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"So you got what you want in the end."
"I got what the family wanted, yeah."
"I guess for you guys, the stakes aren't really that high anymore. One deal isn't going to make or break you."
"Maybe not. But winning one game isn't going to make or break you either. But you're still competitive as hell."
"Shit. I feel a little called out. I guess it doesn't matter if we win or lose, it's great just to play."
Nick breaks into full-bodied belly laughs. "Jesus Bree, the look on your face. You look like you just swallowed a snail. Clearly, you're spouting shit."
I was definitely spouting shit. "Fine. I love playing, but I love winning more. It feels really good when a team comes together. There's nothing like it."
"Tell me more.."
Nick wants me to stand here and tell him all about my teams? I drop my bag and sit on the luxurious carpet, stretching my legs in front of me. Nick grins and slides down the wall, his bag landing with a plop beside him. Bath and snack forgotten, I settle in, content to just sit here and tell this gorgeous man about my favorite things in the world.
"You asked for it."
The more I talk, the bigger his smile grows. He doesn't look tired, or bored, or like he wants to be anywhere but here.
And I'm not going to think about that feeling in my chest. That feeling of one of the million cracks in my heart, knitting itself together.
10
NICK
My eyes pop open as my door bangs against the wall. Ok, it doesn't bang. The doors are too damned expensive for that. But Maverick's heavy hand slapping the door scares the shit out of me.
"Why are people so fucking difficult?" He rakes his hands through his hair, finally settling on me. His face twists. "Shit. Fuck. I'm sorry. You were sleeping. I didn't mean to wake you up."
I yawn and sit up, scrubbing my hands along my face. My sleep patterns aren't great most of the time. Times like this, though? When my mind is preoccupied with secrets and loyalty and Bree, they're worse.
I picked this couch out especially for my office. The interior designer had some ideas, but I went to the store and napped on a few different couches, finally picking this one. The perfect blend of squishy and firm. With low armrests that double as pillows. And at nearly seven feet, plenty long enough for me to stretch out. It really is perfect. So perfect I've caught every one of my brothers napping on it.
"I'm up, man. It's fine. Who's pissing you off today?"
He crosses the room, dropping onto the couch beside me with a groan. He tugs at his tie, completing the mussed business man look. Maverick and Ransom rock their suits, but Mav has a habit of unraveling as the day progresses. He'd never show up looking like this in front of clients or suppliers, but here, on the executive floor of our building? The sleeves get rolled up, the shirt gets untucked, and the knot of his tie gets looser and looser.
"This fucking guy. Ransom's special project. It makes no sense, really."
Ransom's special project? Why is this the first I’m hearing of it? "Doesn't make sense, how?"
"The numbers don't add up. He's trying to buy a garage in the middle of fucking nowhere. There's no commuter traffic, or suburb to sustain the garage. It's barely scraping by in a tiny Podunk town a few hours from here."
"You're right. That doesn't make sense. Ransom's the one that set the rules right from the start of all of this. If the numbers don't work, we don't buy. He's never deviated from it." Never. He's a cold son of a bitch when it comes to the business. "He asked you to handle this personally?"
"Yeah," Maverick says with a sigh. "I'm used to difficult deals, but this guy is on a whole other level."
"How so?"
Mav cracks a smile. "He mailed me back the paperwork, but used it for target practice first. Shot a frowney face in it."
I laugh in disbelief. "Jesus. That's a pretty clear message."
"Yeah, I thought so too. Ransom's not getting the message, though."
I don't like this. "He wants you to try again?"
