Page 22 of The Merger
I huff a breath. He’s not going to take me seriously, and I’m never going to get this job. He had his mind made up before I walked through the door. I should thank him for his time, leave, and be done with it.
But right before I excuse myself, his jaw stops clenching, and I see slight concern in his expression. A peek of the man behind the icy exterior catches me off guard, stealing my breath. A warm wave of hope ripples through me, and I cling to it like a lifeline. Then I do what I do best—jump in without thinking. After all, that’s how I got here in the first place.
“I was at my father’s when I texted you last night,” I say, holding his gaze steady. “I was outside on the porch because he was inside with his new wife, telling me without telling me that he didn’t want me there for dinner.”
His jaw sets again.
“He was bragging about her career accomplishments, going on and on about how many clients she has and how amazing she’s doing. Then he turns to me and asks howmy little endeavoris going.” I laugh angrily. “He doesn’t even know that mybusinessis called Plantcy.”
I sit back as the wash of emotions splashes through me again.
“Every time he looks at me, he sees a disappointment,” I say. “And, yeah, Plantcy hasn’t been a tremendous success. But it’s new. I’m figuring it out. I’m finding my way. I know that leaving my job and starting this business on a whim wasn’t the smartest thing in the world, but …” I pause, taking a deep breath.I’m so freaking sick of feeling like I don’t quite measure up.“Dammit, I want to prove him wrong.”
He nods, his eyes dark and brooding.
I take a deep breath until I settle down.
Shoulders back. Chin lifted. Gaze steady.
“You should hire me because I’m passionate about what I do, and I’m going to transform the energy in your office for pennies on the dollar,” I say. “If you don’t agree after a month, we’ll go our separate ways. Just give me a chance. Let me prove myself to you.”
Before he can respond, Joseph sets our plates on the table. He tops off our coffee and asks if we need anything else, then he is on his way.
“This plate is beautiful,” I say, taking it in from various angles. “It’s almost too pretty to eat.”
Crispy potatoes, silky crème fraiche, delicate salmon, and a perfectly poached egg is sprinkled with fresh chives.
I don’t even want to know what this costs.
“Nothing is too pretty to eat,” Gannon says, hiding a smirk as he slices into his meal.
My stomach clenches, and I press my thighs together.
“Tell me about your job before Plantcy,” he says, lifting his fork. “What did you do?”
“I worked for my mother’s insurance agency.”
“Which one?”
“The Redding.”
He nods. “Did you like it, or is that why you left?”
I watch as his lips wrap around his fork’s tines.
Forcing a swallow, I turn my attention to my breakfast. “I hated it. I only worked there because my degree in business administration isn’t useful—which would’ve been helpful to know before I took out loans to pay for college.”
I take a bite, and it melts in my mouth. The flavors are rich. The textures are luxurious on my tongue. I can see why Gannon comes here often. If I had to be up this early and had time for food, I’d come here, too.
“Anyway, I couldn’t find a job, so I went to work with Mom. And it’s literally the worst thing ever. You’re only needed when something bad happens—a death, a fire, a tornado. You want to help these people but must follow the contract terms. Those areneverin their favor. So you’re the bad guy when you only want to make things better for them. It’s a terrible position to be in.”
“You get the terms before you sign the contract,” he says before taking a sip of coffee. “Clients agree to it. There’s no reason for you to be the bad guy.”
“That’s not how emotions work. When people are upset, they unload on whoever answers the phone. And I can’t blame them, but I also can’t be the one to be dumped on, either.”
He leans back, the light above making his face sharper. His cheekbones higher. His eyes darker.
“That’s why emotions are dangerous,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
