Page 11 of Tied Up in Riches

I chuckle. “Not you too.” I might as well buy the winery at this point with how obsessed Maci is with that damn wine. I wonder if that’s a possibility. It would be a kick-ass wedding present for Dean and Maci. Nah. My other idea is still superior.

She smiles. “It’s not such a big thing in Thailand. And way more expensive.” The look in her eyes tells me she misses being there nonetheless. “I’m almost done here. Might just need help with how you like the money dealt with.”

I nod. “I need to take care of something in the office.” I briefly scan the bar. It looks great in here. If she didn’t tell me otherwise, I would have assumed we were dead. “Everything looks good, so come back when you’re finished with those glasses.”

“Sounds good.” She turns back to the dishes, and I walk away with the clear picture of her in front of me fading from my mind, urging me to stay near her. We threw her in a Devil’s Snare pit, but I can tell by the look of this place and the security camera feed I pulled up earlier, she remained calm enough to survive it without a scratch.

I make my way to the office, sitting hard enough in the spinning desk chair that it slides along the concrete until the back hits the wall. I pull my phone from my pocket. I didn’t have time to do a full check before the shift, but a quick Google search now tells me the basics of Brooke Fields. Where she graduated, the city where she grew up. It looks like her mom works at an elite country club, and her dad is a hotel manager. I easily found a gossip article about the lawyer she worked for.

“Hey.” I glance up at Brooke’s greeting to see her standing in the doorway, the cash part of the till resting against her hip and drawing attention to the sliver of skin showing between her jeans and tank top. I place my phone face down on the desk, reaching for the drawer. Our fingers graze in the transfer, and she pulls back quickly.

“Thank you. For helping tonight.” I set it down, leaning back in the chair again and ignoring the ghost of our touch on my skin because Jesus fucking Christ. “Did you take your tips out already?”

“Yes. Was that okay?” She smooths her hands over the blonde hairs straying from her ponytail. “I’m willing to hand them over. For rent or whatever. I know I’m staying longer than you expected.” She’s been here almost two weeks now, but since I’ve been so consumed by work, I’ve only seen her a handful of times.

“No need. So, you’re staying here?”

She shoves her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, looking at her Nike-covered feet. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

I hate asking for help. I don’t need help. But something is pulling me to keep her here. “Do you want a job?” I blurt, surprising the both of us. For fuck’s sake, man. You were not supposed to offer her permanent employment.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want to be a bartender. There’s nothing wrong with it. I’ve just been working in the industry for a while. I’m ready to go back.”

A pang of something unfamiliar hits my chest. “Go back to Connecticut?”

“Not if I can help it. At least not yet. I meant go back to using my degree.”

“Accounting?”

She scrunches her nose a bit like she’s wondering how I know that. “Yeah.”

The perfect out. I don’t need an accountant, and I wouldn’t want her to settle for a job she doesn’t want. “How do you feel about helping me with something else?” Sure, man. Go your entire life never cashing in favors, then suddenly ask for back-to-back ones from a girl you hardly know.

“Sure. It’s the least I can do.” She rocks back and forth on her heels. Fucking hell, why does everything she does make me want to touch her?

“I have a meeting in a few days. I could use a woman to sit in with me.”

“Why a woman?” she asks with genuine curiosity.

I decide which truth to tell her for now. “Because they tend to have the magic touch. Plus, it’s a woman-run company. Just feel like your presence might help seal the deal.”

She chews her lip, her eyes full of questions, but she doesn’t ask any. “Okay. I’m in,” she says with a slight raise of her shoulders like I asked her to simply order a pizza.

“I’d pay you, of course.”

She looks like she wants to reject the offer, but something stops her. “Okay. Well, I’m done out there if you’re ready to go home.” I freeze in my processing, taking a moment to realize that right now, home is the same place for both of us.

“Yeah.” I stand, swiping my phone from the desk. “After I take care of this money.” I pull the cash bag from between the computer and the wall on the desk.

“Okay. I just need to grab my jacket.” She disappears from the doorway, and I unlock my phone, drawn back to the article I was reading about the lawyer she worked for when something catches my eye. Engaged to be married to his assistant, Brooke Fields. My stomach jolts like a head-on collision, and I curse it as Brooke peeps her head back into the office, her zip-up hoodie draped over her arm. Shoving my phone in the front pocket of my jeans, I make a mental note to investigate that new piece of information when I get home.

Chapter six

Marcus

Sliding into the driver’s seat of my Portofino Blue Range Rover, I toss my briefcase onto the passenger seat. Heat warms my backside through the leather. I fucking love this car. I don’t typically spend money on extravagant things, but I need to look professional when I show up to investment meetings. Plus, I deserve this–all I do is work. Although, I’d rather find someone I want to spend my time with rather than something to spend my money on. I shift into reverse, barely noticing my phone vibrating in the cupholder. I hope they aren’t canceling. I stayed up until 3 a.m. making sure I was prepped for this meeting. I want this client. For multiple reasons. I’ve done everything within my reach to be the right fit for them.

Maci: Did you forget something?

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