“No.”
“Yes,” he said, that voice the same teasingly amused tone he always held. Like I was justsofunny.
I squeezed harder.
“I’m not on your clock yet Mr. Harper. So,no.”
Another tsk. “Now, what could I have done to be getting Mr. Harper’ed already?”
“That’s your name.”
“C’mon, Alta. My name is Gus or Aug or literally anything other than ‘Mr. Harper’. Please, I’m not that much older than you,” he said.
“Define, ‘that much’,” I said.
He tsked again, his laugh lacking humor this time, and I couldn’t deny the tiny blip of satisfaction at actually landingsomethingtoday, even if it was a cheap blow at one of my most irksome clients.
He was only feigning injury anyway. Despite his sound effects I knew for a fact I hadn’t hurt his insurmountable ego. It was near indestructible. Case in point, him leaning even closer, basically speaking into my ear as he lowered his voice on a barely suppressed laugh. “Unhand my plant,Ms. Fernandez.”
“No thank you.”
“Not really a suggestion.” Lowering his voice to a stage whisper, he said, “You’re scaring my customers.”
I didn’t move. Seconds ticked by and I wondered why he wasn’t saying anything when, on cue, he added, “Who, as of one minute ago, are officiallyyourcustomers for the next hour. Let it go, Boss Lady.”
It was the nickname—the one he’d given me onthat day—that had me loosening my grip on the plant and spinning around to meet his warm gaze.
While I pasted a smile on my face, the one on his pricked at my teetering control. Just what was always so funny to him? Whatever it was, had the special skill of annoying the living daylights out of me. It always had.
I’d like to let the record show, I do not hateanyone.
I try my best to be nice, and happy, andgood. When I was thirteen, I gave my first place spelling bee trophy to my best friend because she was absent on competition day. When I was a freshman in college, I switched dorms with a girl for an entire month so she could be closer to her crush. I could smile when everyone else was frowning. I could be positive when nobody else saw the light at the end of the tunnel. But there is just something about Gus Harper—or officially, Augustus Montez Harper—that grinded even the most resilient of my gears.
I’m not sure if it was the megawatt smile that was always curling away from his perfectly lush brown lips. Or the sepia skin that always seemed to be glowing, no matter if it was sunny or the darkest overcast outside. Or even the absolute canvas of inky black tattoos he had running from his wrists to the rim of his short sleeves, which I suspected spanned much more of his body than was ever visible to me—not that I was hoping to ever see them or anything.
It could be his height—upwards of six-two. Or his hair—the perfect mix of cropped curls and a tapered shave that ran into animmaculate stubbly beard. Or maybe his captivating eyes, which were simply regular brown—Dark, brown bear brown—but held so much attention behind them that they ensnared me every time I found myself lost in them.
It could very well be any of those things. But all of those were traits I’d encountered in other people before, and had no problem being nice and agreeable like I was with everybody.
Everybody else.
But with Gus—Mr. Harper?Truthfully I hadn’t landed on something to call him. Gus sounded like an old dog’s name and Augustus was so proper—I took one look at that smile, or worse, those never ending brown eyes and I was tumbling down the foreign path of annoyance, irritation, and at my worst, anger.
And I had no idea why.
So I tried my best to ignore it and him as I moved to push past him and into Ink and Mar, the tattoo shop he owned and I had taken on as a client at the start of the year. I didn’t get far. One step in the direction of those floor to ceiling glass windows and a large hand rose to stop me.
Not touching me, I noticed. Never touching me.
“Nuh-uh,” he said in an easy command.
“What?” I asked, blinking past him to his shop that was sitting there waiting for me.
“Go ahead. Tell me what’s wrong,” he said. Deep voice puffing out in the crisp fall air.
I squinted up at him, skeptical. “Nothing that concerns you.”
He huffed, head shaking as he set his hands on his hips. Then he leaned toward me just enough to make me lean back, fighting to keep his annoying face and that scent he always carried—musk and leather—away from me.
