Page 22 of Definitely (Maybe) Dating
Piper pulled back. “Hold off on that, I’ve got an ADA to call about securing a permit, and he doesn’t look like the special brownie type.”
7
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“Why doesit look like a bar mitzvah and bachelorette party threw up in your office?” Rhett asked, stepping over a bronze peacock statue with real feathers.
“I was in a meeting with the mayor about a high-profile case when his wife came in and somehow drafted me into helping her plan this year’s Ladies of Portland fundraiser.”
His brothers burst out laughing, but it was Owen who was stupid enough to ask, “How the hell did that happen?”
Piper. That’s how. He’d been so busy thinking about those big, haunting, hazel eyes that saidmaintain a safe distance,when Kitty Caldwell mentioned that Darcy’s friend had volunteered to photograph the event. Before he knew what he was agreeing to, Josh was offering his help.
He meant to imply he’d help set up or do some heavy lifting the day of the event, creating a legitimate reason to see Piper again. The next thing he knew, it looked like she’d emptied her entire attic in his office.
“I was trying to convince her that Mom was right, and Belle Mont House was the perfect venue for the auction, and she took my interest as support that I wanted to plan the entire auction portion of the evening.”
Clay walked under a hanging Swarovski chandelier, batting at one of the five-foot strands of crystals. “And here I thought Gage’s bachelor party was going to be held in Elton John’s house.”
“Who let you guys in anyway?” he asked.
“I did,” Sadie, Josh’s college intern, explained. If pressed to describe her in a single word, it would benervous. “I didn’t think it would be a problem,” she said, looking a little intimidated by Owen and a whole lot starstruck by Rhett.
“Don’t worry about it, Sugar,” Rhett said, and Josh could almost hear the girl’s heart sigh a giantoh my. Even before he hit the billboard chart, the ladies always got tongue-tied around his middle brother.
“They’re not staying long,” Josh said as his three brothers took a seat, Owen practically blowing the armrests off with his sheer size. He might be the biggest of the brothers, and with his buzzed head and body art, he looked more like a bouncer than an up-scale bar owner, but he was a momma’s boy through and through.
Owen ran the family business, Stout. Started by their father as a place for locals to gather and share a drink, it had become a meeting place for businessmen and politicians, and an epicenter for the music scene. It was where Josh spent his summers working alongside his dad, and the place that Rhett got his big break. When their father passed, Owen walked away from a successful career as a tattoo artist to take over the family business. He’d not only pulled the bar out of the red, he’d turned it into one of the most successful gastropubs in town.
“Coffee, water, a soda?” Sadie asked—Rhett and only Rhett. “Anything at all?”
“Hot water would be great,” Owen said.
Sadie blinked, as if realizing that there were other people in the room. “Hot water? Oh, for tea. Well, I have peppermint, green tea, chamomile, or I can always run downstairs to the coffee shop.”
“No need for all that. Just hot water.” Owen pulled out a silver canister that held a single tea bag. “And thanks.”
“You carry your own tea leaves now?” Rhett asked when the door shut.
“Says the guy wearing women’s shoes.”
“Dude, these are one-of-a-kind sneakers,” Rhett defended, then put his one-of-a-kind sneakers on Josh’s desk.
“They’re yellow. What kind of self-respecting man wears yellow shoes?” He also had on weathered jeans and a faded AC/DC t-shirt that probably cost a few hundred bucks. He looked like some over-aged DJ who frequented the LA club scene.
“There’s a couples’ therapist across the street. I can get you two her name,” Josh said.
And since Rhett and Owen liked to bicker like girls, Owen asked, “What’s up with the designer handbag?”
Josh peeked over his desk and snorted. Next to his brother’s feet lay a small brown suitcase-looking bag that had little CGs all over it and a mesh front. There was a giant golden emblem that looked like someone had stolen a hood ornament and tied it to the handle.
“It’s Littleshit’s carrier,” Rhett said, referring to his wife’s pocket-dog. He lifted the bag and went to set it on Josh’s desk and little shit went ape shit. Josh shot him a death glare.
“Last time you brought the mutt here, he crapped under my desk. My office smelled for weeks.”
“What can I say? He likes to establish his dominance,” Rhett pointed out as if this were a legit reason for a dog to dump on another man’s space.
A snarling came from inside the bag, followed by a loud thumb as the beast threw itself against the bag, little needle teeth gnawing through the mesh as if it were some kind of gremlin.
