Page 8 of Connor

“Nope. No millions to my name today,” I tell her, and she smiles.

“That reminds me, the heating bill came in today.”

“Is it bad?” I cringe. I barely have a dime to my name, yet another reason I want to get Sunshine more advanced because, at this point, I’m struggling to pay my bills.

“Yeah, I think we’ll have to eat rice and beans for a week or two,” she admits. “But tonight, let's have pizza. I’ll buy. My treat.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Really? Are we celebrating?” I ask as she texts in our order directly to Joe, who we know will throw in an extra garlic bread because he’s secretly in love with her. Or not so secretly, yet she doesn’t appear interested.

“I met the man I’m going to marry today,” she states, and I balk. My mind immediately flows back to Connor today and his job offer. He may be incredibly handsome, but he’s arrogant and clearly inept at hearing the word no when it comes to business. I kinda admire that, actually, even though it’s also incredibly frustrating.

“Really? Do tell.” I say as I get cozy on the sofa, waiting for her latest dating news. I live vicariously through her. I hear her ups and downs with men, offering a shoulder if she needs it or cab fare if she’s running short. At least one of us gets the male gaze.

“First, tell me about your day,” she says, putting her cell down and looking at me. She usually lets me go first, because she will talk all night about her dates and knows full well I don’t have much to offer her in that regard, but this afternoon was a little different for me.

“A new guy came in today,” I tell her, shrugging like it’s no big deal, yet it’s the only thing I’ve been thinking about since.

“Well… was he cute?” she asks cautiously, immediately grinning, and I smile. I never do this, talk about a guy, let alone a client, yet here I am.

“Nooo, cute isn’t the word I would use.” He left me feeling very frustrated, mainly because everything he said was correct. We do need to remodel; we do need a computer system, and I’ve been telling my mom for months to change the incense that she burns, but she doesn’t agree, and it’s her business, not mine.

“Good-looking? Easy on the eye? Hunk of spunk?” As she wiggles her eyebrows, I think about his kind eyes, his broad shoulders, and his chiseled torso that looked like I could bounce a coin off it.

“He was handsome, in a rugged, manly kinda way. He was a man. Like, a giant man,” I say, nodding, happy with that assessment, which I know is accurate. Every time I blink, I still see his half-naked body from earlier.

“Man?” Trisha’s interest has now piqued.

“Yes, not a boy, but a man. Tall, broad, big hands, beard, like a lumberjack,” I tell her.

“Big hands, eh?” she says teasingly, and I groan, remorseful for sharing already.

“Oh my gosh, stop.”

“So when are you seeing him again?” If it was Trisha who met him, she would have a date lined up already.

“I said good-looking, but then he opened his mouth,” I say with a smirk.

“Oh God, a good-looking asshole. I hate them the most.” She rolls her eyes.

“Not an asshole, exactly…” I say, because that sounds too harsh a word.

“A dumb idiot?” she counters.

“No, he’s smart, very smart. Tenacious? A little arrogant, maybe?” I say, thinking about him.

“Hmmm, so smart, arrogant, good-looking…?”

“And frustrating. Like, really frustrating. Do you know he had the audacity to insult the business entirely before he had the balls to offer me a job?” I tell her, because that does take some balls. Regardless of whether my mom owns the business or not.

“Hmmm, smart, arrogant, good-looking, has big balls…?” she repeats, but I don’t really hear her, my mind now spinning.

“He actually wants me to move to some small town in the middle of nowhere to work in some distillery. He makes whiskey, Trisha. I barely even drink alcohol,” I tell her, like it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

“What kind of job?” Trisha crosses her legs on the sofa, and I know she’s invested in this conversation now.

“They’re opening a health retreat or something, and get this… he wants me to consult. Help them bring it to life,” I tell her, snorting at the ridiculousness of it all.

“What the hell does a distillery want to open a spa for? Sounds a bit suss to me.” Her eyes narrow, sensing something isn’t right.

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