One Bossy Offer (36)

Something doesn’t add up.

How well did he know Gram and the dogs? Somehow, it feels like more than random canine intrusions on his property and honey deliveries for his valet guy.

The longer I stare at him, I wonder.

He holds my gaze like he’s pondering something.

“It’s the weekend,” I remind him before he has time to bark orders. “My day off. I wasn’t planning to run into you.”

He doesn’t deserve a real apology and I think I deserve one day—one day—off from Miles Cromwell and his shit.

“It’s my weekend, too. Just because I run a multibillion-dollar company doesn’t mean I don’t decompress,” he grumbles.

My eyes dart to the blank canvas in his hands and back to his face. For once, I believe him.

“Looks as fun as watching paint dry. Literally.”

A bad joke, but I can’t resist.

He jabs his middle finger out, not so subtly flipping me off while he rearranges the load in his arms.

Then Benson comes out of the store behind him with more art stuff. They cross the street to load up a black SUV I haven’t seen before.

Benson just stands beside the trunk patiently, flashing us a friendly smile. Miles takes things from him and does all the bending and twisting, which surprises me. I would’ve thought he needed his valet to spoon-feed him, much less drag heavy paints around.

I’m even more dumbfounded when Miles climbs in the driver’s seat this time. He’s driving his driver?

“Nice wheels. I think it’s a newer electric model that doesn’t suck. Brock has had his eye on that model for months. He just hasn’t had the time for a test drive yet,” Pippa says with a whistle. “Hey, at least you know he’s a man of taste.”

I glower as the engine whirs to life and the vehicle pulls away from the curb.

“I don’t know about that,” I say.

“You know what, Jenn? You suck at hiding things and you’re an even worse liar,” she says playfully.

“Did he notice me staring?”

“Duh. He wanted you to look, showing off his rig. That was fun.”

That is way too close to becoming my new obsession.

Where’s a hole opening under my feet when I need one?

I think I may need this Seattle visit to come sooner than later, just to clear my head. Preferably without King Dick Cromwell along for the ride.

A trip to my old stomping grounds might help. This town and this glorious idiot are doing strange things to me.

With the dogs back under control and licking their chops, we walk them in companionable silence.

“So, he paints?” Pippa asks.

“He dabbles. His word. I think he likes landscapes and animals and such.”

Piper tries and fails to stifle another laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Your answer. You know his style and you sound impressed.” She holds up her finger and thumb with the tiniest space pinched between them. “Just a little.”

My face feels like it’s about to melt right off.

“C’mon. We just passed a guy carrying an armload of canvas and paints. How dumb would I be if I didn’t know something? And I don’t know his style, exactly. I just... I’ve seen him while he’s hacking away at the canvas. He was doing a tiger last time.”

“Oh, man. You know we’re going to spend the rest of the evening unpacking that symbolism, right? Kudos to Grammy for leaving you all that wine! Let’s open a fresh bottle—the blueberry stuff, maybe. I love that.” She thinks she’s such a riot. “So, you’ve been to his house?”

“He lives next door and the creative team meets there,” I say miserably.

“Dang. The boy next door on top of it? How many hot hero tropes are we up to, Jenn?”

Hopefully enough to get away with smacking her in the head.

There are times when I wonder why we’re still besties after all these years.

“Brock and I started off at each other’s throats, too.”

“He’s. Not. Brock,” I stress each word, thinking I’m ready for that wine after all. “And you and Brock didn’t get along because he was naked in your room. That didn’t happen here.”

I almost blurt out that he’s the one who saw me naked—or near enough—but I bite my tongue before that slips out. It’d be the height of stupidity to hand her more ammo to give me a stroke from embarrassment.

“Look, can we just forget this?” I ask. “We’ll go home and get pizza and drink wine, and you’ll help me scare up a way to seduce Mr. Handyman. Cromwell will go on doing whatever giant grumpy asshats do, investing new ways to make everyone miserable, and that’s that. The only thing he’s getting from me is the best social media strategy a big check buys.”

I clap my hands together like it’s a done deal.

The dogs look up. They must know it’s one of the few quirky mannerisms that rubbed off from Gram.

Oh, that hurts.

“Okay, okay. I’m your guest,” Pippa concedes. “But just promise me you’ll keep an open mind? Would it kill you to wind up with a hot billionaire if he’s got a heart made of solid gold underneath? Trust me, it’s kinda cool having a man cut his weekend short just so he can fly in desperate to see you again—and hot makeup sex never hurts.”