Page 131 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
“What about you, Low?” Grant turns to Marlow. “You seeing anyone?”
Payback, bitch.
“Yeah, Low,” I add, grinning. “Anyone getting your attention these days? Any players trying to push up on you?”
Grant snaps. Protective. “I’d better not hear about any players trying anything. We’ve talked about this, Low. These men are trouble and—”
“I can’t afford trouble right now,” Marlow says, finishing her dad’s sentence.
I take a sip of my wine. “Right. Definitely can’t afford anything remotely close to trouble. Or tattoosor—”
She glares at me, pretend coughing, while flashing me a middle finger.
I stick out my tongue.
“Like I’ve said before, I am not focused on dating right now,” she says carefully.
“Oh yeah? What are you focused on?” I prod.
“Bitch,” she mouths, eyes wide.
“Yo daddy,” I mouth back.
“I am focused on my job. My responsibilities that keep mounting by the day.” She looks to her dad, sweet as pie.
“Speaking of which, since I’m taking over most of your responsibilities, I’m glad to seeyoufinally accepted a date invitation from Malina Matthews later tonight!”
This time I spillmydrink. And it’s not subtle or sexy. It’s on my black hoodie.
Grant grins. Obviously enjoying this.
I narrow my eyes. “A date. Tonight. With Malina Matthews?” I try for casual, but the edge in my voice could slice through the cornbread.
He leans back, clearly savoring the moment. “What about her?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How abouthowyou two got together?” I twirl my fork, like it’s no big deal. Like I’m not already annoyed at the thought of her perfect little billionaire life brushing up against his.
Marlow answers for him. “I was at a team function, and she asked about Daddy. Said she’s always thought he was handsome and I offered to hook them up.”
Traitor.
“How nice of you! Thoughtful.” I say with a fake smile.
Malina Matthews. Billionaire heiress of Matthews Media. Perfect long, blonde hair, perfect wardrobe, perfect damn name. Honestly, it would never work. This family already has way too many people whose names start with M. It would be confusing on Christmas cards.
“Just…lovely,” I say, forcing a smile so tight it could crack a molar.
“It’s just a drink,” Grant says, and there’s a flicker in his tone. Like he’s trying to reassure me, maybe even himself. “I can’t keep saying no to Marlow every time she sets me up. She’ll think I’m holding out for someone special.”
His gaze catches mine, intentional. “Someone specific,” he adds.
“And we can’t have that,” I say—only to him, my voice low enough that it doesn’t carry.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The air between us feels heavier than it should, dense with all the things we keep shoving into the shadows in the name of oaths, honor, and respect. We’re locked there, caught, like breaking eye contact might shatter whatever fragile control we have left. And I can see it—clear as day—want and restraint warring in him, just as they are in me.
If we don’t look away, if we don’t break this, Marlow will notice. She’llknow.
So I force my body to move, my chair scraping lightly against the floor. “Before you go,” I say, pushing the tension back down where it belongs, “let me make everyone a nightcap. My treat.”
