Arrogant Devil(8)

He’s wearing a baseball cap backward, and the ends of his dark brown hair wing out from beneath it. These are all things I don’t want to notice, I just do. The fact that his black t-shirt stretches across his chest when he props his hands on his hips is a fact, not an opinion, and his steely gaze leveled on me? Yeah, that’s also kind of hard to ignore, especially now that everything has gone silent.

What a strange turn of events to find out that my future boss is a very attractive man. Good for him. I don’t care. I’m too focused on the fact that his chiseled features are locked in an annoyed scowl. Everyone else seemed amused by my interruption of the all-hands meeting, but not him. It’s probably hard enough keeping control of these guys in normal circumstances, and I’ve just waltzed in and stolen their attention.

“Can I help you?” he asks with a hard tone. What he really means to say is, Go away, just like my taxi therapist and the old woman from the house.

I straighten my shoulders and dredge up every ounce of confidence I have left in me. It’s not much, and my voice barely carries over the group.

“What was that?” he asks, impatient.

“Speak up!” someone shouts.

I clear my throat and try again. “I’m here for a job.”

There’s another round of laughter. These people seriously need a comedy club, or at least a few Adam Sandler movies on DVD. They find the most mundane things hilarious.

“Hey Jack, she could be your first manicured ranch hand.”

The guys really crack up at that.

Jack, to his credit, doesn’t laugh.

He shakes his head and steps forward. “You must be the princess.”

“What?”

“I heard your story. I was hoping you wouldn’t show.”

My mouth drops open, but before I can come up with a fiery reply, he wraps his hand around my bicep and drags me away from the group. There are catcalls and profane comments behind us. I scowl at the guys over my shoulder, but it only fuels the fire.

“What about the all-hands, Jack? Watch where you put yours!”

“She can help me out in the fields! I’ll train her quick!”

“This must be that fine southern hospitality you always hear about,” I hiss, trying to yank my arm out of his hold.

His sharp eyes cut to me as he continues leading me toward the house. “You’ll have to forgive our poor country folk manners,” he replies in an affected drawl filled with sarcasm. “We aren’t used to entertaining royalty.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He whips open the screen door and pushes me inside the house.

Without a doubt, it’s the worst introduction I’ve ever had.



4



Jack



“You’re a little rough around the edges, aren’t you?” she says, no hint of amusement laced in her words.

I look up from my desk to see her studying me with an angry scowl. I’ve really pissed her off. Good. The sooner she starts to hate it here, the sooner she’ll leave.

I gesture to the chair in front of my desk.

“Have a seat.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“Suit yourself.”

She locks her arms across her chest, and we participate in what feels like the world’s longest staring contest. Smoke plumes from her ears. If she had a six-shooter, it’d be aimed at my heart.

I tip my head, studying her. “You’re really Helen’s sister?”

“We have the same eyes.”

No kidding—they’re light blue, rarest color I’ve ever seen—but the similarities start and stop there. I’ve never thought of Helen as attractive. She’s squared away safely in my mind as my matronly executive assistant; she doesn’t exist to attract or un-attract me. She’s my employee, and a damn good one at that. Meredith, though…she’s different.

“Helen said you need a job.”

Meredith nods. “Correct. I can start today.”

I chuckle at that. “Seems like you and I haven’t gotten off to a great start, and sometimes your gut knows something before the brain catches up. Maybe you oughta look for employment elsewhere.”

With that, something in her expression breaks. She’s still fuming, but her shoulders sag. Her attention darts past my shoulders, out the window. Her lip quivers. I’m not very good at reading women, but I’m damn near sure she’s about to cry. I thought I’d be happier getting to this point.

“You ever work on a ranch before?”

“I think you can probably guess the answer to that,” she snaps, blue eyes slicing back to me.

I resist the urge to smile at her fire. “You can put the claws away. We’re just talking.”

She sighs and steps forward, finally sagging down into the seat I offered her. Her purse drops to the floor at her feet as she relaxes back against the cushion, and I take advantage of the opportunity to study her. Her hair is the color of dark coffee, almost black, probably fake. Her nails are trimmed and manicured. Her features—though currently smudged with dirt and what looks to be a few drops of blood—are feminine and beautiful. I have no doubt she was a heartbreaker back in California. Her husband is probably missing her right about now.

Once she’s situated, she looks back up at me, waiting.