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I snort-choke on my iced coffee. “Right. If you believe that, you’re just another victim who’s fallen into Avery’s trap.”
Speak of the sexy devil, my phone vibrates next to my elbow, Mr. Beck’s name scrolling across my screen. Actually, it’s not his name. It’s his picture. Specifically, him and Vivi eating pancakes at the diner. I don’t know why I did that—take the picture, set it as his contact picture. I’ve been staring at it for the last three days.
“What?” I grumble in a tone that is not at all conducive to what’s going on in my body right now at the thought of talking to him on the phone, or seeing him in a few hours.
“Oh Claaaire, you know what it does to me to hear that sweet, chipper voice of yours,” Avery teases.
I bite back my groan and fold over the desk, cheek back on the wood, right where it belongs. “What do you want, Avery?” My eyes flick up to Charlee when she starts snickering.
Avery chuckles. “Just making sure you’re not backing out on me.”
“And why would I do that? It’s just work, right?”
“Yup. Work.” I can hear the stretch of truth in his words.
“You know I can see the stupid smirk on your face right now, don’t you?
His laughter fills my ear after a short pause. “I just had to actually check that I didn’t accidentally have you on FaceTime. It’s for work, Claire, I promise. Ask Dex if you don’t believe me. He wants to get started on the expansion of the patio right away.”
I grumble a bunch of words that aren’t words at all. I know he’s telling the truth. Dex already has a contractor—once again, courtesy of Avery—who can start next week, but we need to finalize some plans. The contractor said he can have it done in two weeks if he hauls ass, which means it’ll be ready before the Canada Day long weekend, giving us time to get all the kinks worked out so we can kick off summer appropriately here at the brewery.
Which is why Avery texted this morning saying he needed me to come by his office this evening to help him out. That’s the excuse he’s using, at least. It definitely has nothing to do with me turning down his request for a dinner date on Sunday and Monday. Last night, I had a good reason not to, but Sunday? None. No reason other than that I was trying desperately to convince myself that the universe had thrown me a sign on Saturday night when Vivi woke. A sign that I wasn’t ready, wasn’t prepared to handle whatever bits Avery had to offer.
And I’m not ready. Not ready to open myself up to the chance of my heartache, to show him the parts of myself that I’m not sure he’ll like. Hell, I’m not even sure I like them.
“I’ll see you in a bit,” I tell him. “And I’m tired so I’m not in the mood for your games tonight,” I add with conviction. Loosely translated: I don’t have the strength to ward off your advances today and my heart can’t take having your body, so please, for the love of God, keep your hands to your hot-ass self tonight.
Avery just laughs. It’s rumbly and sexy and irritating. “Sure thing, little Miss Strawberry. See you later.”
Tossing my phone down, I slink back in my chair with a groan, tipping my head backwards.
“Literally the most dramatic person I’ve ever met,” Charlee murmurs.
“Avery? I know.”
“No,” she laughs. “You. Why are you dreading this so much? You had an amazing day with him Saturday.”
“He paid for everything,” I say, absentmindedly twirling a lock of hair around my finger while I think back on Saturday. “I feel so guilty. Vivi reels him in with her sweet baby talk and that little pout of hers, and he winds up dishing out all this dough.”
“I don’t think money’s an issue for Avery Beck, Claire.”
“I know he makes a lot, but still. He probably spent a couple hundred bucks, if you include the pizza and ice cream sundae stuff he brought over later, too. That’s a lot. It makes a dent in anyone’s wallet.”
Charlee snickers, stretching her arms across my desk. “You know how much money he makes, right?”
“I don’t know, a couple million? Maybe five? Five million?” I’m just throwing out numbers here. I have no freaking clue, but he lives in a penthouse and has a car that drives him around at his beck and call. Then again, five million seems like a lot, so I’m probably wrong.
Charlee’s snicker turns into a full-blown howl as she drops her face to her hands. When she looks up at me, she wipes actual tears from her eyes. “Claire, Dex told me Avery and Wyatt each took home thirty-two million last year, after business expenses.”
I don’t know how it happens, because I’m sitting down. I’m literally sitting my entire ass in a chair, but somehow, I wind up clutching the edge of the desk, fingernails biting into the wood to keep me from tumbling straight to the floor when the chair flies out from underneath me.
Thirty. Two. Million. In one fucking year?
“I can’t believe you didn’t know.”
“Well, excuse the shit out of me for not going around asking people how much money they make!” I’m shrieking. I can’t control my pitch. It just makes Charlee laugh harder, clutching her stomach while I’m over here vibrating with shock. “Stop laughing!”
Her hands come up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. I can’t help it. Well, at least we know you don’t like him because of his money.” She wipes at the last of her tears. “So, are you gonna sleep with him?”
