Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(95)

“Dave, come on! I’m trying to impress the women.”

“Keep working on that,” Jess said with a smile, and Savannah laughed.

The game was the usual slaughter, as no one could touch O’Rourke’s, thanks to Colleen’s aggressive recruiting strategy—free food and drinks on every winning night. In the seventh inning, Connor belted a long home run so far out of the park that no one even bothered running to the fence. Driving in the Murphy girls and Bryce for a grand slam, he touched home, high-fived Savannah and ran right over to Jessica and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

“Nice job, big man,” she said, blushing.

“Yet another man doing Jessica Does,” a woman behind them murmured, just loud enough to be heard. Jess flinched, and Connor jerked upright, looking around.

It had to be someone from high school. So far as Connor knew, he was the only guy she’d been with in a decade. A decade, for Christ’s sake.

Tanya Cross was studiously checking her phone. She glanced at Connor, then smiled sweetly. She always had been a jealous pill. Used to try to tear Colleen down all the time.

“Did you say something, Tanya?” he asked.

“Hmm? Me? No. How are you, Connor?”

“Great. A very happy man these days.” He looked down at Jess, who cocked an eyebrow. She was tough, his Jess, but he knew that name still hurt. “Very happy.” Then he kissed her again, a little longer this time, a little softer.

“Stop kissing,” Davey said. “It’s gross.”

Connor felt her smile.

“I have to agree with Davey,” Colleen said, appearing with the baby and a big smile. “Jess, you know you can do better, but I do appreciate you taking pity on my brother. Can we sit with you guys? Gerard’s giant head is in my way.” She handed Isabelle to Jessica. “Want to admire the most beautiful baby that ever was?”

“Her face is scrunchy,” Davey observed.

“If by scrunchy, Davey, you mean perfect, you’re absolutely right. Oh, hey, Tanya. You okay, hon? You look a little under the weather.”

Ah, Colleen. There were times when he’d cheerfully drown her, and then there were times like this. She winked at him. Frickin’ psychic, that’s what she was.

Connor tousled Davey’s hair, put one finger on his niece’s little head—she was wearing a hat with bunny ears on it, and it was crazy cute. Then he went back to the dugout to receive his much-deserved congratulations and slip Ned a fifty so he’d watch Davey overnight.

Fun and sex. And food. That’s what Jessica needed.

One of these days, she was going to marry him.

* * *

ON THE MORNING of the big pitch to the Empire State Food & Beverage, Jess called him. “You nervous?” she asked.

He was lonely, that was what he was. This bed seemed way too big without her in it. “No, since you’ll be doing all the talking.”

“You’ll do some. Don’t worry. You’re a good bet, Connor O’Rourke. I’d totally back you.” The unintended double entendre hung there for a minute. “By the way,” she said quietly, “my offer on the house was accepted.”

“Great! Congratulations.” Shit. He’d been hoping someone would swoop in and steal the house from under her nose. “That’s fantastic, Jess.” He’d be happy for her. He didn’t have much choice, and besides, he understood.

“Thanks for saying so.” There was a weighty pause, then she took a quick breath. “Okay, I have to make sure Davey brushes his teeth. See you later. Two fifteen, don’t be late.”

“I’ll be there.”

At 2:15, however, she wasn’t there. Connor was shown into the small conference room at the Radisson Hotel in Corning. Manningsport didn’t have a real hotel...plenty of B&Bs and a motel by the lake. But for this, Jess had suggested something a little more official, a place with a conference room and a projector screen.

Their meeting was at 3:00; Jess said she’d set up the conference room so it would look fantastic, flowers and stuff, one of the things she did at Blue Heron during press pitches or special events. That was good, because, being a guy, prettying up the conference room had never occurred to him.

The last time Connor had had a business meeting was when Sherry Wu, his old prom date, had him come in to sign the papers for his loan. He hadn’t worn a suit; he’d worn jeans and a T-shirt, probably. Who could remember? Today, though, he wore a suit. And shit, his mother’s wedding was tomorrow, and he’d have to wear a suit again. And a tie.

He was sweating profusely. When was the last time he’d worn a tie? A funeral probably. Colleen’s wedding. Whatever. He felt like he was being strangled. Jeremy Lyon wore a tie every day. Every single day.

His phone buzzed. It was Jessica.

Running a little late.

Thank God Colleen had suggested Jessica, who was nothing if not grace under pressure. First, the Empire Food people would be dazzled with her good looks; three men, one woman. Jess always looked understated and elegant; she looked that way in pajamas. Something about her posture.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a painting. He looked like a hit man, the suit, the clenched jaw, tight shoulders. “Relax,” he told himself. This tie was choking him, had he mentioned that?

He had a hundred grand for the brewery, thanks to a decade of saving. Jeremy was in for another fifty. The bank had approved him for a decent loan, but he still needed about $600,000. Renovations on the building, insurance, equipment, furnishings, supplies, Tim’s salary, counter staff salary, a liquor license, advertising, and enough to cover the loss they’d be sure to operate under for the first year, maybe two.