The Bluff (Love Stories in Sheet Cake, Texas, #2)

by Emma St. Clair

This book is dedicated to all the readers who read these dedications. I SEE YOU. And I really like you.

I’m standing on the deserted sidewalk of a town ridiculously named Sheet Cake, staring at a run-down warehouse. Not just any building, but one I’m supposed to magically turn into a successful brewery in a matter of months. It is ground zero in a cascading number of bad decisions I’ve made lately. This is why I don’t listen to other people. It’s why I work alone, why I shouldn’t care if my family teases me about being a control freak. Because when I loosen up, even a little, I end up here on my thirtieth birthday, questioning all my life choices in a tiny Texas town.

I hear the sound of her heels from halfway up the block. Who wears high heels on a street with more potholes than pavement, anyway? SHE does. Stopping right next to me, close enough to make my skin itch, she mirrors my stance, arms crossed over her chest, facing the building. I refuse to look. If I ignore her, maybe she’ll go away. Doubtful. Winchester Boyd is a hangnail on my soul. The current bane of my existence. And as of today at nine a.m., my employee.

Being around her is like being massaged with rough-grit sandpaper.

How unpleasant…and untrue

Why AM I so irritated by her? It’s the sassy, sarcastic mouth and maybe something deeper on a chemical level. She and I are like magnets with the same pole facing out, creating this invisible yet palpable push between us. From the first moment we met, she seemed completely wary of me for no good reason, like I offended her before even speaking. Which in turn offended me.

“I hadn’t finished,” Winnie says. “It’s a bit of a hot mess but—” “I got the gist.” I feel Winnie’s eyes on me, but I refuse to turn her way. Now I’m wondering what she had planned to say before I cut in. The need to know burns, making my fingers twitch. But WHAT, Winnie?

“You like your employees to toe the company line. Not to speak the truth, especially if it hurts. Am I getting warm?” This woman will be the death of me. Literally, figuratively, maybe both. “Ice. Cold.” I turn to face her now, which only makes everything worse. Because, despite the way she can irritate me in an instant, all of Winnie’s individual parts work to create a tantalizing whole: silky blond hair, dark blue eyes behind black-framed glasses, lips painted a red that begs to be kissed off that smart mouth. Her style, not that I really get style, is edgy pin-up girl: a button-down blouse tucked into a belted knee-length skirt, heels with a little cut-out for the toes, a high ponytail with a scarf tied around it. For reasons I can’t explain, the lack of visible skin is somehow sexier than if she were wearing less. The hint of her tattoos peeking out from her rolled-up sleeves makes me want to see more.

James might not be a talker BUT THE MAN HAS A WAY WITH FREAKING WORDS

My attraction to her is a reflex, one I plan to eradicate. So far, it’s like trying to stop myself from sneezing. Any day now, the things I dislike about her will sour the attraction. Any. Day. Now. Today would be preferable. Right this second would be perfect. “Why don’t you enlighten me, boss—what do you want in an employee?” I don’t hold back the snarl in my voice. “Someone who knows their place and stays in it.” Wow. I sound like a domineering jerk. A terrible boss. Not the kind of man I want to be. Not the man I am.

My life is the lawn, and I’m yelling at Winnie to get off it.

She whistles, long and low. “Is part of my job fetching you coffee? Because you clearly haven’t had enough this morning.” I drag a hand through my hair, irked by the idea of Winnie doing anything so personal as fixing my coffee. “You won’t be getting me coffee. Or picking up my dry cleaning.” Winnie eyes my worn jeans and motorcycle boots. “Good. Because I can’t imagine your dry-cleaning bill for the month. Must be enormous.”

“I just want someone who will work hard. No drama.” I eye her, hoping she catches my implied meaning: Stop baiting me. Stop with the smart remarks. “Got it, boss. Be neither seen nor heard while completing my non-coffee, non-dry-cleaning jobs.” She gives me a jaunty salute which contains all the attitude of a middle finger. I am a bear, and she’s standing there, grinning and poking. So much for low drama. “Is this how it’s going to be?” I ask, giving her a long look. Not the best idea, especially when I find my gaze snagging on her red lips. I jerk my attention back to the warehouse. “Not the best first impression.” “Right back at you.” She gestures to the open gate in front of us. “I mean, not even a Welcome to Your First Day banner?” “Sorry. I disbanded the party-planning committee.” Winnie spins to face me, hands on her hips. I try not to look—I do—but it’s impossible. I turn to face her, mimicking her pose the way she did earlier. She blinks several times, then laughs. Head thrown back, ponytail swinging, the gentle curve of her throat exposed. I swallow. I glare. I wait. My whole body feels hot by the time Winnie’s laughter dissolves into giggles. She lifts her glasses, wipes tears from her deep blue eyes. I don’t move. “Was that a reference to The Office?” she asks finally, a smile lifting one side of her mouth. “No.” It totally was, but I’ll deny it until my deathbed. I do not make jokes outside of my family. Even then, it’s rare. This was … an anomaly. A glitch. A ...

I make a mental note to add Get rid of cats to my already long to-do list. Then fight back a grin as I mentally add Get rid of cats to Winnie’s to-do list. “Too bad,” Winnie says. “I thought for a moment you had a sense of humor hiding under all that.” She waves a hand over my body, her gaze sweeping from my head down to my boots, then back up. My pulse kicks up, definitely without my permission. I shouldn’t like the way she’s looking at me. But I do, and I want more, even as I tell myself it’s a bad idea. Her every word today seemed designed to get a reaction out of me. Might as well give her a taste of the same. “Under all what?” For the first time, Winnie loses her composure. A tiny slip, but I see the way she shifts on her feet. I hear the way her breath hitches. I love watching her squirm. “You know,” she says. When I don’t respond, she groans. “Ugh. I have to say it? It’s surprising to find humor underneath the grumpy demeanor. The boots. The whole—everything. You’re the living embodiment of a fictional bad boy, ready to steal hearts and make ovaries explode.” Did she say something about ovaries? I frown. “Make … what?” Winnie covers her face with one hand and groans. “Please, please forget I said any of that.” Gladly. For the first time, I realize she has a turquoise envelope in her free hand. “What’s that?” Winnie uncovers her eyes, then looks down like she forgot she was even holding what appears to be a greeting card. Immediately, she tucks it behind her back. “N...

She holds out whatever fell from the card. “Here.” Instead of taking it from her fingers, I hold out my palm, not wanting to risk another stupid reaction to her touch. She drops a tiny, black object in my hand. “It’s a seed,” she says, speaking slowly like she thinks I won’t understand. “I’ve heard of seeds. And what am I supposed to do with it?” Winnie throws her hands up, and I bite back a smile at how flustered she is. “Plant it! Throw it away! Eat it. I don’t care. It was a gesture. Clearly a misguided one. Whatever. Forget the whole thing and tell me what I’m supposed to do—job expectations and all that. What’s my first task?” I close the seed in my palm, torn between wanting to apologize and wanting to tell Winnie this job thing isn’t going to work after all. We aren’t going to have a waltzing partnership or a working one. There’s just too much EVERYTHING between us.

Winnie smirks, regaining her cool composure. “One of many things I’m good at.” I try to keep my brain from chasing down that rabbit trail, wondering what the other things are. Don’t need to know. Don’t care.

Oh shnappppp

Winnie is and needs to stay temporary in every sense of the word. “Is that all? I could build a site for you in my sleep, assuming I know what you want. But I have no idea what you envision for the site. Branding, colors—” “Whatever you do will be fine.” “Somehow, I doubt it. I get the sense you want control of every aspect of every detail. So, why not sit down with me and talk through what you want?” I hate how well Winnie reads me. I can’t let her know how right she is. Or how much my whole life has been spinning out of control lately, leaving me in a near-constant state of worry.

“Well, if that’s it, I guess I’ll head out and do my thing.” She starts to shift away. An unfamiliar sense of desperation makes my mouth go dry. As much as I want Winnie gone, I also hate for her to leave.

“Tomorrow, be here at eight thirty.” I look her up and down. “Dressed prepared to work.” Winnie’s hands go to her hips, and when her glasses slide down her nose, I barely resist the urge to reach over and push them back up. “I’m prepared to work now.” “Not to do hard labor or heavy lifting, you’re not. Wouldn’t want you to break a heel or a fingernail cleaning out the building.” Winnie laughs, a sound that clutches my heart like a fist. “Oh, James. This is going to be so much fun.”

She pats me twice on the shoulder, then winks, making the heat rise up my neck all the way to my scalp. I am not a man who blushes, but my temperature spikes to an unsafe level under the surface of my skin. “I’ll come prepared, boss.” The way she puts emphasis on the word boss puts me on edge. Because I like the way it sounds when she calls me boss, and I can’t have that. I won’t have that. I simply nod in response, a rough jerk of my head.

Stopppppp I can’t handle thissssss

I take a deep breath and do what I do best when nervous or upset. I don my snarky armor and pick up my sarcasm sword. Just like I did earlier today when I made a fool out of myself in front of James.

I want you to feel something. I want to feel something.

Oooof

I cared more when the heel broke off my favorite pair of red peep-toe pumps than Dale seems to care about this breakup. I actually stood over the trash can, debating about whether I should try some kind of glue or locate a shoe professional. (Is that a thing?) Meanwhile, Dale is simply shrugging and tossing me in a dumpster. I am less than a pair of broken heels to him.

“Are you okay, Winnie?” “I’m fine.” We’re both quiet for a long moment, and then he says, “I wish you well.” I wish you’d take a long walk off a short pier, Dale. And by the way, your name sucks.

Art like this is beyond my understanding, which is why I love seeing Val at work. It’s nothing short of inspired. I can do graphic design, but I work with concrete images and shapes. Val’s ability to drip and splatter and mix colors onto a canvas in a meaningful yet abstract way is beyond me. I also love the way Val loses herself in her work, like she has right now. I don’t think she even realizes I came back inside.

As proud as I am of the Neighborly app, which I built and actively tested in Sheet Cake, I’m already bored. I can’t bring myself to finalize the updates that would make it ready to sell. If I didn’t get such a kick out of Sheet Cake gossip, I’d already have shut the thing down. Moderating people’s comments on the internet is enough to suck the soul out of anyone.

She and Lindy have made it pretty clear they weren’t Dale’s biggest fans. Or fans at all. Ugh. I absolutely should always listen to my friends. Val’s expression turns a little wicked. “Now you’re freed up for a little workplace romance.” Forget what I said. I should absolutely NEVER listen to my friends.

“Aw, thanks. But nope. When I told him I wanted to end things, he just said fine. And then he told me he was planning to break up with me because he met someone.” “He cheated?” Steam practically explodes out of Val’s ears. “I … don’t know. He didn’t specify.” And honestly, I’d rather not know. Cheating is never good. But I have my own reasons for being even more upset by the idea. Ones I don’t want to think about, much less discuss with Val. “Then I won’t specify all the ways I’ll kill him if he did,” she says. “You can only kill someone once, Valentina.” “Minor detail. Enough about Dale.” She swipes her palms together. “Let’s brush him off. Come on, chica. Brush, brush, brush.” I roll my eyes. “Do I have to do hand motions?” “Yes. The connection between mind and body is important. Brush him off, Winnie.” “Are you sure we shouldn’t be shaking him off?” Val glares. “Brush.” Though Val usually isn’t pushy, when she is, it’s best not to push back. So, feeling ridiculous, I dramatically brush my hands together along with Val. I’m giggling by the time I’m done, and she grins broadly.

You need someone you can really care about. Someone who makes you feel.” I hate the way an image of James, glaring at me, pops right into mind. Wrong kind of feeling, brain. “You need passion. You want love.”

I should just have Val drop me back at Chevy’s. But the curiosity about how James Graham celebrates his birthday is too great. I need to see if my suspicion is correct and James will grumble through the whole party, then turn in early like an old man trapped in a very young, very hot body.

“And how was your first day with Mr. Hot Boss?” “Mr. Grumpy Boss is more accurate, and might I remind you that I literally just broke up with my boyfriend? I’m not looking for another one.” “You had like five percent feelings for Dale.” “More like three or four percent.” In middle school, Val developed her own system for crushes in percents, arbitrarily assigning them as she saw fit. One hundred percent feelings would be love. Only Lindy has gotten there so far. Val and I have stayed pretty low on the percent scale, unless we’re counting the feelings she never wants to talk about regarding Chevy.

I love this lol

She pulls up out front of Mari’s diner, and I don’t miss the way she eyes Chevy’s patrol car longingly. “You sure you don’t want to come in just for a few minutes?” I ask. “Say hi to your aunt, get some cake?” Val shakes her head. “I’m a mess.” “A beautiful mess.”

My five-year-old niece, Jo, is perched on my lap at the diner counter. I give her a quick squeeze. “Want to blow out my candles, little one?” “I’m not sure I can,” Jo says with a tiny grin. “There are a lot.” I find the ticklish spot on her side. “Are you saying I’m old?” Jo giggles. “Not THAT old.”

Big Mo sets down a piece of cake in front of me with a smile and I’m happy for the distraction. “Thanks,” I tell him, picking up the fork. It looks like chocolate heaven and will without a doubt be the best part of my evening until I’m alone again.

“Shouldn’t you be out writing speeding tickets?” I ask. “All in due time. How'd my sister do on her first day of work?” Chevy asks, adding enough sugar in his coffee to put someone in a coma. I didn’t see Winnie again after this morning, though the effect of our heated exchange clung to me all day like campfire smoke. I don’t have the faintest clue how to answer this question. Chevy takes a sip of coffee, barely hiding a smile. “That bad, huh?” “It was fine.” Chevy chuckles, eyes shining as Mo puts a slice of cake in front of him. “Says the man with the murderous look in his eyes.” “Are you gonna arrest me again?” “Not for a look.” Chevy’s jovial expression turns deadly so quickly I almost choke on my bite of cake. “But if you hurt so much as one hair on her head or even her smallest feeling, it will be a different story.” “We’ll get along.” “Good.” Chevy’s cheerful expression returns as he takes a bite of cake. “Just don’t be surprised if she antagonizes you. She’s that way with me too. Always pushing buttons like it’s her life’s mission.” I don’t like thinking of Winnie treating me the same way she treats her brother. Not even a little bit. And I definitely don't want to examine exactly why the idea bothers me so much.

I started brewing a few years ago out of a shed at the back of Tank’s property. Pat jokingly calls it my she shed, and unfortunately, that name stuck—with my family anyway. To me, it’s my me shed.

Collin rolls his eyes. “Birthday presents are not about need. Come on—can’t you put the grouch back in his trash can for just one night?” I turn to snap at him, but as the bells over the door chime and Winnie strides into the diner, I forget my response. I forget Collin exists altogether.

Winnie takes a big bite of cake. I can’t help but wonder if she did so in order to keep from saying something she’d regret. But then she groans and her eyes roll back in her head. Maybe she just really likes cake. Whatever the case, I shouldn’t be watching her as she licks her lips, groaning again and wiggling on her stool. My thoughts are no longer on her crossing lines or on my family. I am completely focused on the last woman I should be focused on.

The smallest speck of chocolate remains in the corner of her lips, and I have the ridiculous urge to wipe it away with my thumb.

Winnie spins on her stool to face me, leaning one elbow on the counter. Her knees brush my thighs and I slowly inch my legs out of reach. “I haven’t tried any of your beer, you know.” “It’s not sold here.” “I have an in with a guy who could probably procure me some,” Winnie says, tapping her lips in mock thoughtfulness. “Though he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who likes sharing.” “I share just fine. With people I like.” This makes her throw back her head and laugh. Why does that sound make something inside me shift? I should probably leave. But I don’t move a muscle. Winnie nudges me with her elbow. “All two of them? Or is it one?” “I like lots of people.”

“Maybe you could set up a private tasting? You, me, and your beer?” I really need to NOT have that idea in my head. “No.”

Jo appears, the perfect distraction, climbing up in my lap to give me a hug. She’s tiny in my arms and smells like cupcakes. Probably because she’s still got a little icing in her hair. “Happy birthday, Uncle James,” she says through a yawn, and I catch Winnie watching us with an expression I can’t quite read. I look away, feeling more exposed than I have all night, which is saying something. “Thank you, little one,” I say, just as Tank scoops Jo from my arms.

“Even if there were somewhere in this small town to party, you’d be at home alone anyway, wouldn’t you?” Harper teases, giving me a pat on the shoulder. She’s not wrong. “Goodnight, old man,” Collin says, slapping me on the back. “Better take some aspirin tonight so you don’t wake up with a sore back.” “Has this turned into a roast instead of a birthday party?” I ask.

I finally extricate a coffee mug reading World’s Best Boss, just like the one Michael Scott has on his desk in The Office. Is it just because I am her boss? Or did she buy this today, after hearing my one reference to the show? I stare at the mug for a solid minute before stuffing it back in the bag and hiding the whole thing under the sink in the guest bathroom where I can pretend it doesn’t exist.

“Knock knock.” Chevy’s words come with actual knocking. That’s the other downside to my living situation. The nosy older brother. I groan and grab the closest thing to me, which is a romance novel. “Go away! I’m sleeping.” I punctuate this by tossing the book at the door. I hear the gasp of book lovers everywhere, but I picked this one up at the thrift store for ninety-seven cents and it’s already missing the back cover.

There’s no man-chest on this one or a passionate embrace with invisible winds tossing hair around, but the sexy man in a suit says it all. Capital-R Romance.

I get it. I’m not the typical romantic. Flowers—meh. Chocolate—I mean, I won’t turn it down just because CHOCOLATE, but it doesn’t scream love to me. But real boyfriends suck. See: Dale. Whereas fictional ones never let me down. They come complete with a grand gesture and an HEA every dang time.

Forget what I said. I deeply, truly dislike James Graham.

He strides away through the dim building, carrying a metal barrel right over his head with his now-bare hands. I don’t want to look at the way his arm muscles flex from the effort, but they’re kind of hard to ignore. Too bad that body is attached to the grouchy attitude. Just think of him like Donkey Kong—that big, angry gorilla who threw barrels in the old video game. The mental image makes me snort.

I catch sight of Chevy pulling up to the curb. I’m along the side of a building, mostly hidden by some stacked crates, allowing me to watch James greet my brother. Chevy gets a head nod and an almost smile. I saw a flash of teeth, so it counts. It’s weird how jealous this makes me, right?

Be honest—you also hated how James didn’t seem to notice you. That his eyes didn’t scan over your tattoos. You wanted appreciation, maybe even interest. Approval. And you got nothing. I hate my stupid, very correct inner voice. A part of me DID want to get a reaction out of James. Good, bad—something. I thought maybe he was the kind of guy who’d be into tattoos. He didn’t even give me a second glance. Guess I should know better than to judge a man based on his motorcycle boots.

Ignoring the cat, who’s still watching me, I pull James’s work gloves from my waistband and slide them on. They’re too big, of course, and no longer warm. But I still feel a little, girlish flutter knowing his big hands occupied this same space a few minutes ago.