Page 18 of Let It Breathe
“Look, this is all a little overwhelming,” she said. “First you show up out of nowhere, claiming you’re clean and sober. Now you’re not only going to be working here, but you’re telling me this bid is so far off the mark that I can’t even see the fucking mark.”
“Your frustration is understandable.”
Reese dropped the letter opener, something inside her bubbling over the top now. “Frustration? You make it sound like I’m sexually deprived, not in danger of losing this whole construction project. Frustration is putting it mildly.”
She saw his jaw clench, and he opened his mouth to say something. He hesitated, then closed it. The old Clay would have jumped all over the sexually deprived comment, but this one sighed.
“Are we talking about the numbers or about me being here?”
Reese picked up the letter opener again, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know. Look, I’m sorry. The bid thing isn’t your fault. I know that. I’m just upset, okay? I should have pushed the family to move faster or—well, whatever. It’s done now. The ball is rolling and you’re here now.” She bit her lip. “God, you’re really here? It’s all so—so?—”
Clay cleared his throat. “Look, if it helps, let me say this. Wine was never my poison. You know that. I was a beer man, and this isn’t a brewery.”
“It’s still alcohol, and you’re an alcoholic.” She flinched at her own words. “I’m proud of you for getting sober and everything, but well—aren’t alcoholics always alcoholics, even after rehab?”
“That’s true.”
Her throat felt tight with emotion, and she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the bid anymore. “So to be surrounded by temptation like this?—”
“I can handle temptation,” Clay said, his voice so steely Reese sat back a little in her chair. “I’m well acquainted with temptation.”
Reese didn’t say anything. She couldn’t even blink as Clay’s eyes held hers, warm and a little dangerous. He reached across the desk as if to touch her, then stopped, drawing his hand back.
“I take it one day at a time, just like I’ve been doing for the last four years.”
Reese took a shaky breath, her mind not entirely occupied by thoughts of Clay swilling from barrels of Reserve Pinot. That wasn’t the temptation that worried her. She looked up to see those root-beer-brown eyes studying her with an intensity that made her stomach clench.
Her mind flashed again to those muscular shoulders, the sheen of sweat on bare skin, the feel of?—
The letter opener fell from her palms.
Clay reached over and picked it up, handing it back without a word. His fingers brushed hers as she reached out to take it. Before Reese could draw back, he wrapped his fingers around her fist and held tight.
“I can handle this if you can,” he said.
Reese took a deep breath and looked down at his hand engulfing hers. “I can handle it.”
That evening, Clay leaned back from the dinner table and grinned at Eric and Sheila. “You guys have to stop feeding me like this. You’ll never get rid of me.”
Sheila beamed and passed him a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies. “It’s so nice having you here for a little while.”
Clay helped himself to a cookie, taking note of the gentle warning: A little while. Translation: Don’t get too comfortable, buddy.
Hell, he deserved that. Clay had still been hanging around when Sheila and Eric started dating a few years after Eric split with Reese. They’d all seen him at his worst, so how could he blame them for thinking he might drag them all through it again?
He’d just have to work harder to prove that wouldn’t happen.
“Eric’s thrilled to have his oldest friend back in town,” Sheila continued as she took a cookie for herself and set it on a little white plate.
Eric squeezed his wife’s hand as he tipped his chair onto its back legs and took a bite of cookie. “You hear that?” he said to Clay through a mouthful. “She just called us old.”
“Actually, she just called me old,” Clay pointed out as he grabbed another cookie. “Which makes no sense, since I’m eight months younger than you and brimming with youthful vigor.”
Eric snorted. “You’re brimming with something, all right.”
Sheila stood and began to stack the empty plates, tucking her blonde hair behind one ear as she leaned across the table. Clay got to his feet, setting his cookie aside and reaching out to take them from her. “Let me get those. I’ll do the dishes while you guys relax.”
“Absolutely not,” Sheila said, giving his hand a light swat. “You’re a guest. You boys sit here and catch up. There’s some of that nonalcoholic beer in the fridge, or I could get you some more water or?—”
