Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Brayden should be soft and have a beer belly that hangs over the waistband of his pants. Instead, he’s all hard lines and corded muscle. The only soft thing about Brayden is the look in his eyes when he talks about his family. And his face, the night we slept together.
A shiver races down my spine at the memory of dark eyes fixed on mine, hands stroking my curves with reverence, and his body, hot and attentive as he moved over me.
I bite back a moan. This is why you don’t sleep with your boss.
“Is everything set for the Yuseki luncheon Thursday?”
I nod and pull my hand away. I should probably enforce a don’t touch the boss rule. “Yep. Everything’s good to go.”
“Staffing’s covered? The food’s ordered? The hiccup with the linens is all resolved, and you’ve confirmed the headcount?”
I fold my arms. “I’m trying not to be insulted.”
He rolls his shoulders back and exhales slowly. “Sorry. Old habits.”
“You hired me so I could do this. Not so you could have another pile of tasks on your plate.”
“I know. And I trust you.”
“Then act like it,” I say, my tone gentle. Giving up control doesn’t come naturally to him, and despite what I said, I don’t take it personally. His family’s always giving him a hard time about how much trouble he has letting go, and he’s nagged Levi as much about the taproom grand opening as he’s nagged me about the banquet center. Hell, Levi probably has it way worse as the little brother.
From the moment I interviewed to work for Jackson Brews last spring, I’ve noticed how Brayden’s siblings are always trying to get him to delegate more. His impulse to micromanage wasn’t all that noticeable when I was working as a sales manager eight hundred miles away, but up close and personal, it’s impossible to miss.
“You’re as territorial with your business as Noah is with his Pokémon cards,” I say.
Brayden’s eyes warm at the mention of my son. “Where is the little rascal tonight?”
“Mom wanted to take him to the movies.” Which means I have a kid-free night off work—a once-rare occasion that has become more commonplace now that I live in the same town as my mother. I put in another ten-hour day at the banquet center today, so I have every intention of using my free evening to drink a very tall beer and gorge myself on Jake Jackson’s fried delicacies.
“How’s everything working out with Veronica?”
I grin at the mention of my son’s nanny, a woman with a newborn son of her own. “Noah loves her so much. And baby Jackson . . .” I shake my head. “Noah’s newest mission is to convince me he needs a little brother of his own.”
Brayden’s brows shoot up into his hairline.
I roll my eyes. “Relax. This uterus is closed for business.”
Of course, Brayden’s brother Jake chooses that exact moment to appear at my table with my beer and food. His gaze shifts back and forth between me and his brother. “Is there a reason the two of you are discussing Molly’s uterus?”
“Noah wants a baby brother.” I snag the plate of fried goat cheese from his hands, unwilling to wait another minute for those sinful bits of honey-coated heaven. “It’s not happening.” I pop a piece into my mouth and moan. “How do you make these so damn good? Did you sell your soul to the devil, or what?”
Jake sighs. “Do you really want to know my secret to good food?”
“Here we go.” Brayden groans, crossing his arms.
“No, seriously,” Jake says.
I tilt my head to the side, considering the cost of this information. “Why do I feel like Eve being offered an apple?”
Jake wags a finger at me. “I don’t try to make food low-fat or low-carb or low-sodium or low-anything. I just make food with fresh ingredients and let it be what it’ll be.”
“I’m proof of the consequences of that attitude.” I frown down at my black skirt. Half of my other skirts don’t fit, and this one has become my new favorite, since it’s stretchy enough to make room for the added pounds. “At this point, I either have to give up bar food or buy a new wardrobe. And since I have a pathetic bank balance and expensive tastes”—I pop another piece into my mouth and close my eyes—“my diet starts tomorrow.”
Jake gives me a hard look. “Listen, I know better than to tell a woman she doesn’t need to lose weight—losing battle. But do me a favor and don’t let Ava hear you talking about dieting, okay?”
I frown. Ava is Jake’s wife and my stepsister. She’s tiny and perfect and currently has the world’s most adorable baby bump. The last thing she needs to worry about is her weight. “Why not?”
Jake shakes his head. “She’s feeling frumpy. It doesn’t help that one of the teenagers at the theater told her she was carrying the baby ‘in her thighs.’”