Page 23 of Love Me Tomorrow

Black eyes land on my face. “You’re really not doing your part in buttering me up before you try to steal my business.”

I sip from my mug, welcoming the bitter taste of the locally sourced chicory blend on my tongue. Call me crazy, but I’m going to look at this coffee as a peace offering. He offered, I accepted—maybe we can forge a new path from here.

“The way I see it,” I tell him after I set my coffee down on the desk, “buttering you up is not a requirement when I’ve already haggled my father to death to get you the better end of a deal.”

“A deal implies we’re both getting something out of this.” Owen abandons his mug next to mine. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m doin’ just fine without the Roses.”

“I know you run a tight ship.”

“The tightest.”

“And I’m not suggesting you hand over the captaincy to someone new.”

“I’m glad,” he husks out, “because I’ll be dead before that ever happens.”

Picking up the contract, I level it flat against his chest so that he’s forced to take it from me or let it flutter to the ground. Beneath the pads of my fingers, I feel the erratic beat of his heart—it matches the pace of mine—quick, quick, quick, and I dart my hand back down to my side. Swallow roughly. “I think, if you let us, we could ensure that—”

“No.”

My head snaps up. “There’s no way you read the entire proposal already.”

“I didn’t have to get further than the first paragraph.” Jaw stiff, he skims the contract I slaved over this morning with ERRG’s attorney. “Y’all will let me keep Inked on Bourbon, so long as I willingly give up the two residential floors above the parlor? Are you shitting me?” He tosses the stapled papers on the desk, then rakes his fingers through his hair. “Did you write this?”

At the disgust in his voice, I press my lips together. “I did—with our lawyer. And if you flip to the next page to read the total sum that ERRG would be willing to pay you for those two floors—”

“Five-hundred-thousand dollars.”

My eyes go wide. “That’s how much you want for them?” It’s way lower than the price I worked out with my dad. Lower by at least three zeroes. “For the sake of full transparency, I think that you’re selling yourself a little short. I mean, you could ball-park that number a good deal higher.”

He steps in close, forcing me to lift my chin or find my nose buried in his soft cotton T-shirt. “That’s the income I pull in for both unitsper year. Your”—he reaches out a hand to thumb through the discarded contract—“offer of a million dollars? Yeah, that’s not gonna cut it.”

“Wait.” I hold up a hand, honestly flabbergasted. “How in the world are you pulling in five-hundred-K per year? Who the hell are you renting to? Channing-friggin’-Tatum?”

“Close enough.” The smirk Owen levels me with is all masculine satisfaction, and I won’t deny it, I want to slap it off as much as I want to kiss it, just to see ifIfeel satisfied after getting a taste. “Your dad isn’t an idiot, Savannah. He wants this block because it’s the busiest one on Bourbon. It’s exactly why I bought this building ten years ago. Only, luckily for me, sale prices were in my favor back then.” Cocking his hip against the desk again, he gives a loose-limbed shrug. “I rent the units out by the weekend, reel in the cash, and do pretty well for myself.”

Does pretty well for himself?

If what he’s saying is true, between the rental units and the revenue from the tattoo parlor itself, Owen is filthy rich.

“I-I—”

It’s official: I have no words.

He reaches out his right arm, hooks a finger under my chin, and gently clamps my mouth shut. Then, with a grin that makes my head spin, he says, “Thanks for the offer, baby, but I think I’m good.”

Lovely.

Just what I want to hear.

I snag my mug off the desk and guzzle the coffee like it’s a hell of a lot stronger than caffeine. Chardonnay. Vodka. All of the above.

Seeing that I’ve drained my cup dry, Owen knuckles his over to the left then taps the porcelain with his finger. “All yours.” Then he picks up the contract—the deal that took me three full days to convince my dad could work for all parties involved—and—

Shrrrrippppp!

I stare, slack-jawed, as he tears the contract in half.

Inhalf!

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