Page 29 of Double Puck

Through the glass wall of her fishbowl office, I see Darcy pacing back and forth with her phone pressed to her ear. She started her day with me at sunrise, and somehow, she's still going.

The woman is insane.

Mason follows my gaze as I step away from the elevators. "Where are you going?"

"Hm?"

He looks up and sees the direction I'm heading. "Isn't that the woman we're supposed to hate?"

"I don't hate her."

"I do. Josie does. Declan's making a strong effort."

"Then you're all being dramatic."

"She's literally trying to trade you, bro," Mason says.

"Yeah, well." I shrug. "Maybe I'm just trying to convince her not to."

Mason gives me a raised brow that looks way too much like our father, so I leave him at the elevator and cross the floor anyway.

Outside her door, I catch the end of the call.

“No, Mom, I am not bringing the son of your vineyard friend. I don’t care that he has excellent posture.”

Darcy spins on the spot and notices me in the doorway. She has changed since our run. The sweaty sunrise version of her is gone, replaced by a silk top, trousers that worship her ass, and a navy blue Bears blazer that's buttoned at the front.

At least she’s wearing heels. The heels are hot.

“Yes, I remember. Seven sharp. The cream gown.” Darcy closes her eyes. “No, a single woman at a dinner table is not a seating emergency. I have a date.”

Her eyes open and land directly on me.

I slowly grin.

Fuck, she's beautiful.

How is it that the woman who is trying to trade me can look like this?! I don't care what Mason thinks. Or Declan, or Josie for that matter.

I can't stay away.

“Actually,” she says tightly, “he’s standing in front of me right now.”

She ends the call and stares at the phone like she can't believe what she just said.

“You need a date?” I ask.

“No… I needed my mother to stop trying to seat me beside eligible men with inherited wineries.”

“Great. What time should I pick you up?”

Her head snaps toward me. “You are not coming to my mother’s gala.”

"Why not? I own a tux." She just stares at me. "And I know which fork is which. I promise you, I can survive one evening with posh people. I'm basically house-trained."

"Beck." She exhales through her nose. "No."

And here’s the thing. She isn’t worried about dinner.