Savor

“It doesn’t matter. Nothing can happen.” I send Ivy a stern look. “And this conversation can never leave this office.” Glancing over her shoulder, I try to see if Bryn is at her desk but the chair is empty.

Thank Christ.

Ivy’s expression goes solemn and she holds up three fingers. “This conversation stays here. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” I mutter, afraid she’s making a promise on an untruth. She’ll probably just blab to everyone. Or specifically Archer and Gage. I don’t need to hear their shit.

And I am worrying way too much over this.

She laughs again. “I won’t say a word, I promise. But I need to tell you something, Matt.” She leans in close, her voice dropping. “She’s got a major crush on you. You might not see it but it’s there—sounding in her voice, shining in her eyes, every time she looks at you, talks about you. The way her body turns into yours every time the two of you are together . . . it’s pretty obvious. A body language expert would have a field day with you two.”

Body language expert? What the hell is Ivy talking about? “I have no idea what you’re referring to, but office crushes are just that. Crushes. Harmless attractions no one ever acts on. Period. End of story.”

This is what I keep telling myself. I can’t pursue anything with Bryn, no matter how much I’m tempted to. Not only would it be wildly inappropriate, dating my assistant, but we come from two different worlds. She seems nice and normal, quiet and unobtrusive, and I am anything but. My life has been a circus sideshow for years.

“I get it. You’re trying to do the right thing, and I admire that. So, of course you don’t see anything beyond an efficient assistant in Miss James.”

Well. Ivy’s not too far off the mark. When I first met Bryn, she hardly said two words, kept her head bent when I spoke to her and offered lots of yes-sir and no-sir answers. She had this way of almost blending in with the walls, like she didn’t want anyone to notice her.

So I didn’t.

As we got comfortable working together though, something happened. I’m thinking Ivy had a hand in Bryn’s slow transformation. She actually makes eye contact when she speaks to me, and she’s become somewhat animated. Started to wear bolder colors as well, drawing my attention to her chest though I keep my eyes averted as best I can.

These subtle changes made me notice all of the little things—like the color of her eyes (blue), how her hair looks (like silk and I want to touch it), and the tempting fullness of her lips (they’re f**king spectacular).

Her gaze lingers when she looks at me and sometimes so does mine. Her smile softens, her voice drops lower when she speaks, sparking my imagination. Would she sound like that right before I kissed her? Took off her clothes? Took her to my bed?

Yeah. All of those are dangerous thoughts. I almost prefer the old Miss James. The one who was like the wallpaper—boring and nondescript. Mean to say, but hell, the last thing I need is a distraction.

And she’s become the biggest distraction I’m currently facing. The very last one I need.

“She’s a great assistant. That’s it. Stop trying to make something out of it that it’s not,” I say, sounding like an irritable old man.

“Oh, come on. You can admit you’re attracted to her. You won the bet, Matt—fair and square.” Her eyes sparkle. “Give in now and Gage and Archer can’t give you any grief over it.”

“I think you just like giving me shit,” I tell her.

The million-dollar bet—like I’ve collected anything from either of those ass**le friends of mine who owe me five hundred thousand each. When we were at a friend’s wedding reception almost a year ago, they’d readily agreed to my suggestion, like fools. I’d proposed that the last single man standing would win one million bucks. It had started out as a joke. I figured Archer and Gage would be the last guys to fall in love, especially Archer. I never believed they’d take me or the bet seriously.

But surprisingly enough, they did. And I started to realize that I had them.

Archer had gone first. Gage fell right after him. They hadn’t been able to hold out for even six months. Hell, Archer ran out the very night we made the bet and hooked up with Ivy.

Crazy. It’s like the bet spurred them on to find a woman and fall in love.

Ivy’s laughter pushes me from my thoughts, and I glance up to find her standing, snatching the invoice from my desk and clutching it in her hand. “I do like giving you shit. And I should go. It was lovely as ever to spend a few minutes in your company, Mr. DeLuca. Can’t wait to see you next week when we start putting everything together for the reopening.”

“See ya,” I toss out, but she’s already gone, escaping my office and dropping the invoice off on Bryn’s desk before she disappears completely from view.

I lean back in my chair, scrub my hand across my jaw, the scruff on my face abrading my palm. I need a shave. I need a f**king vacation. I’ve been doing nothing but work, work, work, since I picked up this winery on a whim.

I thought it would be fun. Something different. I’d been looking for something to do after my spectacular demise from the National Baseball League.

I’d spent my formative years on a baseball field. I lived and breathed that shit and turned it into a career. I’d planned on lasting much longer than my father ever had. Planned on having a better career than he did too.

That had all come crashing down when I was running backward on the field, ready to catch a fly ball and f**king tripped. On what, I can’t even remember. My own feet? No one could figure it out. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">