by Remy Rose
“Saturday, September 18th. At Bent Brook.”
“Excellent.” Brock takes out his phone and flicks his finger across the screen. “I'll put it in my calendar and tell Sheryl.”
We get back to discussing the San Antonio meeting, but I find myself drifting into thoughts of Cassandra. This is proving to be a lot more challenging than I’d ever expected. What started as a simple, entertaining game has morphed into something a hell of a lot more complex and serious. It’s more evident than ever that I need to see this thing through—prove to myself that I can look upon Cassandra just like I did every other woman since this competition started. She’s a conquest, a means to an end. And nothing more.
I clear my throat. “Send me the link to that alarm clock. I'd like to get one.”
Brock smiles.
chapter twenty-five ~ Cassandra
Even without looking up, I can feel Ingrid's eyes on me, scrutinizing, criticizing, as I practice braiding Brownie's mane. Dressage at Devon is just over three weeks away, looming like a glistening mountain waiting to be climbed. And the closer it gets, the more stressed out Ingrid becomes. My role at the show will be to serve as Ingrid's assistant/go-fer/punching bag—in other words, do just what I always do. I’m sure trainer Judy will be ordering me around, too. But I’m excited to go, actually, and be part of it after being a spectator for several years. It’s an awesome venue—everything from an art gallery to a country fair to a midway, with tons of events ranging from carriage pleasure drive to ladies' side saddle (can’t take that one seriously, sorry). I plan to ignore the snobby attitudes of some of the participants—including Ingrid and Judy—and just focus on the gorgeous, gleaming horses.
“Cassandra, that looks too wimpy. We want to create the illusion of a shorter neck, so we need to make a bigger braid. Here—let me show you.” Ingrid's voice is abrupt as she separates the middle of Brownie's mane into sections and moistens them with water from a spray bottle. With gentle tugs, she runs a comb through the first section, separates it and begins to weave, making a perfect braid. Of course.
I’ve seen the finished product of Dutch dressage braids many times, and even though I know Brownie will look absolutely elegant, I still much prefer a horse's mane to be natural and free-flowing. From the way this poor boy is shifting and nudging me with his nose, I know he’d rather be chilling in the pasture with his buddies rather than standing at the cross-ties. He’s so good to put up with this. I stroke his blaze as he nuzzles me.
“Are you watching, Cassandra?” Ingrid's tone has more of an edge to it.
“Yes, sorry.”
“I want to be sure you know how to do this. It will free me up for other preparations.” Ingrid reaches into the apron she’s wearing and pulls out a black elastic to secure the braid. “I'll do the first rosette, and then you can try.”
I’m trying to focus, but my mind drifts to another gorgeous creature—Carlo. I haven’t heard much from him over this past week, which kind of bothers me, even though I know it shouldn’t. It’s stupid, really...it’s not like we’re in a relationship. I’m most likely not hearing from him because he’s crazy busy. He mentioned something about a big meeting in Texas coming up. I’m not exactly sure what the CEO of a valve company does, but obviously, he has important obligations.
But God...I want to see him again. Get to know him, as much as he’ll let me.
I haven’t gotten very far with that. It’s almost like I have more questions than answers. There’s a part of him that’s guarded and dark, and I’m not sure if exploring that side of him will alleviate some of my uneasiness, or heighten it. The only person I know who could possibly give me some information is standing beside me, wielding a sour expression and a thick needle. But it’s worth a try.
“So...” I lace my voice with nonchalance. “Do you think Carlo will be going to the show?”
Ingrid turns to me, lips pressed together and brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. “He hasn't said that he will. Why are you asking?”
“I was just wondering.”
“And why is that? Are you...involved with him?”
“I—no. I'm not. I was just curious, since he's come here a couple of times.” Like literally “come,” including directly above our heads...
“Carlo is a very busy man. He does take a great deal of pride in our horses, but I'm not sure that he'll go to Devon.”
“Do you know him well?”
“I've known him for a number of years. As far as knowing him well—I would say that very few people have that privilege. He’s a private and complicated man.”
“Complicated how?”
Ingrid sighs, obviously irritated. “Cassandra—I would prefer that you give me your full attention right now. I don't want to have to go over this with you again. And Carlo—Mr. Leone—wouldn't appreciate me discussing his personal life with a stable employee.”
I have to grit my teeth not to snap back, you mean a stable employee like you? I seriously can’t stand it when Ingrid gets all high and mighty. Which is basically every day—especially lately.
She pulls the needle through the rosette, giving instructions in a clipped tone. “The secret is in how you pull the braid up with the thread. You don't want your braid too tight at the base of the neck. See how I'm pulling it toward me?” She re-inserts the needle, pulling it through another few times. “There. Now, you try.”
I step forward reluctantly and begin dividing out another section of mane to braid. No doubt Ingrid’s going to find fault with how I’m doing this. And right on cue, there’s the disapproving sigh.
“Look, Cassandra—I know we're not exactly what you'd call...close. But woman to woman, I want to tell you that you'd be best to pursue other male interests.” Ingrid pauses, frowning. “As I said, Carlo is a complicated man. There are events in his past that have been virtually insurmountable for him.”
What is this? Ingrid, watching out for me? Equally as unsettling is the feeling that this went beyond casual, friendly advice. It sounds like Ingrid is actually warning me.
I pause in my braiding to meet Ingrid's eyes. “Do you mean his mom and stepdad?”
“Yes, although that's not—” Ingrid purses her lips and folds her arms across her chest. “I don't feel comfortable discussing his private life. I just wanted to give you a little advice so you don't spend too much time imagining any sort of relationship with him. Carlo doesn't do relationships.”
This last statement sounds sharper than the rest. Is Ingrid speaking from experience? Her face is pinched with tension. She’d be so much prettier if she would just relax, instead of walking around as tightly wound as the rosette in Brownie's mane. It’s hard to tell if Ingrid is truly concerned about my welfare, or if she wants to crush any budding relationship between Carlo and me because she’s jealous.
It’s definitely not news to me that there’s more to Carlo than meets the eye. And there’s more here than me just wanting him to touch me again. I want to explore him—his body, of course, but beyond that, what’s inside. Even though it’s risky, and maybe even a little dangerous, I have to know more.
chapter twenty-six ~ Carlo
I have very few constants in my life, and I’m damned glad my secretary is one of them. Estelle is sitting with me at the conference table, fingers flying over her laptop keyboard as she updates her notes on Gianna's engagement party. There is something comforting about this woman—she’s solid, unflappable. Unwavering. The perfect combination of dry humor and maternal concern, and there have been too many times to count where I’ve needed both.
She suddenly looks up at me—probably that unbelievable sixth sense of hers feeling my gaze on her. Her pale blue eyes narrow behind her reading glasses. “What are you doing? You know I don't like being stared at.”
“I'm not staring. I'm appreciating.”
“You're also staring. Now, to get back to the guest list. I'm going to call the Club to give a final count. Is it still forty people?”
“Forty-two.
I invited Brock, and he's bringing a date.”
“Of course he is.” Estelle looks at me severely as she taps the backspace key. “I really don't trust that man, Carlo.”
“Why is that?”
“I wasn't sure I should even mention this, but I walked in on a phone conversation Brock was having. You know how I don't knock.”
“I've noticed that about you, yes.”
“He was on his cell phone. He got very agitated with me and ended the call very abruptly.”
“Probably some woman.”
“It sounded like business. I could have sworn he said the name Ned.”
Hmm...the Ned that comes to mind is Brock's former boss and the CEO of Columbia Valve, one of our biggest competitors. “Interesting. I'm not too concerned, though—Brock knows which side his bread is buttered on.”
“I hope you’re right. Back to the party...forty-two is a good number. Enough so that Gianna and Jordan can bask in the good number of guests wanting to wish them well, even though some might be attending for the food. But the party will still be intimate enough for the blissful couple to mingle and connect with everyone.”
“Perfect.”
“Now...will you be bringing anyone?” Estelle removes her glasses, sets them on the table and blinks at me expectantly.
“Why yes, I am. She's included in the forty-two.”
“Does she have a name?”
“She does. Cassandra.”
“That's actually quite a lovely name. Why did I think you were going to be bringing someone named Amber, or Brandy, or Misty?”
“You forgot Bambi.”
“Another stellar selection. But I'm glad it's a Cassandra. And I'm looking forward to meeting her. Speaking of which, where did the two of you meet?
She’s prying, but I don’t mind. I’d shut down anyone else, but not Estelle. “Would you believe at the stable?”
“Windswept?”
“Yes. She works there.”
“If I believed in matters of the spirit, I would say your mother had something to do with it. If I believed.” Estelle flashes me a rare, soft smile, her eyes bright, then quickly resumes her usual brisk tone as she slips on her glasses. “Now. Have you thought of what you'll say for the champagne toast? I'm betting you haven't, but I'd like to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
I shake my head, laughing. This woman knows just how to handle me. A steady diet of safe, light conversation, sprinkled with morsels of intimate thought to remind me that there’s more to her, and to life, than just business and banter. “I'm working on the toast, Estelle.”
“Good. Just don't make it too dry. Gianna is a romantic soul, and she is going to want some feeling in it.”
“No worries. I'll deliver.”
“I know you will. I'm going to check in with the florist. Do you need me to take your suit to the dry cleaners before the party?”
“I'll take care of it. But thank you. You've done a fantastic job with this. And your next paycheck will reflect it.”
“That isn't necessary, Carlo. I enjoy doing things like this.”
“I know. But you've gone above and beyond, and it's appreciated. So let me appreciate you.”
Estelle sighs, closes her laptop and stands up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt. “All right. You win. And thank you.”
“I always win, Estelle.” I wink. “Also—are we all set for the staff wine and cheese party tomorrow?”
“Yes. The caterer is setting up at 4:30.”
“Excellent.” She’s getting ready to leave the room when I stop her with a question. “By the way, Madame Secretary—are you going to be bringing anyone to the party?”
She turns to me, frowning and flustered but not displeased. “It's a strong possibility.”
Whaat? Holy fuck...Estelle with a date? I’d been joking when I asked her.
“Pick your jaw up off the floor, Carlo. Yes, it's true. I went on one of those dating sites, and I've been seeing a very nice man for the past couple of months.”
“Oh. Jesus. I didn’t expect...I mean, I've never known you to want to—uh, be with anyone.”
“You may never have known it, but it doesn't mean it hasn't happened along the way. I'm a private person. Like someone else we know.”
“There have been others?” I guess I need to rethink how well I know this woman.
“If you must know, yes. They've been few and far between, though. I'm very picky—also like someone else we know.” She pauses, hugging her laptop to her chest. “Charlotte, one of my dearest friends, passed away last year, and the last time I visited her, she told me something that changed my life. She said she wished she'd let more people in. In her heart, in her life. Simple words, but they had an impact on me. Charlotte said she hadn't wanted to get close to anyone so she wouldn't get hurt again, since she'd been hurt before. She didn't want to end up alone. And yet, at the end of her life, that's exactly what she was.” She gives a small, sad smile. “I decided then that I didn't want to end up like Charlotte—alone and regretful. Even though I've had pain in my past, I came to the conclusion that the risk of letting someone in was worth the chance that I might be hurt.”
Secretary to CEO of Miller Valve: 2. CEO of Miller Valve: 0. Estelle’s caught me off guard again. But her words are clashing with how I have to live my life, and she has to know this. “I'm glad you've found someone, for however long you're with him. I hope he appreciates what he has in you.”
“Oh, he does. I remind him every day.” She reads my cue, and her tone lightens. There’s something else in her eyes, though—a blend of understanding and disappointment. “I'm heading back to my desk. I'm working on arranging flights for the sales meeting. Let me know if you need anything.” She arches a sly eyebrow. “Of course, you do seem to be doing just fine by yourself.”
“Touché. And thank you again. For everything.”
Estelle nods and smiles as she closes the door behind her. There’s an unexpected, warm rush rippling through me that private, no-nonsense Estelle would care enough about me to share something about her personal life. I know why she did, and I also know that she only has my best interests at heart. She, and Gianna, believe that my heart needs to be open again in order for me to be happy. Which is the complete opposite of my viewpoint.
They don’t get it. I know they mean well, but they don’t get it.
I settle back against my desk chair, folding my hands behind my head. What the fuck have I gotten myself into? If I’d known things were going to get this complicated, I never would have pursued Cassandra. That day we met at Windswept, I could have just said hello, done some minor flirting, then go on my way without another thought. But...remembering how she’d looked that day, sweet and unassuming and sexy as fuck, with that gorgeous, fiery hair pulled away from her face—those aquamarine eyes that changed from innocent to inquisitive to aroused—the way she raised her chin to let me know she wasn’t to be messed with—no fucking chance I was going to walk away from that.
It’s gotten too intense. I’m going to have to dial it back. I’ve made the decision to have only minimal physical contact with Cassandra until the final display. It’ll take all the willpower I have, but there’s a dual purpose here: one, going light on the contact will make Cassandra want more, and she’ll therefore be more agreeable to my demands, and two (most importantly), minimal contact will mean I won’t be thinking with my other head and will be able to keep my focus on the contest.
So. Back to work. As I open up my email, I realize I’m feeling better about all of this, now that I have a new plan in place. Miller Valve, exercise, and a little pleasure on the side have kept me going. Cassandra is my little pleasure on the side. When the game ends, I’ll let her go. Catch and release, just like the others. I know that Cassandra will be surprised by this—probably even hurt—but as much as I fucking hate the idea of causing her pain, ending this will be better for her in the long run.
Better for both of us.
chapter
twenty-seven ~ Cassandra
“You got a fella yet?” Walter's watery blue eyes are twinkling as I set down the plate of cheese fries in front of him.
Stan, who’s sitting across from Walter, snorts. “Give it up, old man—our girl here is not about to di-vulge any information to the likes of you.” He jabs a fork into the mountain of fries, lifts it to his mouth and chews noisily.
I’m trying to keep a straight face as I lean over the table and lower my voice. “Walter, if you have to know, Stan and I have been seeing each other for a while now. We're trying to keep it a secret, because Bruce wouldn't want me dating a customer.” I wink at Stan who winks back and shoots Walter a triumphant look.
Walter slaps his knee, belly jiggling as he laughs along with me. “Be careful, darlin' –Stan might act all cool and calm on the outside, but inside, his rickety ole heart's doing back flips!”
“The truth is, I love both of you equally, and it would be basically impossible to pick between you.”
Stan grins. “The truth is, we're a coupla crotchety old farts, and you're a doll to entertain us.”
Allison appears and shoulder-bumps me. “I hate to interrupt all this frivolity, but one of your orders is up.”
“Thanks...I'll be back with your meals and more entertainment in a bit.” I squeeze Walter's hand and blow a kiss to Stan as I follow Allison to the kitchen. I wasn’t kidding when I said I loved them.
Allison slides steaming platters of blackened catfish and barbecued chicken onto my tray and walks back into the main dining room with me, grabbing a stack of napkins for her tray. “Hey, later when we're closing, I gotta tell you about the latest with my new guy.”
“Ooooh, can't wait!”
“Yeah. It's going really good. And I'd like to hear about you and the Italian Stallion.”
“It’s a deal.” Weird how I used to be reluctant to discuss Carlo with anyone, but now it’s like I want to, because it makes him more real. I just wish I had a more recent update to give Allison. The night in the hayloft two weeks ago was the last time I’ve been with him, and honestly, it’s starting to stress me out. At least Carlo’s texts have been flirty, and he sent one about how he was busy with work but wanted to see me once things settled down. I memorized his last text word for word): I promise that I'll come find you soon. You will need to be prepared, because I'm going to kiss you until you're breathless. And if you follow my instructions and ask nicely, I may even touch you.