Page 8 of The Merger
Gannon smirks.
“Dammit,” Tate mutters.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling and squeeze my thighs to fight my libido from exploding over that sinful look on Gannon’s face.
I extend a hand. “Since we’ve never officially met, I’m Carys Johnson. I’m Tate’s best friend and the owner of Plantcy. We’re a new mobile plant care company in Nashville.”
Gannon’s brows tug together as he takes my hand in his. His palm swallows my fingers, and his skin scratches against mine. The contact sends sparks through my body.Holy hell.
He shakes my hand snugly before releasing it. My arm falls to the side as I fight to maintain decorum. He doesn’t miss a detail. He also doesn’t react.
I clear my throat again. “Did you know that two-thirds of homes in America have at least one houseplant? Because they do. Unfortunately, many people don’t know how to care for them.”
“Fascinating,” Gannon deadpans.
“Itisfascinating. I’m glad you agree.” I give him a fake, broad smile before heading to Tate’s sad, little succulent. “What do you feel when you look at this, Gannon?”
I hold the pot up in my hand.
“I generally try not to feel anything, if possible,” he says. “Can we cut to the chase? While this is riveting, I have things to do this afternoon.”
Tate looks at me and shrugs as if sayingI warned you.
“Absolutely.” I set the plant down and face Gannon. “Let’scut to the chase.You need me, Gannon Brewer.”
“I need you?” He scoffs under his breath. “I’m not sure where you got that impression, but I assure you, I don’tneedanyone.”
I grin. “Who hurt you?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m kidding.” I blow out a breath.Kind of. “Look, you’re a successful businessman. You’ve obviously spent a lot of time and money to create a solid reputation for Brewer Group. That’s respectable.”
“I’ll sleep well tonight knowing you think that.”
Even sarcasm looks good on the man.Oof.
I point at him. “But you’d sleep better if you were surrounded by happy, healthy plants all day. That’s a scientific fact.”
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, twisting his lips in dissatisfaction. “The point?”
“The point is that when I walked in today, I noticed a weak spot in your business—one I can fix.”
“Which is …?”
“The philodendron in the lobby downstairs is one drink away from death. It’s absolutely dreadful.”
Gannon exhales, rolling his eyes. “I don’t have time for this bullshit.”
“Wait!” I step between him and the door. “I know you think I’m just blowing smoke, but I’m not.”
“Actually, this isn’t how I imagine you looking when blowing?—”
“Stop.Please,” Tate groans, pained.
I ignore the butterflies in my stomach, erase the mental imagery in my head, and focus on paying the bills.
“Tell me this,” I say, imploring Gannon to listen. “Do you want potential clients to think you can’t commit to projects and are coldhearted?”
