Page 11 of Beautiful Mess

Rounding the desk, I drop down in the pink rolling chair, eyes taking in the small, windowless room. Dozens of square, black-framed photos hang on the wall in front of me, various pictures filling them. A lot of her two kids, Beau and Blakely, plenty of her and her sisters, her parents, her and her twin brother, Graham. In between the carefully constructed frames are little flowers and hearts pressed into the ivory painted wall like stickers of some sort.

A corner bookshelf sits to my right. Books, candles, and plants decorate the four shelves, twinkle lights strategically placed under each shelf, illuminating everything. Her desk is mostly clear of any clutter, surprisingly, save for a glittery pink cup that holds her pens and a pink heart-shaped pad of sticky notes.

Woman’s really into pink.

Another five minutes pass before the door finally opens. I sit back in the chair, clasping my fingers together behind my head. “How nice of you to finally show up to the meeting, Sin.”

Her eyes narrow as she closes the door, hanging her bag on the hook behind it. “What are you doing in my office?” she snaps. “And quit calling me that. It’s not nearly as funny as you think it is.”

“Never said it was,” I drawl. “And your kind and friendly employee suggested I wait in here since you weren’t here.” Sitting up, I rest my elbows on the desk. “You know, it’s funny. You set up this meeting, requested it behere, and you can’t even be bothered to be on time.”

Grace rolls her eyes and grumbles. “God, get over yourself. I’mbarelylate. There was a fender bender by the bank that caused traffic. Sue me.” Meeting my gaze, her eyebrows raise, and she snaps her fingers. “And get the hell out of my seat. There’s a chair over there you can sit in.”

Rising to my feet, I stare down my nose at her, the left side of my mouth tipped up. “So bossy,” I tease, then add under my breath as I pass by her, “Somebody oughta discipline the attitude right out of you.”

Behind me, I hear Grace suck in a breath before she grits out, “Excuse me, Dad,whatdid you just say to me?”

Grabbing the black metal folding chair and opening it, I set it a few feet away from her chair and drop onto it, glancing over at her. “I think you heard me, Sin.” Her scowl deepens as she sits, and I can’t help the smirk that spreads across my face. “Now, can we get started, please? I’ve got to get back to the job site soon, and some of us prefer to actually be where we say we will on time.”

The urge to snap back with something sassy is on the tip of her tongue. I can see it in the tightness in her jaw and the flare of her nostrils. Surprisingly, she doesn’t argue with me. Instead, she opens a drawer in the desk I hadn’t noticed before, bringing out a large notepad—shocking, the paper is light pink—and setting it on the desk before plucking out a pen from the cup in the corner.

Clearing her throat and brushing a strand of hair out of her face, she says, “I was thinking a carnival would be a good idea.”

“Acarnival?”I parrot. “We are not doing that.”

Her narrowed gaze slices to me. “And why the hell not?”

“Because it’s a school fundraiser,” I offer. “It doesn’t need to be extravagant.”

“What’s the problem with wanting to make it fun? They’re always so boring.”

I huff, sitting up and pressing my elbows into my knees as I level her with a look. “Theproblemis that you can’t be on time to save your damn life, and I don’t have the time or, frankly, the patience, to put up with that. I have a business to run and employees and clients who depend on me to get shit done.”

Grace scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. Her shirt hides her cleavage, so I’m fortunately not tempted to check her tits out this time. “Newsflash, dick, you aren’t the only one who runs a business.” As if to make her point, she twirls a finger, gesturing to the space around us.

“How you run your business is none of my concern,” I deadpan. “And business aside, you’re unorganized. I’d prefer to do the bare minimum, knowing how you are. At least for this first fundraiser. If, after we successfully organize this one, you prove to me that you’re serious about it, we can discuss making the next one more your style.”

With her lips pursed and brow creased, she glowers at me. It’s clear, and amusing, that she’s pissed. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s not used to people being straight with her. Grace is Blossom Beach’s sweetheart. To everybody she encounters, she’s friendly and charming and full of sunshine. Well, everybodybut me,apparently. And Maggie Ulrich. She may hate her more than she hates me.

Finally, she blows out a breath, pen tapping incessantly on the pad of paper. “I know you have a Ph-fucking-D in mansplaining, and I’m sure most people humor your asshole-ness, but I don’t have the patience for you and your enlarged ego that’s clearly compensating for other areas you’re lacking in.” Her gaze blatantly drops to my crotch, the insinuation clear, before coming back up to my face, and she puts on the brattiest smile. “So, Mr. Ultra Organized and Always on Time, what did you have in mind, then? I’m sure it’s riveting.”

This. Fucking. Woman.

“We should stick with the coupon books that we’ve utilized in the past,” I say. “They’re easy to put together, effective in collecting funds, and it’s little to no effort on our part. It’s smart.”

“And boring,” she scoffs. “We’re not doing that. It’s not exciting and people always forget to complete them. No. Nice try.”

“Well, the carnival isn’t happening either, so unless you have another idea floating around in that pretty little head of yours, I’d say we’re at an impasse.”

Grace rolls her eyes, and the sight has me wondering how satisfying it would feel to bend her over this desk right here and spank her nice round ass. I have no doubt she’d enjoy it too.

“What about an auction?” she suggests.

I sit back in the uncomfortably small chair and gesture a hand toward her. “I’m listening.”

“It could be held in the gym at the school, and we could ask various businesses around town to donate their services. Like, say, my bakery could donate a dozen cupcakes for the cause, and people would bid on them.”

Actually not a bad idea.“And who would we reach out to for donations?”

---