Page 6 of Kissing the Boss
"Well, hello there." Tucker leans against the office doorframe like he owns the place. "You must be the new sunshine brightening up this grease pit."
Cassandra looks up, surprised but smiling. "I don't know about sunshine, but I'm definitely new. Cassandra Green."
"Tucker Hughes. I own the brewery." He extends a hand, holding hers a beat too long when she shakes it. "Welcome to Whitetail Falls. How are you finding our little town?"
"It's beautiful. Like something from a storybook."
"Wait'll you see it at Christmas. Pure magic." Tucker props a hip on her desk making himself comfortable. "You should comeby the brewery sometime. First drink's on the house for Cox's employees."
"That's sweet of you."
"I'm a sweet guy." His grin is pure flirtation. "Ask anyone. Except Jonathan here. He'll tell you I'm trouble."
"Because you are," I mutter.
Cassandra laughs, eyes dancing between us. "I sense history."
"Thirty years of it," Tucker confirms. "I've been trying to corrupt this grump since kindergarten. Limited success."
"Maybe you need better material."
"Ouch." Tucker clutches his chest dramatically. "She's got bite. I like it."
They're bantering. In my office. She's sitting in my chair, laughing at his jokes, and something hot and possessive coils in my gut.
"Don't you have beer to deliver?" I ask pointedly.
"In a hurry to get rid of me?" Tucker's grin says he knows exactly what he's doing. "Fine, fine. But Cassandra, that offer stands."
"I'll keep that in mind."
He winks before sauntering out. I start to follow, but Cassandra's voice stops me.
"He seems nice."
I turn back. "He's a flirt."
"I noticed." She tilts her head, studying me. "Does that bother you?"
Yes. "No. Just... be careful. Tucker's a good guy, but he's—"
"Not my type." She returns to her computer. "Too charming."
"Too charming?"
"I prefer grumpy mechanics who need decoder rings for their own handwriting."
The words hang between us, loaded with meaning we can't acknowledge. She keeps her eyes on the screen, but pink creeps up her neck again.
I should leave. Walk away. Pretend she didn't just admit to preferring me.
Instead, I hear myself ask, "What are you doing for lunch?"
She blinks up at me. "I brought a sandwich."
"The Copper Kettle makes the best soup in town. Loaded potato today." I shove my hands in my pockets. "I usually grab some. Could pick up extra. If you want."
Her smile is slow and warm. "That sounds nice."
