by Melissa Blue
But the pace of the pub during open hours didn’t allow him to linger over any of that. All he could do was notice she didn’t quite meet his gaze whenever he did a pick-up for a table. She didn’t use playful banter like she had the days before to ease the next hours of being on their feet.
By the time Mia and Kincaid showed up to pick up the slack, he almost kissed them both. When the shift ended, his mood had soured, his body ached, and seduction clocked in as the last thing on his mind. He didn’t stick around for the closing ritual. Within an hour of the pub closing, Grant fell asleep in his rented B&B room.
That rough mood followed into the next day and the next since he couldn’t get away from CFO work. It was all work and no thrill. Fuck, he missed the thrill, but he had a duty and he never skirted that.
Yet, annoyance morphed into anger by Friday. He ripped into the pub, late, and had to fight his way to the front through thirsty patrons.
Tasha’s brows rose at the sight of him. She didn’t have to say, “Oh, you showed up?” Maybe something in his expression warned her off, or she didn’t care about the reasons for his absence. She tossed an apron in his direction and recited drink orders for him to make and then deliver.
His anger should have ebbed in the mindless routine of bartending, but he’d taken leave and hadn’t had a moment’s rest. If he wasn’t guiding, helping, and literally sweating for his brother’s dream, he was propping up a temporary CFO who shouldn’t have left the candidate pool.
Breathe deep. Smile. Take the drink order.
When would his family not need him?
Breathe deep. Smile. Take the order. Note any complaint. Laugh at jokes.
Why wasn’t the choice easy of where his focus needed to go?
By closing, the heat chewing up his chest hadn’t faded to a faint, irritating memory. Grant should have left the pub well before suffering through Mia and Kincaid’s attempt to happily eat each other’s lips. But he couldn’t. The CFO stand-in required more hand holding.
Grant sat at an empty table and tried to breathe. His mobile trilled with a familiar tone. Surprise and relief made him answer. “Marcus?”
“Am I interrupting something?” A laugh was buried under the innocent-seeming question.
Grant huffed. “Who called you?”
“No one,” Marcus said, offense stiffening his tone. “I just had an inkling now might be the time to call you.”
Grant learned pretty quickly the Baird brood gossiped like it was a spectator sport. That meant Tasha had said something about their late night…conversations around Kincaid. His brother, in turn, had chinwagged to the Baird, likely giving the old man an update on the pub and its happenings. Word had then reached Marcus, who had a score to settle, and romantic entanglements were the high stakes game.
“Whatever you heard about me, it’s not what you think,” Grant told his friend but knew he was fucked anyway.
“What have I heard about you?”
“Fuck you. You haven’t heard a thing. This call is all innuendo and hopes that I’ll tell you something worthwhile.” Grant squinted his eyes. “How’s Ivy Elizabeth Temperance…Baird?”
Marcus didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Grant could see in his mind’s eye his friend’s chest puffing up with pride and happiness. That last was new, almost foreign to both of them.
“I,” Marcus paused and Grant could hear the shit-eating grin in the single word, “want to know what going on. Rumblings have stretched over the pond. You’re no longer the CFO of Scotland International, Inc. In name, aye. But in reality? You’re now a barmaid in your brother’s pub.”
His stomach twisted. “And?”
“And there is a woman.”
He stole a glance at her. A towel hung over her shoulder as she stacked clean glasses to put under the counter. She was disgustingly efficient. Why wasn’t she annoyed? Aye, he offered her a pretty penny, but his call disrupted her life. If that wasn’t enough, she now had to suffer a lovesick couple. Grant didn’t think of himself as a Scrooge, but dear fuck.
“There’s a woman who is best friends with my brother’s wife-to-be.”
“And?”
Grant wanted to laugh but that simmer of annoyance dug in. “Scotland, International is right there. It’s been mine for the taking. What’s wrong with me? Why am I here playing part-time CFO for my brother?”
Marcus fell silent for a moment. “You know what I never found fair? I lived and breathed that company. I didn’t see myself outside of it. Still don’t. It’s in my blood.”
“All that twaddle means what?”
“Your family is in your blood.”
And that was the problem. He wanted both. A separation. Maybe. He didn’t fucking know anymore. The not knowing was the worst. He frowned and said into his mobile. “You’re no good at this. You’re supposed to stay focused on the fact I mentioned a woman.”
“She’s on your mind. That’s more than enough to trip up the likes of you.”
The fucker was right. “You never did answer my question.”
“The one about Ivy?” The fact he picked up on the exact question should tell anyone how sharp he’d always been. That was only one of the reasons Grant had followed him up a corporate ladder. “She’s happy. Came back from a visit with her sister and she’s…bouncy.”
“What does bouncy mean?”
“I don’t know, and I’m scared to find out. Her sister’s warmed to me, but she’s a wild card.”
The man Grant had known would have never worried about a woman or what she might ask him to do. A woman never lingered long enough.
He was curious about the details, but his friend sounded happy. That was good enough. His gaze caught on Tasha. She rounded the bar with two glasses.
A smile sprouted before he flattened his expression. “You’re a family man now,” Grant said into his mobile, his attention split as Tasha edged closer. “How about investing in a small family-owned company?”
“The Bairds just left the pub business.”
“Incredible start-up, great ales, and I can tell you now the whisky will be one of the top of the few coming out of Scotland.”
Silence met him but he didn’t squirm in it. He knew his friend was thinking of all the logistics. This is what they did. This was…the thrill he’d missed. And…
And…If Marcus agreed, Kincaid would have another backer. Nothing like an investment portfolio that had more than one money stream.
Securing these funds could mean Grant could go back to Scotland, International without losing sleep at night. He could be where he fit best. His family loved him, sometimes needed him but he didn’t fit—he ruled.
But where do you want to be?
Marcus asked, “Weren’t you the one to always tell me start-ups are a bad way to play with money?”
“Not this one.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Aye, right.”
They ended the call, and Grant couldn’t find the words for why his friend’s answer stung. They played with money. They took risks. It was literally their job in the private equity sector to gamble on high-risk gains or slow and steady income.
He’d worked too long and too hard to not know the probability of success for his brother. The brewery wasn’t a sure thing because nothing was, but the venture had Baird’s foundation and a deep pocket backing (him). As long as his brother continued to build a solid reputation for tasteful brews, and no other catastrophic disaster occurred, the budding business would stay afloat.
A glass thudded on the table in front of him. He blinked up and brought Tasha into focus.
She frowned at him. “You’re in a mood.”
He picked up the cup then set it back down. “I am, and it’s been brewing for a while yet. You should leave me to fester in it.”
Her chin notched up while she seemed to consider her options. “You know I can’t.”
“Ah. You’re the wat
chdog of my feelings, right? You’ve got to keep a good eye on me just in case I decide to break up the happy nuptials between your friend and my brother.”
She settled across from him, pulled the drink over to her side of the table and crossed her arms. “I don’t know why, but I don’t think this current mood of yours is a threat to Mia.” She hesitated. “I don’t think you’re a threat to Mia anymore, at all actually. Much to my irritation.”
He grabbed the drink and finished half before sliding it back to her. There was no cure to troubles like someone else’s. He relaxed in the chair to center his attention solely on her. “Thanks, I think, about trusting me with Mia’s wellbeing.”
She shrugged, a smile teasing out. “You’re welcome.”
Grant snorted. “Last we talked you wanted to fuck me but were sure I was half evil. What changed?”
She sighed, the sound so full of annoyance. “Now I’m not saying we would have had sex a week ago.”
He found himself fighting a smile. “No?”
“Absolutely, but things were heating up, but you…Hmph. You seemed distracted. I’m pretty sure if I stood in the middle of the street naked you would have told me you were busy and you would get back to me.”
His brain tripped up on that. For a very long minute. Eventually, he said, “Tasha?”
“Yes?”
He could hear the laugh in her answer. “If you ever stood in the middle of the street naked, I would never—”
“You were distracted. Let’s agree and move on.”
“But—”
“Distracted. And that told me maybe you are human, after all. You’re not creating plans to break up Mia and Kincaid. You’re just dealing with shit, too. The best you can.”
“I am, but I should say my mood is always my own problem.”
“And what is this one?”
The turmoil inside him bared its teeth at her question. His gaze flickered to the doors, his one clear escape. If he left, Grant could dodge her questions, her knowing and pensive gaze. Just head to his nice, quiet B&B room to sleep. Her attraction to him and her complicated need to fuck him would lessen if he took that route. Over time her urge to poke and prod him would die. That was the alternative.
He heard himself say, “Has the Baird made it home?”
And she said, “Not yet.”
Rational thinking had stopped for Grant. Let it go. Walk away. He closed his hand over hers. “Stay with me. Tonight.”
Tasha was smart, she had to know, had to see the fester inside of him—in his words and actions. All she did after his plea was stare into his eyes. He couldn’t fathom what she glimpsed within him or what emotion swayed her.
All he knew is that she said, “Yes.”
They locked up for the night. She went out the doors first and waited for him on the street. Glasgow in the middle of the night still held the sound of cars rushing through the streets. From up the way, he caught laughter from a group of friends likely coming from an underground party, still drunk and hyped.
This city was home to him, even though he’d left it for more than a decade. For Tasha it had to be strange, filled with different smells and a foreign pulse. He offered his hand and she turtled her way deeper into her jumper. He didn’t take offense. His balls shivered from the chill in the air.
“My place isn’t far from here. Two streets or so.”
She nodded and made a gesture with her chin for him to lead the way. The silence didn’t bother him as they inched forward to his temporary home. Wordless exchanges dictated his world, back when his world had been right.
Marcus would storm into his office. His friend, his CEO would glare. Grant would wait. Eventually the words would come. Depending on the circumstance, he’d meet them with logic, hard facts, numbers or humor. He’d honed that patience from the time Kincaid left for the military. It had yet to fail him.
If Tasha had questions, felt unease or just needed to nervous babble, at some point, he was ready for any of it. So he wasn’t surprised after he led Tasha into his room that she avoided the bed and went straight for the dresser to lean against.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
She crossed her arms. “Very.”
The lie was obvious and they both knew it. Glancing around for a second, he spread his hands to encompass the room. The B&B offered a small kitchen area with a table, chairs, microwave and mini fridge. It had enough outlets he could, if he arsed himself, hunt down a much better coffeemaker, a toaster and a hot plate. The rest of the large room consisted of a fireplace, a space for entertainment and work—the desk wasn’t something to brag about. The queen-sized bed was smaller than he was used to, but the abundant pillows and soft, heavy comforter sufficed.
“Relax, wherever you choose. You don’t have to hug onto the dresser.”
She lowered her crossed arms over her stomach. “I’m fine.”
More lies, but he’d get to them in time. She was here. He took off his shoes and shirt. She swallowed and her eyes widened. He walked past her to the bathroom. Didn’t take him long to go through his truncated routine of showering and moisturizing his face. He left the door open throughout, only partially hoping she’d join him, but when he came out only in a towel wrapped around his waist, her brows were up.
She hadn’t moved from the dresser although she now sat on it, and her jumper laid across one of the chairs. Her shoes were tucked neatly underneath it, too.
“You moisturize?” Tasha asked.
She’d watched his every movement. Another good sign. “That’s the important thing you picked up on after seeing me naked?”
“My thoughts about seeing you naked can wait, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man moisturize.”
“Toxic masculinity?” At her snort, he added, “Blame my sister or thank her.”
“Why would I do that?”
He shrugged. “Isla didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. Me and my brothers were often recruited to fill in for a girl’s night. Mostly Elliot’s fault. He had a Bowie phase that involved bartering for her eyeliner and we’d get dragged into their bargain. I never fell out of the habit.”
“I doubt Kincaid pampers his face, so that means you’re just a bit of a diva.”
“Believe me Kincaid is the first to join in when Isla visits and calls for a girl’s night.”
The corner of Tasha’s eyes crinkled but she fought the full smile. She crooked her finger at him for him to draw closer. He’d been waiting for that invitation. He stopped shy of her legs.
She said, “You’re good.”
“At?”
“Putting someone at ease.”
“Am I?”
“You know you are. How many fights did you break up between your siblings? Smooth things over with investors or competitors? That doesn’t even count how your brother is still speaking to you after you screwed up.”
He put his hands on her knees. She didn’t object. Such a good sign. “You seemed nervous, and for some reason when I talk about my family, it puts you at ease.”
She uncrossed her arms, shrugging. “I’m in Scotland. I’ve never been anywhere really. You’ve got this accent that makes me kind of dizzy. Things can turn to shit, and I’m supposed to be here for my friend. So, yeah. Hearing that even you have a soft spot for your family…”
He hated the need to say, “We don’t have to do anything.”
“I know, but I really want to. I want to be…”
Didn’t take a rocket science to see that Tasha, in vulnerable moments, wanted to be carefree, impulsive, and a bit foolhardy. Something in her past kept her looking down before she jumped.
But this is what he was good at. In all the years he’d been in charge of his siblings or worked as a CFO, he never talked anyone into doing something they didn’t want to do. Be it sell their company or have Elliot adhere to a curfew until he became of age. “Let’s look at the hard facts.”
Her gaze drop
ped to his abs and then lower. “Hard facts, okay.”
“I asked for you to stay with me.”
“Yeah?” The question had wariness.
He leaned forward, right into her space and she didn’t pull away. Instead her focus went to his mouth. Don’t lean in. Not yet. “Sex was implied but not explicitly stated. You stay, simply.”
He loved the way her expression went from suspicion to a begrudging respect.
“I never thought I’d like loopholes, but I’m converted.”
“You’re staying?”
Tasha scooted down then opened her legs, giving him room to slid between them. “I’m calling the right side of the bed. I don’t have to explain. I just am.”
“Never explain unless asked.”
“Is that a CFO tip?”
That gave him pause. He knew a lot of his life was colored by his work, but his work had been dictated by his life. Being in charge meant your word had a finality to it. He’d been groomed for that. Something to consider later when a beautiful woman wasn’t in his room. “What do you want, Tasha? Make the ground rules.”
She gave him a peck on the mouth. “I’m calling dibs on the right side of the bed.”
He cupped her face before she could pull away. “Calling dibs on anything else?”
She kissed him again, lingering only a little longer than a peck. “You are a horrible flirt.”
“You like that about me.”
The way her gaze softened confirmed that truth. Tasha pushed him back to hop off the dresser and climb into the bed. Yet, she motioned for him to follow. How could he not? He laid on his side inches away from her, propped on his elbow. She rested on her back, her hands crossed over her belly. Her nerves were a tangible thing. He knew exactly how to dismantle them.
Making sure no smile leaked out, he said, “I’m starting to think you only came over for a place to stay.”
No one would mistake her cough for anything other than a disguised laugh. “I’ve seen this B&B. Kind of nice. Pricey though. But I swear I am only here for you and not the promise of an actually good continental breakfast.” She smiled, letting him know she was only half-joking.
