Page 8 of Yours To Hold
“On what?”
“He doesn’t want to start canning The Clara.”
“He wants to can it?” Nash looks delighted with himself.
“Walked into that one.” I laugh.
“You know how busy things are at home,” Peter protests.
I try to cut him off, but he doesn’t let me.
“And don’t say you can help out more with Logan. You’re already overworking yourself as it is.”
Nothing like your little brother chastising you for working too much.
Instead, I go in for the kill shot. “You know Logan wouldn’t want you putting this off because of him.”
Peter narrows his eyes at me. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”
I give him my best smile. “Don’t I know it.”
Nash walks over to Peter, sitting on his desk. “Peter. It’s a good idea. I know you’re scared, but that’s why you have me and Mason.”
Peter blows out a breath. “Mason, can you give Nash and me a minute?”
Having walked in on them one too many times fooling around in his office, I bolt out of there. That’s the last thing I want to see burned into my memory for all of time.
Only to find Ivy Connors—Gemma’s best friend—tapping her fingers against the bar top.
She doesn’t notice me, but I sure as fuck notice her.
The way her long brown hair falls over one shoulder. The glint of the nose piercing she has. The way her lips look pillow soft and curve into a small smile when she sees me.
I should not be noticing my little sister’s best friend.
“Ivy.” I grab the counter, willing it to hold me back from noticing anything more about this tempting woman.
“Hey. Can I get The Clara please?”
“Sure thing.”
The routine of mixing the bar’s most popular cocktail—potato vodka and ginger beer with a splash of grenadine—helps to calm my racing thoughts.
I never turn into someone who can’t keep his cool around women. Not that I’m some womanizing dick, but I’ve never had a problem before.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
Her fingers brush over mine as she grabs the drink. It sends heat pooling in my groin.
What in the actual fuck? That’s never happened before.
Ivy’s eyes don’t meet my own as I hand over the drink.
There’s no way she could have felt something, could she?
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Normally, I wouldn’t answer it, but seeing as how it’s slow for a Saturday afternoon, I know it’s fine.
