“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re stubborn?” He let out a low chuckle, that deep voice tugging at the seams of my resolve.
I had to stay strong. Sharing a car with someone smelling of delicious cologne would not be my professional undoing. “Driven would be a better term.”
“So you’re driven to be as far away from me as possible? I didn’t realize riding in a client’s car made you that nervous.”
It was eerie how perceptive he was. No one besides Lainey and my dad could see through my crap.
“Since you’re my client, I’m looking out for your well-being. What kind of designer would I be if I made you drive on a hurt leg?” I smiled at him. Wait. Was I flirting?
He looked at me, his lips curling into a sincere smile. “That’s really nice of you.”
Those lips. So soft. So unrelenting.
I shuddered.
Down, girl. I had fabric prints to focus on, not the possible pattern of Ryder’s bedspread. Which, by the way, I totally pegged him as a steel-gray comforter guy.
“Ladies first.” Ryder waved his hand toward the van.
As soon as my butt hit the seat, an overwhelming stench of garlic, refried beans, and…barnyard animal hit me like a tidal wave.
The driver gave me a sheepish smile through the rearview mirror as Ryder slid in beside me.
“Does it…smell bad in here to you?” I whispered.
He leaned in, and I was momentarily thankful for the decadent scent of his cologne. It was a mixture of sage with woodsy notes. The scent snaked its way through my central nervous system, constricting vital processing functions, such as thinking and the ability to scoot farther away from him.
“Yes,” he whispered back.
I decided against plugging my nose because I didn’t want to insult the driver. After all, the smell was the least of my worries. Getting to my destination in one piece took precedence. I looked sideways at Ryder again, waffling on my decision not to take his truck. But we were in here, so this was happening, even if it did smell like Old MacDonald and his farm had taken up residence.
“Second and Adams, right by the bookstore.” As I gave him the address for the shop downtown, a weird bleating sound came from the back of the van.
“What the—”
I turned around and stifled a scream as I found myself face to face with a tiny goat, who stared at me over a makeshift cardboard barrier between the middle row of seats and the back, chewing on a piece of hay.
The driver and I connected gazes in the rearview mirror. He said, “That’s Bertha. She’s due to have her babies any hour now, so she’s hanging out with me in the meantime.”
“You’re driving with a pregnant pigmy goat?” Did that phrase just come out of my mouth? The Pacific Northwest was known to be a little eccentric, but this was just bizarre.
The driver arched his brows as if to say you’re the one who needed a ride, so I guess you’re stuck.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take my truck? Or reschedule for another day?” Ryder offered. That would be just what he wanted, to delay this even further. He’d been doing his best not to make this project happen from the start. I needed to remember where my priorities lay.
I darted a glance at him, playing as coy as I could manage with pregnant goat smell doing a full-on assault on my nostrils. “Aren’t you up for an adventure, Ryder?” When, inside, my thoughts were get me out of this vehicle! and OMG, I have eighteen city blocks to pray that I will not have to help deliver a goat.
“It’s better than her being alone for the birth,” the driver said.
The urge to eye roll was strong. Very strong. But I managed to cast my gaze down and fiddle with my phone instead. “Right.” I didn’t know much about farm animals, but I was fairly certain they’d been birthing babies since, well, the beginning of goat time.
The goat bleated and nosed the back of my head.
“Aww, Flash, I think she likes you.”
I scooted closer to the window, trying to get as far away from it as possible. Cats and dogs? Loved them. But I drew the line at anything that could be listed in an Old MacDonald song. I turned and pointed at the goat. “You keep that baby goat inside you for twenty more minutes, missy.”
The goat bleated in response.
Ryder patted the goat’s nose and cooed. “It’s okay. Mean Zoey was just kidding. She’d love to meet your baby.” Those big strong hands moved in gentle strokes along the goat’s head, and my brain fuzzed over.
“Pro snowboarder and a goat whisperer? Is there anything you can’t do?”
“I’m only fluent in Goat. If she were a sheep, all bets would be off.” He looked over and smiled at me. “And I am horrible at table tennis and always manage to overcook my scrambled eggs, in case you were thinking I was too perfect.” He winked.
“Subpar Ping-Pong skills and rubbery eggs. Definitely a deal breaker for most people.”
He rubbed his lips together, almost like he was nervous. “Are they for you?”
I froze. He’d jokingly offered to take me out again while we were at the club, but this time it didn’t seem like he was playing around.
Was it hot in here? So, so very hot. Before I could say something stupid like you can overcook my eggs any day of the week, I popped open the window and the noise of traffic boomed through the air.
I was just scraping the surface when it came to him, and my whole body physically ached to know more. To find out what made this guy tick. Someone that was so protective of his brother but got kicked out of boarding schools, and was able to woo women and then disappear overnight like he’d never existed. So many puzzles that I hadn’t solved yet.
Client. He is your client. There will be no thoughts of breakfast or anything else other than complete professionalism.
Just as I composed myself enough to not fall under the spell of his words, there was a tug at my braid. A fissure of irritation spread through me. Asking me if I’d like him to cook eggs and hair touching were on two different levels. The only people I let touch it were Lainey and my hair dresser. I tried to swipe Ryder’s hand away and was met with fur. And teeth. The tugging grew stronger.
No.
A prickle ran down my spine, and I turned my head slightly to find a pair of beady little eyes glaring at me. Her mouth worked as we endured a stare-off, pulling my head slightly to the side each time she chewed.
Holy crap.
Holy crap!
My hair, which took seven times of watching a YouTube tutorial to do this morning, was in the mouth of a goat. She eyeballed me.
Out of the corner of my eye, Ryder tensed. “Flash, don’t move,” he said in a calm, slow voice.
“Help,” I squeaked. Hysteria bubbled up in my voice. There was no keeping my cool. This was my hair. My hair. I spent more money on hair products than I did on food each month. And it was in the mouth of something that stepped in its own feces.
The driver looked in the rearview mirror and he cringed. “Holy shit. Just sit still.” He pointed a finger and glared in the mirror. “Bertha. You let the woman’s hair go.”
The goat continued grinding her teeth and my hair, ignoring the cab driver’s warning.
Sweat beaded along the driver’s forehead, and he swiped at it with his sleeve. He cut his gaze to me, his cheeks flushed. “I’m so sorry. Bertha has a thing for flowers. She especially loves scented shampoos. Bertha, let go!” he screamed.
Of course my shampoo happened to be made of tea tree oil mixed with vanilla and lavender.
No. This was not happening. A goat wasn’t munching on my hair because of my choice in products.
“Yes, Bertha, drop the hair, good girl,” I tried in my best soothing voice.
She butted my head with her nose. Damn goat.
“I think she’s bitter you ignored her earlier.”
“It was warranted.” If this goat ruined my hair, she was as good as dead to me.
He gave a gentle reassuring squeeze to my thigh. “Just
hold on a sec. Let me see if I can distract her. Do you have any food in your purse?”
“I think I have a granola bar. Just take it.” I kicked him my purse, and he picked it up, gingerly going through the contents.
He dug deeper, almost to his elbow, searching. “Jeez, how many tubes of lip gloss do you need?”
“Food, Ryder.”
“An Allen wrench? What is this, the Mary Poppins bag?” He paused and dug a little deeper, unearthing a granola bar. “Aha.”
“C’mon, hurry up.” I tried to shoot him a glare for taking his good ol’ time, but Bertha continued to use my hair as a chew toy. I bit back a sob climbing up my throat.
Keep it together. You can cry in the bathroom later.
He unwrapped the bar, and the goat immediately dropped my braid in favor of a sweeter treat. I slumped into the seat and let out a whimper as my fingers circled the sopping mess that was my hair.
My lips quivered as I hit a jagged piece. “How bad is it, on a scale of one to utterly destroyed?” Getting an appointment with my stylist took weeks in advance.
Ryder moved in closer and sucked in a breath. “It’s not as bad as it could be. Don’t freak out, okay?”
Why is it that whenever someone says to not freak out, the first instinct is to lose your shit? “Um, okay?”
He swiped his hand across my braid and grabbed a small chunk, at least half the braid, and held it in front of me. “I, uh, think you got a haircut from a goat.”
“Oh my God.” My hair. My hair that had taken months just to grow out long enough to even put into a braid. Gone in sixty seconds, thanks to a damn goat.
He gave a strained smile. “It’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad,” I repeated. My vision blurred with red as I grabbed my fistful of hair out of his hand and shoved it toward the driver’s face. “See what your goat did? Do you see this?”
The driver paled and averted his gaze to the road.
“I am not paying your fare. And you can write me a check for the haircut I need to have now that your goat gave me a makeover.”
“And you.” I turned to Ryder, who was chuckling softly. “Don’t even get me started on you.”
He held his hands up. “Me? I helped distract Bertha. That earns me some points.”
“Then why the hell are you laughing?”
“I’m not laughing because it’s funny. It’s just so damn ridiculous. This type of shit could only happen to you, Zoey. You’re a magnet for disaster.” He laughed again, and I smacked him with the piece of braid in my hand.
And then looked down at the hair, wet and matted, completely shredded. A hysterical bubble of laughter caught me off-guard. He was right. This really was the most insane thing. Before I knew it, I was doubled over, tears streaming down my face as I cackled, the goat still working on my granola bar.
The driver looked at both of us in the rearview mirror, eyes wide.
“I like when you laugh,” Ryder said. “You have a nice one.” Then he stiffened, like he’d meant to keep this comment to himself.
The driver took that moment to pull over and let us out at our destination, awkwardness hanging heavy in the air. He apologized profusely and handed me a few twenties to pay for my hair appointment. I gave the goat one more glare before I slid out of the van, fisting my braid in one hand and my purse in the other. She continued working on the food, giving zero shits about what had just gone down.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and straightened, a gust of wind ruffling my frayed, goat-chomped locks against my cheek. “Thank you—for saving the rest of my hair.”
“At your service. Just like that duke of yours.” He smirked.
“Right.” My skin prickled as memories from our night stuck in the resort washed over me. I’d been so close to letting go, putting my trust into this man who had done nothing but proven he was going to leave again. No matter how pretty his words were, I had a job to do, one to keep. “Ryder, I have to ask, would you like me to pass your account to one of my other partners? I think you might feel more comfortable with another designer.” Even if it killed me to pass up a TV segment on one of my designs, it was the right thing to do, to offer this. My common sense was the eye of the storm, and these feelings were the debris and clouds swirling around it, blinding me.
His expression softened, and the smile faded from his lips. “I’m sorry, Zoey. Seriously, I was just trying to make light of the situation. I don’t want to work with anyone else from your firm.”
I shifted my gaze to the storefront ahead of us, not trusting myself to look in his eyes. “This job in particular means a lot to me. There’s a lot at stake with getting ahead in my career—I can’t let anything get in the way of that.” Especially not someone who had a track record of disappearing, and who was already wishy-washy about the project in general.
“I said I’d give this an honest chance, and I meant it. I’m prepared to be wowed by the wonder that is fabric samples.” He gestured to the building. It could be taken as smartass, but he seemed genuine.
I made the mistake of looking at him, seeing the heat in his eyes, the pure intensity in the way he regarded me…
Nope. Would not go there. Just because he did the chivalrous thing saving my hair—mostly—from a goat did not mean my body needed to react to him in that way.
“Great. Let’s do this.”
“Ladies first.” He pulled open the door and motioned for me to go first.
…
Ryder
As we walked into the fabric store, I was sure of two things: Zoey was so incredibly sexy when she was pissed off, and even if it went against the ingrained need to keep things simple, I couldn’t stay away from this woman. One night had always been enough with other girls. With Zoey, I wanted to know more than what she liked in the bedroom. I wanted to know what the hell she was thinking every time she looked at me, and why she shut me down consistently. Her determination and focus in everything she did was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. Someone that was so proud of her work, that fought for what she believed in.
“Okay, should we start with window treatments?” She tucked the piece of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat.
I tore my gaze from her. Ever since we started this project, I’d acquired a problem. I seemed to be going through a second round of puberty where I stared a beat too long, reduced to a complete jumble of raw sensations. Need. Want. Must have. Words that only made an appearance when I was around Zoey. Or thinking about her.
“Lead the way.” I gestured to the aisles upon aisles of the most boring shopping trip of my life. Jason would probably shit himself if he found out I’d voluntarily offered to go on this excursion. Even I didn’t completely understand why I was here.
As we made our way through the maze of fabrics and swatches, my eyes glazed over at about the fiftieth sample. This had to be the driest job ever. Worse than heading a company. From what I’d seen of Jason’s office and his insomnia ever since he joined my grandfather’s firm, it’d be a cold day in hell before I chose a corner office with a view over something with more freedom.
“How about this one?” She held up yet another flimsy blue piece of fabric.
“I don’t know. Is that the same one you showed me a couple of swatches ago?”
“Are you even paying attention?” She swatted my chest. The gesture caught us both off-guard, and her hazel eyes widened. If she wasn’t so clear about her boundaries, I’d call it for what it was—flirting. She cleared her throat and quickly apologized. “The last ones I showed you were white and cerulean.”
“Is that even a color? Or is that one of those made-up names like in the crayon boxes?”
She groaned. “For someone who was so adamant about picking out samples, I don’t think your heart’s quite in it.”
“You’re right. It’s not. I hate this.” I grinned at her.
She blinked rapidly and sucked in her cheeks. Her eyes narrowed as she clutched the fabric sample in her hand as i
f imagining it were my neck. “Then why did you ask me to take you?”
She was two seconds from kicking me out of this excursion, and I said the first thing that came to mind. “Because I like being around you.” My own words surprised me, and I quickly looked away. What the hell was this voodoo magic?
Pink tinged her cheeks, and she was getting riled up again. Something about her ripped open a primal part inside of me.
Want.
Need.
Must have.
It overrode my number one rule. Something told me, though, that she’d be worth breaking the rules.
Screw it. I’d break five hundred rules to have her lips on mine again.
“Ryder…”
Her mouth opened and closed, and I could tell she was trying to come up with a polite way of telling me off. Dammit, all I wanted to do was back her up against the shelving unit and fist my hands in her hair, to kiss her mercilessly until she realized just how wrong she had it. We already knew our chemistry was off the charts.
“Ryder what?” I prompted. “Tell me, Zoey.”
She shook her head. “I’m obviously not thinking clearly.” She lifted the jagged braid. “I think I still have goat PTSD.”
“You’re blaming the flush trailing down your neck on a pregnant pigmy goat? You can do better than that.” I moved a step closer to her, bridging the gap.
“No.” She swallowed hard, looking up at me with desperate eyes. She’d given me that look before, though that other time she’d been more focused on getting closer, not farther away. “But I wouldn’t have been distracted if you weren’t”— she motioned to me and scoffed—“there. My hair might have lived to see another day.”
“I’ll take my power of distraction as a compliment.” There was no going back now. I’d fought this, ignored this feeling for weeks now, and it wasn’t getting any easier. I was not going to piss away a chance with her just because I was her client.
“Can’t focus on anything else when we’re in the same room, can you?” I moved in closer, and she backed up a few steps, bumping into the shelves. All it would take to kiss her would be me caging her in, pressing my body against hers.
The Rule Maker (Rule Breakers) Page 9