Page 2 of Wrong Idea

“Here!” He handed me the shirt; I looked down at it like it was going to bite me.

“I can’t wear this!” I exclaimed. I knew how childish and snobbish I sounded.

“Why?” he asked and rolled his eyes. “You think you’ll break out in a rash if a shirt’s not tailor-made for you?” he teased. “Or are you more afraid to look like everyone else?”

“Harris,” I growled. Jesus, I missed Grant. My middle brother was the only one who knew how to keep Harrison in line. “You know that’s not why,” I clipped. My head started to throb.

“Breathe, man. Jesus, you’re going to give yourself an aneurysm. It’s fine. Put it on and later, when things settle down, you can go get one of your designer duds. I promise you won’tget a rash, and if you do, I’ll buy you some aloe to help with the itching.” I shook my head, and he rolled his eyes.

“Sometimes, Carver, you need to learn to take yourself less seriously.” He was one to talk. If I were the youngest without any real responsibility, maybe I could walk around like nothing mattered.

“And maybe you need to learn to take some things more seriously,” I responded like an asshole. Harry looked at me, his brows bunched together like I was crazy, and scoffed.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? My entire job is taking shit seriously. And I’m here. With you. Turning this place into the jewel of your fucking portfolio one day. Not like Grant,” he defended, and I knew he was right.

He might be the youngest and sometimes distracted, but he wasn’t aloof. He wanted The Crown to sparkle as much, if not more, than I did. Ignoring me, he walked to the trash can, tossed the bagel, then poured himself a coffee.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling like an ass. “I was a dick.”

“Yeah, you were. But what’s new on that front,” he mumbled under his breath. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” He didn’t meet my gaze before he turned and walked out. I looked at the polo shirt in my hand and unbuttoned my shirt then took the messy one off and pulled the new polo on. I had started to rinse my dress shirt off in the sink when I heard Nicole’s voice down the hall.

“Are you sure you haven’t seen Mr. Storm?” she asked god only knew who. I ran my fingers through my hair and was about to walk out and deal with her when it hit me. I don’t want to deal with her.

Trying to put off that conversation, I quickly stepped into one of the spa rooms. I’d just shut the door when I remembered I’d left my dress shirt in the sink.

“Shit,” I whispered under my breath. When I turned, it felt like I had been punched in the gut. I could only see her back, but I knew she would be beautiful. Tiny and curvy with an ass in those jeans that tempted me to bite the side of my hand to stop myself from groaning like an animal.What the fuck is wrong with me?I wondered.

She turned and confirmed I was right.

The woman was beautiful.

Shoulder-length, wavy almost curly hair that swayed with her movement. Olive-toned skin with a face of a goddess and the sweetest little birthmark I could have sworn was the shape of the tiniest little heart on her cheek, below her right eye. Her dark eyes widened, and she made a squeak-like sound when she noticed me.

“Can I help you?” she asked softly, her hands still toying with the top button of her blue and black buffalo plaid top. But my eyes dropped, stuck on her chest. Her beautiful, perfect, overflowing chest.

Mine,a voice in my head whispered. One word I didn’t understand but felt all the way through my body.

Mine,it repeated. I shook my head. I felt dizzy and little off kilter.What the hell was in the coffee?

“Sorry, umm—“ I was no longer the grown forty-two-year-old man who had most of his shit together. No, something about the sound of her voice and the sight of her had me fumbling over my words like some kind of tongue-tied teenage boy.Me.The man who could walk into a board meeting and not break a sweat at killing a million-dollar deal.

“Was I taking too long?” she asked. Her hand relaxed against the hold of the front of her shirt.

“What?” I rasped.

“I’m sorry! I got a little nervous and in my head. Time must have slipped past me…” she kept rambling, but I didn’t mind. Not when the sound of her voice did things to me.

Shit, when had I last felt this alive?

All from hearing someone speak?

“No, I’m sorry, I should have knocked,” I finally spoke up. Was it just me or did her gaze drop to my lips? “I’m Car, by the way,” I introduced myself, and when she smiled, I felt it in my chest.

Mine, a voice I’d never heard hushed its claim.Mine.

“I’m Max,” she blurted, extending her hand, and for some reason, I took it. The soft heat I felt from the casual caress made my dick wake up. “Maxine, actually, but everyone calls me Max,” she rambled and, fuck me, I was smitten.

“Nice to meet you, Max.” I shook her hand and hated having to let it go.

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