Page 21 of The Heartbreaker Next Door

I didn’t say anything. As usual, it just wasn’t worth the effort.

But the conversation refused to drift away. If anything, Damon was winding up for a show. “If you must know, I’m thinking of inviting a very beautiful new addition to the payroll,” he continued, glancing at me sidelong to see if I’d bite. “You know, show her the ropes, make her feel welcome.”

Dawson, who had been extra oblivious since he’d gotten back together with his childhood sweetheart, lifted his head. “Who?”

Damon’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll give you three guesses, but you’ll only need one.”

Dawson’s brow furrowed, and it was clear he had no clue for several seconds before he remembered we’d recently hired someone. “Felicity?”

Damon’s grin doubled, wolfish. “Ding ding ding! You win a prize.”

My jaw tensed, and the spike of my irritation surprised even me. “She’s here for the job. Not your entertainment.”

Damon looked delighted as he turned my way, and I knew that I’d just walked right into his goading trap. “Someone’s being very protective! Dean, it seems you have a soft spot.”

Everything inside me was screaming to defend myself, and deny, deny, deny but I knew that’s exactly what he wanted, so I remained quiet.

Damon put his hands on both Dylan and Dawson’s shoulders and leaned in conspiratorially. “What do we think, gentlemen, does our uptight CFO have an office crush?”

I could feel my hands curling into fists at my sides. It was an involuntary reflex, one that had cost me hundreds of poker games growing up and at least one ill-advised punch to a drywall panel in my teens. I flexed my fingers, trying to play it casual, but Dawson’s eyes sharpened with interest.

“You like her,” Dawson declared, and it wasn’t a question.

There was a moment of hush as the barn digested his accusation, the horses shifting in their stalls, the dust motes on a gentle descent.

“No, I don’t,” I replied instantly, like a guilty man who’d been accused of murder.

Damon let out a single, barked laugh loud enough to spook the pigeons in the loft. “Damn, bro, your poker face is a war crime. You are more transparent than Saran wrap. It’s like watching a turtle try to hide inside a glass shell.”

I ignored him, but the conversation kept circling like a vulture.

“Holy shit,” Dylan piped in, slow to catch the vibe but quick to amplify it. “You really do like her.”

I could feel the heat rising up my neck, and I hated it, hated that my body would betray me so easily.

“No, I don’t,” I repeated, this time with the tight, clipped efficiency of a man reciting a password under duress.

Damon sidled up to me, adopting his most faux-concerned brother voice. “It’s okay, man. We all have feelings. Some of us just…act on them instead of treating them like a math problem that needs to be solved.”

Dylan cracked up at that, damn near choking on the peanuts he was tossing into his mouth. “If you ask me, it’s about time Dean caught feelings. Maybe then he’ll stop micro-managing our schedules, budgets…lives.”

I wanted to defend myself, but I knew it was pointless. They were sharks in the water smelling blood. And this time it was me who was bleeding. That’s how it was with my brothers, the more you tried to hide something, and the more joy they got dragging you into the center of the ring.

“Why don’t you want me to take her? Are you jealous?” Damon asked, and the only reason it stung was because it was so blatantly untrue.

“No.” My denial was immediate, and even to my own ears, it sounded defensive.

“Oh shit. You're doing the jaw thing,” Dylan pointed out, tapping his own chin in demonstration.

“I don’t have a jaw thing,” I argued, but Damon, Dylan, and even Dawson all nodded as one.

“You definitely have a jaw thing,” all three brothers simultaneously confirmed.

My phone buzzed with a text from Gavin Valentine asking if I was still up for poker night, but I pretended it was work and I used it as an excuse to eighty-six my way out of this conversation. “I need to get back.”

I turned on my heel and made directly for the exit, but not before catching Dawson’s look, half amusement, half concern. That’s how I knew it was bad. The oldest Lockhart brother only worried when you were in real trouble.

“Hey, don’t go getting all emo on us!” Damon called after me. “A little competition never hurt anyone!”