Page 26 of Tied Up in Riches

Chapter twelve

Brooke

Butterflies tear through my stomach. Or maybe it's junk food. I probably shouldn’t have stress binged an entire bag of salt and vinegar chips while I finished going over my presentation in my head. Now my mouth is all torn up on top of the nervousness practically vibrating through me. It makes no sense that I’m feeling this way. I was always the girl in school who barely prepared for speeches and tests. Even with Beau and wanting to live up to his expectations, I was consistently going through the motions to the point that there was no room for nerves. But thinking about Marcus possibly rejecting my idea . . . what if he doesn’t like it? What if it’s not good enough for him to ask me to stay again? Why do I care so much about him wanting me to stay?

Taking a deep breath, I knock softly on Marcus’ home office door, praying I don’t blurt out something else completely inappropriate like when I brought up my sex life–or lack thereof–on our hike.

It didn’t make sense to meet at the bar to go over my proposal since his office there is smaller and shared with Troy. But it feels weird that I just walked out of my . . . well, his . . . bedroom to the room next door for a business meeting. My outfit is professional but cute. I’m wearing nice blue jeans with a loose-fitting lavender blouse French tucked. I have brown wedges to match this outfit, but didn’t put them on since I’m inside. Now I’m wondering if I should have? Is it weird I’m barefoot? That’s not very professional. This is weird. Why am I overthinking this so much? I’m not even sure why I felt the need to dress up. It’s not like this is an interview for a job. It’s just me sharing an idea–something completely out of my job description. It would be insane to think I’ll become valuable enough that he would hire me full time and long term, especially when I can’t stay in Oregon permanently. Can I?

My knuckles rap on the wood more confidently this time and Marcus’ deep voice sends a shot of adrenaline straight through me. “Come in.”

Am I sweating? God, it’s so hot in here. Taking a deep breath, I twist the knob and push the door open. I only got a peek of this room during the tour Maci gave me the day I arrived and haven’t been in since. To the left sits a massive oak desk in front of a long window. There’s a huge computer monitor on one side. Everything is neat and organized. A three tier metal rack sits on the wood with papers neatly stacked within it. There’s a filing cabinet in the corner and a fiddle leaf fig tree that stands just as tall. To the right is a rich brown leather sofa. Marcus sits on one side, leaned back, an ankle crossed over a knee as he examines the paper he’s holding.

He was out all morning, which is also part of the reason we didn’t meet at Jameson’s. I’m not exactly sure what he was doing, but it must have been important if he’s dressed like that. The charcoal slacks and button up that’s a shade lighter hug his muscles deliciously. His hair is pulled to the back of his head and one of his hands runs across his jaw, over his neatly groomed facial hair. Holy hell. And since when does he wear glasses? Just slightly rounded black frames sit on his face, perfectly highlighting his ocean eyes as they glance toward me.

“Brooke.” He sets the paper on the coffee table in front of the couch and motions to the space beside him. I cross the room, and it’s not until I sit on the leather that I remember this is currently his bedroom. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his eyes fixed on my scrunched face.

“It’s not that this couch is uncomfortable . . .”

“Gee, thanks.” He chuckles.

“No, really. It’s great. But this is what you’ve been sleeping on? I feel terrible. Please trade me. It’s the least I can do.” I can’t believe that while I’m sleeping peacefully on the comfiest mattress I’ve ever slept on, he squishes onto these way too firm cushions. Okay, maybe I haven’t been sleeping peacefully with everything on my mind, but at least I’m comfortable as I lie there awake.

“It’s not a big deal. And I’ve been gone a lot lately, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Oh, I’ve noticed. And not just because it feels weird working a job without a boss breathing down my neck. I’ve been loving working with Emma and Charlotte. They have no idea what to do when it comes to creating an organization system. I’m not a very organized person, but having the freedom to design it in a way that makes sense to me is fun. I keep having the urge to check in with Marcus, to make sure I’m doing things how he wants, but Maci said Dean told her he’s been really busy. I don’t want to bother him or make him feel like he can’t trust me. So, I shoved the insecurity and need for validation on my projects down, despite my desire to text him. “Well, if you change your mind and want your bed back, just let me know.”

He holds my gaze for a long enough moment that I feel my face heat.

“Alright, well.” I shake my head, clearing the thought of Marcus and the ties under his mattress. “Ready for my proposal?”

“Let’s hear it.” He takes off his glasses, setting them on the coffee table before leaning back to get comfortable.

I take a breath. I’ve spent the last week walking through town, scouring lists of all the local businesses and trying to figure out the best idea for bringing in business. I think I landed on the perfect collaboration plan. “Typically, bars rely on their nighttime hours to make the most money.” He nods, but I back up my statement anyway. “I talked to Troy, and he said that you’ve never considered being open during the mornings because there wouldn’t be enough profits. But I think we should start there.”

“Convince more people it’s ‘5 o’clock somewhere?’” He smirks.

Grinning, I continue. “Not quite. I mean, yes, there will be alcohol involved, but it’ll be more than that. One day a week we’ll have a Brunch, Booze and Books meetup. I’m not set on the name–it’s just an idea. I’ve talked to a couple of local businesses we could partner with for a mutually beneficial relationship. There’s this new crepe place. They are more upscale than what you’d expect at Jameson’s–no offense.” Amusement flickers in his eyes before his expressionless mask slips on, and he continues listening intently. “But I don’t think that’s a problem. Who says we can’t create two separate vibes? We obviously have alcohol. And I talked to the owner of the cutest indie bookstore in town. So, what I’m thinking is one day of each summer week, we’d open in the morning for this book club of sorts that would be kind of like a secret society thing? Maybe that’s not the right word.” I sigh, feeling like my thoughts are coming out more jumbled and less concise than I practiced. He watches me patiently, without interrupting or giving any sign of what he’s thinking.

“There would be a membership fee. It doesn’t have to be a contract or anything. I was thinking $55 a week? Girls spend way more than that just on brunch with their girlfriends on Sunday. But the value would be so much greater. They’d get that week’s book club book, a crepe, and mimosas or wine or whatever. We could even create special cocktails for each event. OH!” An idea sparks to life as I’m rambling, and I hardly take a breath so I don’t lose my train of thought. “We could make a cocktail that’s themed for whatever the book is. It could be a whole thing. Anyway,” I try to get back on track, noting Marcus’ cool expression paired with godlike patience as he lets me finish my thoughts. “All three businesses would benefit. We could discuss the division of profits however it makes the most sense. But I think this is something women my age would be super interested in. There are about 30,000 women between the ages of 21 and 35 just in Eugene. Marketing at school would be easy, and we’d have both the crepe place and the bookstore advertising for us as well. Plus, it would greatly benefit us if we were the hosts. Each weekly membership could include one mimosa or whatever drink. But after that we could charge. Once girls get drinking and talking about romance, they either want to drink more or fuck.”

My hands fly to my mouth as Marcus’ eyes go wide like he can’t believe I said that.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight, hoping to erase the past fifteen seconds, but when I open them again, Marcus’ gaze is still focused on me. Maybe I’m delusional right now, but it looks like he’s . . . I don’t know . . . trying to figure out which category I fall into. In an attempt to crush the embarrassment, I run straight through it. “Well, it’s true. And if you didn’t know, you do now.”

He holds up a finger to get my attention. “What determines which of those things a woman wants?”

My skin buzzes with the idea that maybe he wants to know about me specifically and not women in general. “Honestly, if the smut is good, it’s always sex. But if we can’t get it–especially if it’s a reminder we’re alone–a glass of wine takes the edge off. So, again, this is where the bar comes in. They want something we have. Bam. Books, Booze and Brunch.”

He quirks a brow. “I thought it was Brunch, Booze and Books?”

“Oh my gosh. That just gave me the best idea. I was thinking like ‘BBB’ or something short and sweet. My original idea is catchy but kind of a tongue-twister. What about, ‘Here for the B?’ You know, like a play on . . .”

“I know.”

“Oh, right. Wow. This idea kind of took a turn, huh? Is it too . . . problematic? Or I don’t know.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Do we need to have the confidence talk again?”

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