Going Hard: Steele Ridge Series Read online

  Why had she ever thought she could handle waiting on this man? Correction, waiting on his table. Because she’d never waited for him. She’d been smarter and more independent than that.

  “I’d better get a damn good tip from you two.” She pushed the words out with sheer will. And if they were slightly froggy, to hell with it.

  Grif laughed and his breath caressed the back of her neck.

  Date. She needed a date. And she was damn well going to get serious about it after this.

  A sliding step to the left pulled her out of Grif’s orbit as she tried to think of something both intelligent and polite to say. “Tell you what, to celebrate Grif’s visit back home, why don’t I bring y’all a bottle of Randi’s best scotch?”

  “That would be nice”—his smile was slightly tilted, both ruining and highlighting the perfection of his angel-blessed face—“but apparently I’m back in town for much more than a visit.”

  3

  Well, hell. Grif dropped back into his chair. He might need something even stronger than scotch after that little face-off with Carlie Beth Parrish. Jesus, his hands were shaking from touching a woman’s ear.

  Or maybe he was just still pissed at the way Jonah had dropped the city manager bomb on him. That had to be it. Afterward, Grif hadn’t said a word even though his insides had been on fire. He’d simply walked away, strolled down the sidewalk as if being manipulated didn’t make him want to do permanent damage to Jonah’s face.

  “She’s even prettier than she was fifteen years ago,” Jonah commented.

  Yeah, he’d noticed that earlier even through the cockeyed ponytail and dirty clothes. Her neck was slender, her skin a pale gold. And that hair—the perfect combination of red and blond. He’d never seen anything like it until he met her, never seen anything like it since. Sometimes he still dreamed of her hair.

  When he’d leaned over the bar and spotted her sitting there, all messy and sweaty, she’d stolen his breath.

  Normally he preferred his women put-together and almost ice cold. But Madison Henry had cured him of that. After what she’d pulled, he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of lies were hiding behind those polished faces.

  But damn if he hadn’t enjoyed the way Carlie Beth stood up behind that bar and wrapped her dignity around her. Met him head-on, word for word. He knew that scotch had burned like hell when she swallowed it, but he admired a woman who knew how to hold her own even when she’d been thrown off balance.

  Between her take-no-shit attitude and the way her nipples had pressed against her T-shirt, he’d wanted to lean across that bar and put his mouth on hers.

  Which pissed him off because it was the first time he’d felt that temptation in months.

  “No ring on her finger,” Jonah commented casually.

  “Doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I know for a fact that she’s not married.”

  That surprised him. When he first moved out west, he hadn’t returned home for close to five years, waiting until he’d made something of himself to visit his family. He’d been curious about Carlie Beth, but by that time, he’d assumed she’d settled down. Nothing could’ve come of him asking about her, so he’d left well enough alone. “If you think she’s so hot, why don’t you ask her out?”

  Jonah’s grin went sharp and tight like a steel trap that had just closed around Grif’s leg. “Why would I do that when it’s obvious you still have a thing for her?”

  A thing? A thing? Sure, he and Carlie Beth had gotten busy—very, very busy—the night before he took off for LA when he was eighteen. Just because he’d tried to talk to her at his mom’s birthday party earlier this year didn’t mean he had a thing for her.

  But his detoxing-from-a-bender hands said something different. “I don’t do hometown girls.”

  “She’s not a girl. Looks like a real woman to me.”

  Grif knocked back the last of his drink, then made a sound low in his throat. “She doesn’t exactly meet my cup-size requirement.”

  “Your what?”

  “I’ve decided to trade up in bra size and down in brain size.” After all, those women were infinitely less dangerous. “Bet Carlie Beth struggles to fill up a B cup.” Yeah, he was being a complete prick, but he didn’t want to admit he remembered exactly how big Carlie Beth’s breasts were.

  “You gotta be shitting me. I’d rather have a hundred of Carlie Beth than a single double-D filled with all that pumped-in crap. I thought Madison Henry would’ve taught you something about messing with fakes. Glad I figured out that kind of woman wasn’t what I wanted.”

  Madison’s dishonesty had been on an entirely different level from super-sized tits, so Grif ignored Jonah’s jab and waved a hand at the bar’s interior. “And this is what you wanted? You sold your company and came back to play emperor in your hometown. That’s messed up.”

  Jonah’s fist came down on the wood tabletop. “No, this town is messed up and I’m fucking fixing it. That’s why I had the city manager clause written into the contract.”

  “Without saying a word to me. I don’t know what the hell you were thinking. I have no interest in being a public servant.” He grabbed his phone from the edge of the table and typed in a Google search. “You have any idea what the average city manager makes?”

  “No,” Jonah sighed. “But I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

  The figures Grif was already scrolling through were pitiful, and the city managers were basically slaves to the town’s citizens. “Looks like about eighty-k a year, and that’s for a city. If you figure this little burg is ten times smaller than the average midsize city, you’re looking at something like—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I passed math,” Jonah said. “Eight grand. Like the money really matters.”

  “Look, Baby Billionaire, some of us still have to work for a living.” Grif leaned over the table and made a gimme motion. “Now, hand over the contract.”

  “I could remind you that your bank account isn’t exactly anemic.” Jonah reached into the chair beside him, then slapped the thick envelope into Grif’s palm.

  Grif thumbed through the paperwork, rapidly looking for an amendment. Back when he’d put himself through business and law school, he’d taught himself how to speed-read. It had been his ace in the hole for finishing a six-year BA to JD program in three and a half years. Once he found what he was looking for, it took him all of twenty seconds to read and absorb it. “This just says the Steele family will provide a city manager. It doesn’t name me specifically.”

  Thank Jesus. It would’ve been humiliating if word had gotten out that the Steele Shark had been bested by his own brother.

  Jonah’s left eyebrow went up. “You know anyone better for the job?”

  “You can’t afford me.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  No way in hell was he going to be a kept man, especially kept by his little brother. “I have a business, a real life, back in LA.” One that had recently cost him both emotionally and professionally.

  “You call that real? Lying heiresses, entitled athletes, and a city full of plastic tits are not a life. At least not a real one. Now, what Carlie Beth has under her T-shirt? Those are real life.”

  “Excuse me?” The real-life Carlie Beth stood not a foot from their table, a full bottle and two clean glasses on her tray.

  “Damn.” Jonah covered his eyes with his hand. “That wasn’t what it sounded like. I was just…”

  “Yeah, Jonah, why don’t you tell the lady what you were just saying?”

  Carlie Beth set down the three items, each with a definitive clink. “I really don’t want to know.”

  “We were having an argument and—”

  “About my boobs?” For whatever reason, Carlie Beth turned her glare on Grif when his brother was obviously the one at blame here.

  So Grif tried the smile that had once gotten him out of everything from speeding tickets to unwanted advances by a three-hundred-pound defensive end’s wife.
“You have to admit they’re worth talking about.”

  Her glare only flared hotter. “If it wouldn’t get me fired, I would dump that whole bottle on you.”

  And if Grif was reading her right, she’d then break the damn thing over his head. All those years ago, he hadn’t quite realized how fierce this little bit of a woman could be. And he was perversely turned on by it. Maybe spending a little time in Steele Ridge until he could find Jonah a city manager wouldn’t be a total loss. “Rather than that, why don’t you let me make up for my idiot brother’s unfiltered mouth by taking you out to dinner?”

  Her nose flared, and it was about the cutest thing Grif had ever seen. He half expected her to paw the ground with her cowboy boot and charge. “No, thank you.”

  Oh, she’d thrown it down now. And he would sure as hell be picking it up. But he was a patient man, so all he said was, “Suit yourself.”

  She calmly turned away. No whirling, no stomping. But her clipped stride and the sassy swing of her hips communicated her anger.

  Jonah stared after her like a puppy that had been swatted with a rolled-up newspaper. “Mouth, meet foot. I should do something to make up for—”

  “Don’t even think about it, little brother. You may have temporarily backed me into a corner with that city manager shit, but you’re not going to screw me over by making a play for my woman.”

  “Your woman?” Jonah’s head shake was slow as if he were trying to understand someone whose picnic basket was not just shy of a few sandwiches, but completely empty. “That sure happened fast, and somehow, I think Carlie Beth might disagree.”

  “You screwed me into sticking around town for a little while, and I deserve a distraction.”

  “What’s a little while?”

  “Until I find you a city manager willing to work for the kind of chicken feed this town can afford. Max of two weeks and not a minute more.”

  * * *

  “You can’t ignore them,” Randi said, standing near Carlie Beth’s left shoulder. “They’re your customers.”

  The rag she was using to viciously scrub her drink tray wrapped around her fingers and cut off circulation. “If that bottle doesn’t keep them happy for a while, I don’t know what will.”

  “Which is exactly the reason you need to get over there and offer them food. Hot wings, potato skins, those new pork belly fritters. I don’t care what, just something.”

  Before Carlie Beth could make an excuse that would keep her away from the man who’d just crashed back into her world, the bar’s door opened and in strolled Roy Darden, chest puffed up and chin jutting out as if to say try me, asshole. Carlie Beth grimaced and focused on Randi to avoid catching Roy’s attention.

  “What?” Randi asked.

  “Roy just walked in.”

  “You know what sucks about being a business owner?”

  “The fact that some customers are jerkwads?”

  “Bingo.” Randi took a quick peek over her shoulder at the man who worked at a local auto repair shop. “I can’t believe you ever went out with him.”

  Carlie Beth bristled at having her judgment questioned. “Have you looked at him?”

  “He’s gorgeous, I’ll give you that. But everyone in three counties knows he knows it and uses it.”

  Yeah, with his thick dark hair, country-boy smile, and ripped body, Roy turned his share of heads. He’d turned Carlie Beth’s. Something she’d regretted for the past year, ever since they’d gone on their first and only date and he’d assumed a steak dinner and a glass of cheap wine entitled him to shove his hands under her skirt. He was lucky she hadn’t marched down to the sheriff’s department and reported attempted rape.

  Roy sauntered over to the one empty table still left in Carlie Beth’s station. It was like the man had a secret sense. He unerringly ended up in her area. Every. Damn. Time.

  “Kris can take that table.”

  “No.” Carlie Beth sighed. “I wouldn’t do that to her even though she’s management. I can handle him.” Maybe.

  She slapped a smile on her face and headed in his direction. If she kept having to fake her expressions like this all night, she’d need a chisel to get them off her face.

  Before she could make her way to Roy’s table, someone else reached out and caught her by the elbow. Dave. Holy bejesus, were all the men she’d ever dated or who’d ever wanted to date her planning to come in tonight? If so, Austin should show up any minute.

  In a low voice, Dave said, “Roy Darden is trouble.”

  Her cheeks trembled with the effort of keeping them lifted. “He’s also a customer.”

  “Tell Randi—”

  “Dave”—his name came out sharper than she intended—“I’m not telling Randi anything. I’m doing my job. So please let me get back to it.” She stared down at his hand until he released her arm.

  She slipped away and approached Roy’s table. “Evening, Roy. What can I get you?”

  His once-over didn’t feel anything like Grif’s had earlier. This perusal felt slimy and black, making her skin ripple as if she’d stepped in week-old roadkill. “How about two little tits with a side of sweet ass?”

  Carlie Beth bit down on her tongue so hard the taste of blood bloomed in her mouth. Remember you owe the orthodontist. “How about an Ass Clown ale or a Dirt Bag IPA?”

  “Guess that’ll do for now,” he said with such a good-natured grin that Carlie Beth knew the subtext had flown right over his head.

  She nodded and strode away, trying not to trip over the toes of her boots as she made a quick getaway. The front door opened again, and this time the person walking in was more welcome.

  “Hey, Yvonne,” Carlie Beth called. Her friend was in her mid-thirties with midnight black pixie-cut hair and had a good six inches on Carlie Beth. Yvonne was also the owner of Triskelion Gallery and first person who’d given her a chance to sell the jewelry and art she really loved making in her backyard forge.

  Yvonne waved and made her way over. “I didn’t know you were working tonight. Looks like a good crowd.” She scanned the room, but there were no tables left, only a couple of stools at the bar.

  “I was just on my way to check on a table, but if you want to grab a stool, I’ll make sure Grady gets you set up.”

  Yvonne looked beyond her. “Now those are two handsome Steele brothers.”

  “You went to school with Britt, right?”

  With a laugh, Yvonne said, “Yep, but it’s not like any of them could go unnoticed.”

  She spoke the absolute truth. “Then why don’t you come over while I check on them?”

  She and Yvonne approached the table, where the bottle of scotch was half-empty, but neither man seemed sloppy drunk. Or even buzzed. She said, “Jonah and Grif, I don’t know if you remember—”

  They both came to their feet and Jonah reached out to wrap Yvonne in a bear hug. “Yvonne Winters. I’ve been meaning to come by and check out your gallery.”

  She poked him in the side. “What’s keeping you? I’ve got lots of art and other goodies that are just looking for a good home.” He released her, and she embraced Grif. Carlie Beth would swear Yvonne lingered in Grif’s arms longer than she had his brother’s. “Well, if it isn’t the handsome sports agent. You know the last time you were in town and I shoved a handful of business cards at you?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, a couple months later, Ian Brinkmann bought several pieces from me, including one of Carlie Beth’s.”

  “One of Carlie Beth’s what?”

  Great. She’d forgotten nothing about this man, down to a birthmark shaped like a hawk in flight on his inner thigh, yet he couldn’t remember what she did for a living. The night they’d been together, she’d just returned from her two-year blacksmithing apprenticeship in Spartanburg. Only nineteen, she’d been so high and excited about her future that she’d not only thrown caution to the wind, but she’d tossed her good sense after it.

  Why else would she have done something tha
t had accidentally changed the entire course of her life?

  “She crafts some of the most beautiful ironwork you’ve ever seen,” Yvonne told Grif.

  “I’ll be sure to come in to the gallery and look for myself.” He gestured toward an empty chair. “Would you like to join us?”

  Although Carlie Beth had been hoping they would offer, the way Grif was behaving toward Yvonne rubbed at her like a rasp. “How about some appetizers? The pork belly fritters are fabulous and we have some dynamite habanero hot wings.” Maybe they’d give Grif indigestion for days.

  “Sure,” Jonah said. “Bring one of each for the table.”

  “You got it.”

  She tried to skate her way past Roy’s table, but he held out his arm like a railroad crossing. “What about me, sweetheart?” he asked with just enough edge to raise the hair on Carlie Beth’s arms.

  “Were you ready to order food?”

  “How about you and me heat something up after you get off work tonight?” Lord, if he thought that droopy-eyed look was sexy, he needed a better mirror.

  “Sorry, but I need to get home.”

  “Just a little ride and I can make you change your mind about that.”

  He couldn’t make her change her mind about him if he suddenly produced a new triple-width gas forge out of thin air. “I’m not dating anyone right now, but thanks for the offer. Why don’t I put in an order of pulled pork sliders for you?”

  She made a show of jotting on her notepad even though she rarely needed it. Then she turned toward the kitchen. Before she could take a full step, she felt a sharp sting across her right butt cheek. Not a love pat but a full-out smack on the ass. Mouth open, she looked back at him to find his palm still in contact with her posterior. “What the hell—”

  “You better get your hand off the lady’s ass before I permanently remove it from your arm.” How Grif had made it from his table to Roy’s that fast, Carlie Beth had no idea. But he was standing there, mouth flat, his fist wrapped tight around the other man’s wrist.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Roy took in Grif’s suit pants and pricey dress shirt. “Look like a pussy to me. Your mommy shine your shoes for you? Or maybe your boyfriend?”