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The cat obeyed and Grady closed the door, then led the way out of his office, closing that door and entering a code to lock it.
He led me up a stairway in the back of the building, giving me a chance to ogle his backside. He drove me crazy most of the time, but good lord, his body was a work of art. His legs were built like tree trunks and his shoulders were impossibly wide.
I hadn’t had sex since my ex-fiancé and I broke things off eight months ago, and it showed.
Grady stopped at the first door on the second floor, which was open, the nameplate beside the door reading, “Betty Jenkins, City Treasurer.”
“Grady, come on in, dear,” a little voice said from inside.
“Hey, Mrs. Jenkins. I brought the new Chronicle owner by to meet you. This is Avon Douglas.”
“Oh, Avon,” Mrs. Jenkins said, rising from her desk chair. “What a pleasure. I taught your parents. You look so much like your mother.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.”
She was a tiny woman, weighing maybe a hundred pounds, and her office walls were adorned with needlepoints. A little table sat in a corner, covered by a flower-patterned tablecloth, a teapot, and empty white cups turned upside down.
“Would you like some tea, dear?” she asked.
“No thanks, I have an appointment at the candy shop pretty soon.”
She slowly walked over to me, Grady looking like he was ready to catch her if she fell. When she cupped my cheek and grinned at me, I melted.
“You’re so pretty,” she said. “We need more young people here in the Beard. If I can ever help you, or if you just want to have a cup of tea, you come see me anytime.”
“Thank you so much. I will.”
Grady and I locked gazes and he said, “We’ll leave you to it, Mrs. Jenkins.”
“Grady, can you help me down the stairs for the staff meeting?” she asked. “The elevator still isn’t fixed.”
“Of course. I’ll be here ten minutes before the meeting, just like last week.”
“You’re such a sweet boy, thank you.”
We said our goodbyes and Grady led me back down the stairs and walked me to the lobby.
“If you need more budget help, let me know,” he said. “Mrs. Jenkins is great, but…just ask me.”
“Thanks.”
He nodded. “See you Saturday. Try not to kill me when we throw axes.”
“I make no promises,” I said, smiling.
He smiled back, both of us just looking at the other for a few seconds. I forced myself out of the trance, saying, “I have to go.”
He walked me to the door and held it open, and I didn’t look at him as I walked through it and went on my way.
I was starting to think Ryan Grady wasn’t really an asshole at all. He could be gruff, but he also had a soft side. In another time and place, I would have crushed on him hard. But I wasn’t here to fall for a man; I was here to keep the Chronicle running, sell it, and get back to my life in San Diego. Where my real job would hopefully still be waiting for me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Avon
Pete’s rusty old pickup truck made a rattling sound, but it ran. The passenger side of the bench seat had a stack of old copies of the Chronicle and a little wood carton with a notebook, several pens, an extra camera battery, and several photo memory cards.
When I pulled down the visor to check my reflection in the mirror, there was no mirror, but there was an old photo of my mom. It was pinned to the visor, showing her smiling in front of a lake with her head tilted to the side.
There was a catch in my chest as I took it out and studied it. She was so young. Younger than I was now. And she looked so carefree. This had to be a photo Pete had taken of her when they were still together.
Technically this was my truck now, but I still silently promised Pete the photo was safe as I gently tucked it back into the visor and closed it.
I drove through downtown, where Floki and Helga were casually walking down the sidewalk on Main Street, no one batting an eye. Businesses had handmade signs out for today’s showdown.
The banner hanging in front of Beard Books and Brews said, “#BeardWinterShowdown, #TeamGrady, hot drinks inside.” At Tipper’s, there was an all-you-can-eat pancake and sausage breakfast, with showdown competitors eating free.
I didn’t have time, though. I’d had to tuck my wet, freshly showered hair beneath a thick stocking cap earlier to meet up with the rest of my showdown team at the Sven statue, where people took photos of all of us touching his long beard.
People here really believed that statue brought luck. And many of them also believed in Bigfoot. Deacon Morris, the owner of The Hideout, was on my team for the showdown today and he was doing it in a Sasquatch suit.
