“No,” I said sternly, “I don’t. And we’re coworkers now, so that makes you safe from any advances.”
“Fat chance I’d be interested,” Joker said with an eyeroll. “I have taste.”
I turned my attention back to the plans spread on the table in front of us. I wasn’t going to play this game with Joker anymore—I’d already learned the best way to handle him was to ignore his little quips, and I intended to keep doing that. If this sign plan was going to work, we needed to maintain a professional relationship. And it was obvious that I was the one who’d have to hold those boundaries.
Sure, I thought he was hot. And he was wearing that fucking cologne again that made my brain short-circuit. But luckily, the smell of the coffee and the bread in the bakery helped overwhelm it, so I could focus. I only got whiffs when he leaned over the table to peer curiously—or with confusion?—at the plans we had laid out.
And that’s why we were here: to discuss the sign. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let my rocky relationship with Joker affect my contract with Hell’s Ankhor Crew. This contract was going to define my business, and I was determined to make sure it went off without a hitch.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s get down to it.”
5
Joker
I leaned back in my chair and took a sip of my coffee, glancing between Dawson and Brennan. They appeared to be having some sort of unspoken conversation with their eyes, and it irritated me. Dawson was handsome—not as handsome as Brennan, he was a little leaner, but still good-looking in a rough, tousled kind of way. And it fucking annoyed me that he used to sleep with Brennan. There wasn’t any reason for me to feel like that. It wasn’t jealousy. He was just being really childish, holding their past out like it was something to be proud of. Something he really wanted me to know about. And I just didn’t like the thought of them together, no matter how long ago it was.
I pushed that thought from my mind. Why was I so concerned about their relationship, anyway? It had nothing to do with me. I needed to focus on what was actually important right now: this crazy project that I’d for some insane reason agreed to do. This sign thing had to work. It had to. I’d committed to doing it, in front of Blade, Priest, and Mal, and I wasn’t going to fail them.
“So,” Brennan said.
“So,” I echoed, and crossed my arms over my chest.
“What are you thinking?” Brennan asked.
“Me? This was your idea,” I snapped.
Brennan sighed and straightened up the papers scattered across the table. “Look, if you don’t want to do this, just say that. I know plenty of woodworkers I can refer Blade to.”
“What? No way,” I said immediately.
Brennan and Dawson both raised their eyebrows at my sudden outburst. I sighed and scrubbed my hand roughly over the crown of my head. Brennan was a nice guy, really, and he’d set up this meeting so we could work together on the sign. Since there was no way in hell I’d be able to pull it off without his help. And right now, it was looking like my own issues were going to drive him away before I even got a chance to fuck up the sign myself.
“I want to do it,” I admitted. “I like working with wood, and I want—I want to do this for my club. But I ain’t never tackled a project this big.” I exhaled hard through my nose and gathered my thoughts. “I just whittle for fun. I’m no artist.”
Tension bled out of Brennan’s shoulders. He propped one elbow on the table and watched me curiously, his green eyes traveling over my face. “You’re afraid to let them down.”
“Well, yeah, of course I am.” I took a sip of my coffee, hiding behind the mug a little.
Brennan nodded, and watched me like he was expecting me to say more. There was nothing more to say, though—I’d already admitted a lot more than I’d planned to. Something about his green eyes made my brain-to-mouth-filter stop working in a different way than usual.
“All righty then,” Dawson said, standing up. “I’m getting another cup of coffee.” He walked toward the counter where he immediately began peering at the pastries and flirting with Mary.
Brennan was still watching me, though, and I was about to snap at him to get him to fucking stop it, when finally, he sighed a little and nodded understandingly. “It’ll turn out great, I’ll make sure of it,” he said. “And if you put in your best work, I’m sure your family will love it.”
God, this naïve guy. I laughed bitterly. “Well, that’d be a fuckin’ change of pace,” I said. “Since my best has never been good enough before.”
I’d given up on really trying hard, genuinely hard, because it always ended in pain. Easier to just coast by and fly under the radar. If I didn’t try, it wouldn’t hurt when I failed. I’d experienced that enough growing up—even when I put my best foot forward, I was always lacking in some way. It was never enough to make my parents proud. Never enough to even get them to look at me.
“What do you mean?” Brennan asked, carefully interested.
The stories rattled in my chest like prisoners shaking the bars of their cells. And to my shock, I wanted to tell him. How I’d dropped out of school, how I’d worked fourteen-hour days, the tests and procedures I’d gone through for Parker, the meals I’d cooked for myself, the housework I’d done without instruction or accolades. No one ever asked. And now that Brennan was asking, I wanted to tell.
“Forget it,” I muttered. The last thing I needed was to get all unnecessarily moody and personal when this was supposed to be a work meeting. “Listen, if I’m the hands for this project, you gotta help me figure out the details. I don’t carve stuff this big.”
“It’ll probably be easier than the whittling, in all honesty,” Brennan said with an easy smile. He shifted into a more professional space easily and didn’t push on my earlier remark. I was grateful, but weirdly, a little disappointed. “So, we’ll need a single, solid piece of wood for the actual sign, plus the tools, the design, and the time and space for you to do the actual work.”
The list made me blink and deflate a little. “Well, I’ve got one of those things. Time. That’s about it.”
Brennan waved a hand. “I’ve got a workshop at home you can use,” he said like it was nothing. “And some hand-carving tools. They don’t see a lot of use—my dad gave them to me a while ago—but they should do the trick. You’re welcome to use them.”
A private workshop? Fully set up with tools? I knew one thing—if it sounded too good to be true, it probably was. “How much are you charging for that?” I asked.
Brennan blinked. “Charge? I’m not going to charge you to use my workshop. I’ve been so busy with Beau’s contract, and now the clubhouse, that I’m not using it at all.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. Why would he just let me use his workshop? There had to be a catch.
At the suspicion in my gaze, Brennan sighed and bit his lower lip briefly. When he released it, it was a little swollen. I shifted in my seat. He was so fucking hot, even when he wasn’t trying to be.