Page 22 of Between the Lines

“Thank you,” Jo said, a little too loudly, but this time her volume was on purpose. John cleared his throat and forced his attention back to her. Working on anything connected with Theo was a bad, bad idea, but she was human, and she had no money. The sum he’d named had her mind spinning wildly with possibilities.

She could maybe, possibly awaken that dream of going back to school. At the end of the day, she supposed that she was like most people—money was a powerful motivator.

“If I come in tomorrow to discuss this, will I be speaking with you?” She chose her words carefully. The last thing on earth that she wanted to do was discuss her complicated history with Theo with his business partner, so she was relieved when he simply nodded.

“Yes. I’ll go over the job with you, what we hope it will bring in terms of visibility to the company.” Tucking his hands into the pockets of his well-tailored trousers, he looked her in the eye. “But there will also be some input from the owner on the creative side.”

“I see,” she replied slowly, swallowing past a dry throat. Could she really do this? Could she work at a job where she knew she’d have to see Theo every day?

For that kind of money—life-changing money—could she not?

She could feel her sisters watching her—well, Beth was watching her. Meg was staring at John while licking her lips. She sucked in a deep breath, then nodded decisively.

“I’ll see you then.”

Beth jumped in place as John turned and exited the garage. Meg stared blatantly at his ass. And Jo felt as though all of the air had been sucked from her lungs.

What had she done?

Theo heard them as soon as he turned his ignition off. Taking advantage of the warmth of the early spring day, he’d taken his convertible, leaving the top down. He’d meant to pull his car into the yawning garage of the estate, which he had to do manually since he had no idea where the fob was—his dad had left an insane amount of personal things to sort through. But when he heard the feminine laughter, he was reminded of all the times he’d hung out with the Marchande girls on the very same lawn that they were on now.

Woo her like you’ve never wooed before.

His partner’s words reverberated in his head. He wanted to balk—he was Theo Lawrence. He’d made something of himself, even though no one had ever thought he could. He could have any woman he wanted, and he frequently did. He didn’t have to woo.

Those women weren’t Jo.

“How the hell am I supposed to woo her?” He waited for inspiration to strike, and when it didn’t, he reached for his phone. A few taps later, and his screen was filled with images of flowers, chocolates and people eating dinner with napkins in their laps.

A date. He should ask her on a date—a real one.

An unexpected pang of nerves shot through him, and he mercilessly squashed it down.

He needed to approach this like he would approach a business meeting, confident in his success.

As he strode back down the driveway, the rosebushes that had grown wild since his father’s death caught his eye. Among the tangle of branches were a handful of early blooms.

He’d never given Jo flowers. What an ass he’d been.

“Ow!” The branches were thorny, but he managed to gather enough stems to make a small bouquet. Arranging them clumsily in one hand, he took a deep breath and headed for the house next door.

“It went through!” Triumphant, Meg brandished a...was that a croquet mallet? Yes, they each had one, and there were thin wire hoops set up all over the lawn.

“No good! You weren’t holding your drink!” Amy pulled a fresh can of beer from a small cooler and tossed it to her eldest sister before taking a long drink from her own. “This is how you do it!”

Holding her can in one hand, Amy waved her mallet in an inelegant arc that somehow managed to connect solidly with a black ball. It flew through a wire hoop and smacked against the orange ball that Meg had just hit. “Yes! Two extra strokes for me!”

“From what I’ve heard, you don’t need any extra strokes to get the job done.” Beth grinned wickedly at her youngest sister, waving her mallet in the air like a pointer finger. “Who is it this week? Mason? Caroline?”

“A lady never kisses and tells,” Amy sniffed before sending a ball through the next hoop. Jo snorted in response.

“Since when are you a lady?” She’d been lying out flat on the grass, but now she propped herself up on her elbows, shielding her eyes from the sun. He could tell the moment she spotted him, because her spine straightened, her body tense. “Oh.”

“What?” Beth turned to look in the same direction. “Oh. Theo.”

“Hi, Beth. Meg. Amy.” He nodded at each of them in turn, suddenly feeling as though he was facing a firing squad. He’d never met an opponent he couldn’t best in the boardroom, but facing these four women that he’d known a lifetime ago made him wish for a drink. “May I ask what on earth you’re doing?”

“Playing beer croquet. Obviously.” Amy looked him up and down. At least he was assuming it was Amy—he could see whispers of the girl she’d been in the lines of her face, but this woman had blond dreadlocks and so many tattoos that he could barely see the ivory of her skin. “Wanna join?”

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