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1
HARLEY
It was the day after Thanksgiving, and the coffee shop was already in full-on Christmas mode. Holiday tunes blasted through the speakers, and bright red and green were everywhere. But I was too nervous to notice any of it.
“Harley Baxter?” a voice called out from somewhere off to my right.
It was a male voice. It was the voice of Nic Brooks, a guy I’d heard my dad grumble about for years.
I sucked in a breath and turned, plastering a smile on my face. That smile froze when I got a look at the man who’d said my name.
How was it possible Nic was that good-looking? I’d glanced at his picture online, but it had been some grainy black-and-white headshot that was obviously taken a good decade earlier. It hadn’t revealed the strong set of his jaw and those melty chocolate-brown eyes. It also failed to capture the broad shoulders and clear muscle definition I saw beneath that forest green sweater.
Professionalism, Harley. Don’t blow this.
I walked directly toward him, hand outstretched. “Harley Baxter,” I said, groaning inwardly the second the words were out of my mouth. He knew my name. He’d called it out. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”
He slid his large, strong hand around mine and gave it a shake, but he didn’t release it. Instead, he stood there, our hands clasped, staring directly into my eyes.
“You’re Reed Baxter’s daughter,” he said.
Reed Baxter. Yes, he was my father. He’d founded a company that installed outdoor Christmas decorations. It started locally and gradually expanded throughout the region, although it had never quite made it to national status.
Seven years ago, when I was still in high school, he’d come up with an idea for permanent installation with lights that could be changed using a smartphone app. Red and green for Christmas, orange and black for Halloween, etcetera.
“I’m his daughter.” I withdrew my hand, but for some odd reason, it felt wrong not having it inside his. What was up with that? “But I’m my own person.”
His smile faltered slightly at those words, and I couldn’t blame him. What did that mean, exactly? He hadn’t accused me of not being my own person. I was the one who was defensive about it.
Before I could come up with a good explanation, Nic gestured toward the table just behind him. “Have a seat. We’ll discuss the opportunity.”
Opportunity. Interesting word for it. I was the one who’d proposed coming to work for his company, but I’d done it on a whim after getting a look at my dad’s books. He had no idea that I was on to him. He no doubt thought he was cleverly hiding that his business likely wouldn’t be around a year from now.
But I wasn’t the naïve twenty-three-year-old he thought I was. Not when it came to business, anyway.
I’d barely settled onto the seat across from Nic when a server appeared at the end of the table. She set a cappuccino mug in front of Nic. It had one of those foam hearts floating on top of the light brown liquid.
“I’ll have one of those.” I pointed to his drink. I needed some caffeine right now, and that looked just as good as anything else. “And water with a straw.”
Nic seemed to be battling a smile as he lifted the mug to his mouth and took a sip. But when he set it down, he was all business.
“You want to go into sales?” he asked. “But your dad won’t take you seriously.”
I stared at him, somehow managing to keep my jaw from dropping. I wanted to go into sales. I’d told him that much on the phone. But no way would I have told him the rest of it.
“I have sources,” he said. “Pleasure Valley is a small town.”
He could say that again. It was a small suburb of Seattle that had been transformed by the tech companies rushing to locate here. It had become pricey because of that. I could only afford to live in the city because I shared a three-bedroom condo with my best friends.
“He believes everyone should start at the bottom,” I said. “The whole thing is just awkward. If he shows me even the slightest bit of preference, it’s seen as nepotism.”
“‘Nepo baby,’” he said. “That’s what my niece calls it.”
Niece. Not daughter. I snuck a peek at his left hand and saw no wedding ring, so I could only assume he wasn’t married.
Why did I care about that? Because I found him disturbingly attractive, that was why. It was something I shouldn’t think about my dad’s biggest rival. He was totally off limits, even if he was at least five years younger than my dad.
“I have to work five times as hard as everyone else just to justify my salary,” I said. “It’s exhausting. But that’s why I reached out to you.”
