Page 110 of Sassy Love
“I suppose.”
“We are the ones who keep this place funded and growing; that’s our job. And we will do it.”
“Fine. But I want it on record I was up for telling her about all of it. And what do you plan on telling her about the Christmas gala, then?”
“Well, we promote it that the gala is to extend opening hours and operations.”
“It is that, too, I guess.”
Worry is etched all over her face, she wrings her hands as her eyes tighten, but she nods. “Let’s do it. Between you and me and our secret weapon, pretty sure it will be impossible to fail.”
“Our secret weapon?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Ruby Robbins.” She gives me a little head tilt lined with sass before padding to her desk and dropping her bag down. “Right, Rawlins. Get back to work.”
I chuckle at her and spin my chair back to my workstation. “Yes ma’am.” And as automatic as breathing, I give her a two-finger salute. The prettiest damn smile a man’s ever seen blooms on her face as she holds my gaze for the moment before it slips, and she opens her laptop.
The gravity of the action lands a heartbeat after my fingers leave my forehead.
Yup . . . this man is done for.
The men in our family have a little tradition of saluting their captain. My father salutes Ma. Hudson, Addy. Reed, Rubes. And Mack—the ex-soldier he is, putting us all to shame—he salutes the hell out of his Gracie. Because a man without his captain is a ship lost at sea.
He may be sturdy in his own right, but she is his direction. His unwavering anchor.
I can’t pull my focus from the woman across the room as this sinks in. It steals the last thought I have, replacing it with a fresh, overwhelming intensity.
One I have no idea if she reciprocates or even could.
The stone that grows in my throat makes me choke on my coffee.
Carlie looks up. “You okay, Cowboy?”
“Yeah, Princess.”
She smiles, none the wiser to the hurricane of emotion in my head and heart, and goes back to her work without missing a beat.
Yep, totally fucked.
“Someone pour me a drink,” I groan, forehead hitting the wooden bar as Griff slaps my back. Dexter whistles for the waitstaff, waving them down as Miles walks in. The city crew is all here.
I was already three drinks in by the time the boys got off and made their way here from the high-rise they work in for their old man. I guess being partners in one of New York’s most-prestigious law firms has its perks—Griff offers to take the tab, apparently since I’m in no state to make financial decisions.
“Fuck man, what the hell?” Miles chuckles as he slides onto a stool by Griff.
“Our boy’s fucked, Milo.” Dex plasters a shit-eating grin over his stupid face. “She’s gone and sunk her damn talons into his soft country-boy heart. Poor bastard never stood a chance.”
“I’m right here, Dexter. Right fucking here,” I grind out.
He pats my cheek like a little old lady on the subway would. I slap his hand away.
“Like you’re one to talk. You’re always chasing some skirt.” Griff scowls at his twin.
“I like to keep it casual and play the field, brother. Unlike you, you robot. When’s the last time you were within three feet of a woman?”
I lean forward and try to catch the waitress’s attention again. “Hello?” I wave a hand, almost toppling from the stool.
Griff’s grip closes around my biceps. “Woah, bro. This ain’t no rodeo.”
