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George sighs again, working his jaw side to side. “I know you work hard to keep everyone happy. Too hard. So I like the sound of you not letting yourself down.”
“Thank you.”
“And somehow that grumpy-ass math nerd makes you happy.”
The elevator doors open. He extends his arm, holding the doors in place while I wheel the cart inside. “George, did you know he can roller skate?”
“No fucking way.” He gets into the elevator behind me.
The doors close. “He also has a soft spot for murder-y entertainment. And a huge sweet tooth.”
“Sounds like someone I know,” George says, giving me a lopsided grin.
“He gets it, George. He gets me. He’s helping me figure out what I need. And I’m working on allowing myself to meet those needs for the first time in, like, forever.”
He lifts a brow. “Not needs as in . . .”
I laugh. “Yes, those needs.”
“Please God, don’t elaborate.”
“What happens in the shower stays in the shower.”
“Greer—”
I hold up my hands. “Joking, joking. Or not. But really, I’m talking about needs like rest and fun. In order to be able to rest, I have to let other people help me, especially at the bakery. So I’ve had Hannah and Dustin really step it up—I don’t let them run me over anymore. It’s been . . .” I suck in a breath. “Fucking delightful.”
“You do seem happier.” George cuts a glance in my direction. “Less exhausted.”
The elevator dings. The doors open. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
“And here I thought I was the consummate salesman,” he says, holding the doors again so I can push the cart out of the elevator. “All right. I’ll trust you. But please, for fuck’s sake, keep the PDA to a minimum when you’re around me, okay?”
I frown. “But tonsil hockey is our favorite sport.”
“I thought you said you were an adult.”
“I’m an adult most of the . . .” My voice trails off as I glimpse a tall man through the trading floor’s glass doors. He’s got dirty blond hair that’s white at the temples, and the sharply cut navy suit he’s wearing is molded to his broad shoulders and arms.
His eyes snag on mine. They’re a familiar shade of slate blue. My stomach drops a hundred stories.
Brooks’s dad glares at me for an excruciatingly long beat. I have no clue what to do. Wave? Smile? Tuck tail and run?
“Ah,” George says quietly. “James. He knows, doesn’t he?”
“Yup,” I murmur through gritted teeth. “And he is not happy. What should I do?”
George offers him a smile and a friendly wave. “Right now? Exactly what I’m doing,” he murmurs in reply. “Tread lightly, Greer. He’s my boss’s boss’s boss.”
“I will,” I singsong, doing a pantomime of George’s smile-and-wave routine. Without waving back, James turns and disappears into an office. “You know he threatened Brooks. And me.”
My brother’s eyes go wide. “Threatened you how?”
“In a nutshell? He’ll kick Drury Lane out of the building if Brooks doesn’t stop seeing me.”
George blinks, eyebrows snapping together. “You’re kidding.”
“Don’t I wish. He told Brooks I was putting his career at risk or whatever—like he needs the right kind of girl on his arm to get promoted, and I am apparently not her.”
“What an asshole,” my brother spits.
Realizing my heart is about to beat itself out of my chest, I suck in a breath through my nose. “He raised Brooks to be a good person, so James can’t be all bad. We just need to find his soft spot.”
“Good fucking luck. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen that man smile.”
“I found Brooks’s.”
George’s head whips around. “Found his what?”
“Soft spot,” I say with a quiet laugh. “Your mind’s really in the gutter this morning, isn’t it?”
He runs a hand over his stubble. “It’s not my fault I have sex on the brain. I found out less than twelve hours ago that my best friend might’ve knocked up my sister.”
“Thank God for science.”
“No shit.” George looks at me. “You sure you want this? Sounds like work. A lot of work. Relationships that are meant to be—I mean, should it be this complicated from the get-go?”
I search his gaze. “I want this, George. I know we can figure something out. We just . . . need to do some hard-core convincing.”
My brother winces.
“Hey. I convinced you, didn’t I?”
George grins. “I guess you did, yeah. Y’all have a plan?”
“Not yet. Would you be willing to help out?”
His grin fades, but his gaze lingers on mine. “For you?” he says at last. “Yes. If you’re that convinced this is the right thing, of course I’ll help. Let me think, okay?”
“Thank you,” I breathe, and grab my cart. “I need to get going. We’ll talk later.”
George opens the trading floor doors for me. Be careful, he mouths as I pass him.
I grab his arm and give it a squeeze.
