want my advice, Winnie? Stop freaking out. Be open and just see where this goes.”

Easy for her to say. She’s on the other side of her happily-ever-after. Me? I’m the heroine hoping she’s not betting on the guy who’s going to really and truly break her heart.





TEXT THREAD





Winnie: What time should I report to work tomorrow, boss?

James: Meet me at Dark Horse at 9

Winnie: Do I need to wear anything special?

James: A lot of things come to mind …

Winnie: I mean, like, clothes to do manual labor in vs my regular clothes, dummy.

James: Wear whatever is best for catching the orange cat Winnie: Are you seriously STILL going to make me do that?

James: Of course

James: We can’t have a cat living in the building. It’s unsanitary Winnie: But is that really the best use of my time? Cat wrangling?

James: The website’s done, isn’t it?

Winnie: Yes …

Winnie: But I have tons of ideas from the conference I’d love to discuss and need to finalize the logo design James: The logo is perfect

Winnie: Thanks! Maybe as a reward for perfect logo design, I could NOT catch the Orange Cyclops. I got 99% of the cats!

James: Your math doesn’t work. Unless you got rid of 99 cats Winnie: Fine. I got rid of 75.7% of the cats James: That’s a pretty exact number Winnie: Focus on the fact I got MOST of the cats out.

James: Don’t you want to complete a job rather than just 75.7% of it Winnie: Ugh. You’re the worst.

James: Take it up with the management James: Speaking of the management, we should probably find a way to separate business and personal Winnie: I’m open to suggestions …

James: Maybe during working hours, we just keep things focused on work Winnie: I think I can handle that. The question is: can YOU?

James: Guess we’ll see tomorrow

Winnie: Feels like a challenge. I like it.

James: Goodnight, temp

Winnie: Sweet dreams, boss!





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE





James



“Hello? James?”

Winnie arrives exactly three minutes early. I got here an hour ago to set things up and have been hiding behind a bunch of boxes for fifteen. The boxes contain the metal shelving units that will hold supplies in the back, and I probably should be putting them together, not lying in wait for Winnie.

And no, I don’t want to talk about how ridiculous this is.

I hear the scuff and clack of her heels on the concrete as she walks inside the building. I stay put, peeking around the doorway where I can just make out Winnie’s profile. My heart does an embarrassing flip and leap at the sight of her high ponytail and the way her glasses rest against the curve of her cheek. So far, she hasn’t seen the chalkboard window where I left it propped against the wall.

From wherever he’s been hiding, the one-eyed orange cat saunters across the room, stopping just out of Winnie’s reach. He might not want to be caught, but he sure wants to be seen. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s taunting her.

“You! My nemesis,” I hear Winnie hiss. “This is the week. I’m going to catch you. I will.”

The cat licks one paw, watching Winnie as he does. I don’t hide my chuckle well enough, and Winnie spins in a slow circle. “Come out, come out, wherever you are! I can hear you breathing.”

That’s an exaggeration, but it makes me chuckle again. Winnie turns my way. I step out from behind the boxes with my hands up. “I come in peace.”

Winnie’s hands go to her hips. “Is that so? Then why are you hiding?”

“I wanted to surprise you.” I tilt my head toward the chalkboard as I walk closer. In my blocky writing I’ve scrawled Answers in one windowpane, then written—you guessed it—answers to questions she didn’t ask me in the three others.

“Like Jeopardy!,” Winnie says, grinning. “Okay, I’ll play. Fresh basil, roasted garlic, and black olives. Let’s see … favorite pizza toppings!”

“In the form of a question, please.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “What are your favorite pizza toppings?”

“Yep.” I slide my hands in my pockets, unsure if I should touch her but wanting to all the same. I was the one who said we should be professional at work. Stupid me. My finger finds the seed Winnie gave me, transferred into these pants just this morning. I know one day it will get lost or disintegrate, but until then, I’m keeping it close.