Page 3 of The Check Down

I’ll worry about where the fuck this urge to comfort her came from later. Right now, I focus on calming her, evening out her breathing.

Brows furrowed, she studies the way our hands are joined. “What’s your name?”

“Griffin.”

“Griffin,” she repeats, and goddamn, do I like the way it flows from her lips like honey.

“And you are…”

She locks eyes with me and swallows thickly. “Brynn.”

Brynn.

“It means hill.”

Confused, I tilt my head and frown.

“My name,” she explains. “Welsh origin. It’s derived from the Welsh word forhill.” She pulls her hands from mine and twists the ruffles on her dress absentmindedly. “My parents are nature enthusiasts, of a sort. Not that you need to know that.” One side of her mouth lifts, along with one shoulder.

Damn, I’d pay top dollar to turn that half smile into a full one.

I clear my throat. As much as I’d love to spend more time with the beautiful distraction in front of me, duty calls.

I’m pulling my phone from my pocket, ready to hand it over to get her number when she face-palms and mumbles, “The car. Jack is going to be livid about his damn car.”

Hold up. There’s aJack?

She’s once again twisting the ruffles of her dress. “Jack. My boyfriend. It’s his car.” She rolls her eyes. “He loves that damn car. I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

My chest tightens at this new information. Well, shit. There’s a Jack.

Lucky bastard.

That’s it, then. She’s taken.

It’s just as well. Must be the universe’s way of keeping me focused on what’s most important right now: getting back on the turf.

One more glance at my watch spurs me into action. I need to get her number, but I’ll send it on to Seth so he can handle all the insurance and repair shit. Once I do that, I’ll delete hercontact information from my phone and be done with Brynn the brunette beauty.

“Brynn.”

She bites the inside of her cheek and looks up at me.

“I really do have somewhere to be. It looks like your car took the brunt of the damage.”

She rolls her lips and blinks like she’s fighting more tears.

“Hey,” I say, unable to resist trying to soothe her. “That’s what insurance is for.” Phone held out, I nod at it. “Put your contact in here, and my assistant will handle all the details.”

She takes in a deep breath and scrutinizes me, her brow pinched, like she wants to argue with me. But after a deep sigh that makes her shoulders slump, she takes the device and starts typing.

While she frowns down at it, I step back from my vehicle and survey the street around us. Traffic has eased up a bit, but we’re still getting angry honks and raised middle fingers from drivers who are forced to swerve around us.

When she hands my phone to me, I read her full name: Brynn Nelson.

I swipe open my camera app and snap a few pictures of the damage to both vehicles. There’s a scratch and a small dent on the bumper of my new Cayenne. Correction: Seth’s new Cayenne. I promised it would be his when he made the move to Memphis. Both of my vehicles are at the farm.

Jack’scar isn’t so lucky. The plastic cover of one headlight is splintered, and the hood is slightly crunched in. Still, it’s drivable.

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