by Remy Landon
Christ. What the fuck? “We usually just share pictures.”
“Which we haven't done yet.” Crumpling his cup and tossing it in the wastebasket, Brock walked back to the table, his expression bright and eager. “I propose we schedule a time to meet, and do it soon. No pressure, but I'm sensing I'm getting close to the finish line. She's practically begging me to fuck her.” He winked.
“What possible reason would there be for a face-to-face meeting?”
“Same reason for doing video instead of photo. Make things more interesting...check out personalities. Just make it part of the contest.”
Brock wouldn't back down—this, Carlo was sure of. Once the man got an idea in his head, he was relentless. As much as he didn't care for the idea of Brock meeting Cassandra, Carlo supposed he could agree to it. “All right. I'm hosting an engagement party for my sister and her fiance in a couple of weeks. I'll invite you, and your...date.”
“Gianna's getting married? Damn, I thought I might have a chance to be your brother-in-law.”
Carlo gave him a wry smile. “I think we both know that never would have happened.”
“You're right. I enjoy my bachelorhood, and you love your sister too much to let her get entangled with the likes of me. So when's the party?”
“Saturday, September 18th. At Bent Brook.”
“Excellent.” Brock took out his phone and flicked his finger across the screen. “I'll enter the date and tell Sheryl.”
The two resumed their discussion of San Antonio, but Carlo found himself drifting into thoughts of Cassandra. This was proving far more difficult than he'd expected. What had begun as a simple, enjoyable game had somehow morphed into something much more complex and serious. Conflicting feelings or not, it was clear he needed to proceed with this contest—see it through, and prove to himself that he could look upon Cassandra as he did every other woman since this competition first began. She was a conquest, a means to an end. And nothing more.
Carlo cleared his throat and addressed his colleague. “Send me the link to that alarm clock. I'd like to get one.”
Brock smiled.
chapter twenty-five ~ Cassandra
Even without looking up, Cassandra could feel Ingrid's eyes upon her, scrutinizing, criticizing, as she practiced braiding Brownie's mane. Dressage at Devon was just over three weeks away, looming like a glistening mountain waiting to be climbed. The nearer it got, the more stressed out Ingrid became. Cassandra's role at the show would be to serve as Ingrid's assistant/go-fer/punching bag—in other words, business as usual. She would be at trainer Judy's beck and call as well. But it would be exciting, actually participating in a small way at the show, after being a spectator for several years. The venue had everything from an art gallery to a country fair to a midway, and the numerous events ranged from carriage pleasure drive to ladies' side saddle (which struck Cassandra as a bit silly). The haughty attitude of some of the participants could be annoying, but focusing on the gorgeous, gleaming, spirited animals more than made up for that.
“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 was brusque as she separated the middle of Brownie's mane into sections and moistened them with water from a spray bottle. With gentle tugs, she ran a comb through the first section, separated it and began to weave, her nimble fingers making a perfect braid.
Cassandra had seen the finished product of Dutch dressage braids many times, and although she knew Brownie would look absolutely elegant, she preferred a horse's mane to be natural and free-flowing. From the way the gelding was shifting and occasionally bumping her with his nose, she could tell he'd prefer to be chilling in the pasture rather than standing at the cross-ties. But he was such a good boy and would put up with this practice session. She stroked his blaze and he nuzzled her hand affectionately.
“Are you watching, Cassandra?” Ingrid's tone had turned sharper.
“Yes, sorry.”
“I want to be sure you know how to do this. It will free me up for other preparations.” Ingrid reached into the apron she was wearing and pulled out a black elastic to secure the braid. “I'll do the first rosette, and then you can try.”
While Cassandra watched, her mind drifted to Carlo, as was the case so often these days.
She hadn't heard much from him over the past week, which bothered her. And it bothered her that she was bothered. It was stupid, really, to even question it. It wasn't like they were in a relationship. There was no way in hell she wanted to put herself into a situation of actually pining over someone and being all needy. No thank you. She probably wasn't hearing from Carlo because he was crazy busy. He had mentioned something about a big meeting in Texas coming up. She wasn't sure exactly what a CEO of a valve company did, but obviously, he had important obligations. Still, the desire to see him again, to be touched by him, was like a slow-growing vine within her, sending out tiny shoots that poked and clung.
And it wasn't like she had gotten to know him better with time. Not really. It was almost as though she had more questions than answers. There was a part of him that was guarded and dark, and she couldn't be sure if delving deeper into the man that was Carlo Leone would alleviate some of her concerns, or heighten them. The only person she knew who could possibly give her some information was standing beside her, wielding a stony expression and a thick needle. But it was worth a try.
“So...” Cassandra laced her voice with nonchalance. “Do you think Carlo will be going to the show?”
Ingrid turned to her, lips pressed together and brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. “He hasn't said that he will. Why?”
“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 is a private and complicated man.”
“Complicated how?”
Ingrid expelled an irritated sigh. “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.”
Bristling, Cassandra had to grit her teeth not to snap back, you mean a stable employee like you? Jesus, she hated it when Ingrid got all high and mighty. Which was basically every day—especially lately.
Ingrid pulled the needle through the rosette, giving terse instructions. “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-inserted the needle, pulling it through another few times. “There. Now, you try.”
Reluctantly, Cassandra stepped forward and began dividing out another section of mane to braid. She had no doubt Ingrid would find fault with her work.
A sigh from her boss. Oh good, here it comes. The criticism.
“Look—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 paused, frowning. “As I said, Carlo is a complicated man. There are events in his past that have been virtually insurmountable for him.”
This was unexpected: Ingrid, watching out for her? Equally as unsettling was the feeling that this went beyond casual, friendly advice. It sounded as though Ingrid was actually warning her.
Cassandra paused in her braiding to meet Ingrid's eyes. “Do you mean his mom and stepdad?”
“Yes, although that's not—” Ingrid pursed her lips and folded her arms across her chest. “I don't feel comfortable discussing his private
life. I just wanted to give you a bit of advice, so that you don't spend too much time imagining any sort of relationship with him. Carlo doesn't do relationships.”
This last statement was delivered more sharply than the rest. Was Ingrid speaking from experience? Her face was pinched with tension. She would be so much prettier, Cassandra thought, if she would just relax, instead of walking around as tightly wound up as that rosette in Brownie's mane. It was hard to tell if Ingrid was truly concerned about Cassandra's welfare, or if she wanted to crush any budding romance between Cassandra and Carlo because she was jealous.
But she didn't need Ingrid to hint that there was more to Carlo than met the eye. And there was more here than Cassandra just wanting him to touch her again. She wanted to explore him—his body, of course, but beyond that, his heart and his soul. Despite all the uncertainty and potential risks, it was clear to Cassandra she had to know more.
chapter twenty-six ~ Carlo
There were few constants in his life, Carlo mused, and he was damned glad his secretary was one of them. She sat with him at the conference table, her fingers flying over the keyboard of her laptop as she updated her notes on Gianna's engagement party. There was something comforting about Estelle—solid, unflappable, unwavering. She was a wonderful combination of wry humor and maternal concern.
She suddenly looked up at him, startled to find his gaze upon her. Her pale blue eyes narrowed behind her rectangular 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 looked at Carlo severely as she tapped the backspace key to make a correction. “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 abruptly.”
“Probably some woman.”
“It sounded like business. I could have sworn he said the name Ned.”
Carlo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The Ned that came to mind was Brock's former boss and the CEO of Columbia Valve, one of their biggest competitors.
“Hmm...interesting. I'm not too concerned, though—Brock knows which side his bread is buttered on.”
“All right.” Estelle nodded. “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 removed her glasses, set them on the table and blinked at him expectantly.
“Why yes, I am. She's included in the forty-two.”
“Does she have a name?”
“She does. Cassandra.”
“That's actually quite lovely. 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 was prying, but he didn't mind. It was Estelle, after all. “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 flashed him a rare, soft smile, her eyes bright with tenderness, then quickly resumed her usual brisk tone as she slipped 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.”
Carlo shook his head, chuckling. Estelle knew just how to handle him. A steady diet of safe, light conversation, sprinkled with morsels of intimate thought to remind him that there was more to her, and to life, than just business and banter.
“I'm working on it, 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 sighed, closed her laptop and stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her navy blue skirt. “All right. You win. And thank you.”
“I always win, Estelle.” He winked. “Also—are we all set for the staff wine and cheese party tomorrow?”
“Yes. The caterer is setting up at 4:30.”
“Excellent.” His secretary was pushing in her chair and getting ready to leave the room when he stopped her with a question. “By the way, Madame Secretary—are you going to be bringing anyone to the party?”
She turned to him, frowning and flustered but not displeased. “It's a strong possibility.” His dumbfounded look prompted a laugh from 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.”
“I don't know what to say. I'm seriously stunned. I've never known you to want to—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?” Carlo couldn't hide his astonishment.
“If you must know, yes. They've been few and far between. I'm very picky—also like someone else we know.” She paused, 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.” A small, sad smile played with Estelle's lips. “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.”
Carlo found himself struggling for a response. Estelle had caught him off guard, and her words were clashing with how he had to live his life. “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.” Recognizing Carlo's cue, Estelle's tone had lightened. In her eyes was 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 arched a sly eyebrow. “Of course, you do seem to be doing just fine by yourself.”
“Touché. And thank you again. For everything.”
Estelle nodded and smiled as she closed the door behind her. An unexpected rush of warmth rippled through him—that private, no-nonsense Estelle would care enough about him to share something intimate. Until now, he'd never seen even a glimpse of vulnerability in her. He knew why she had shared, and he knew she only had his best interests at heart. She, and Gianna, believed that his
heart needed to be open again in order for him to be happy. Which was the complete opposite of his viewpoint. They didn't understand. They meant well, but they didn't understand.
Carlo settled back against his desk chair, folding his hands behind his head. Jesus, if he'd known things were going to get this complicated, he never would have pursued Cassandra. That day they met at Windswept, he would have said hello, maybe flirted a bit, and then went on his merry way without a second thought. But remembering how she had looked that day, sweet and unassuming, with that gorgeous fiery hair pulled away from her face—those aquamarine eyes that changed from innocent to inquisitive to aroused—the feisty way she raised her chin to let him know she was not to be trifled with—he had been unable to walk away from that. Thinking of her toned body, flawless skin and the way her mouth felt on his made his pulse quicken.
He closed his eyes, commanding his arousal to fade. Recently, he had made the decision to have only minimal physical contact with Cassandra until the final display. It would be extremely difficult, he knew, but the purpose for this would be twofold: her desire to be with him would be heightened and she would therefore be more agreeable to his demands, and (perhaps more importantly) he would keep his focus on the contest.
Confidence restored, Carlo felt his tense muscles relax as he opened up his email. Work, exercise, and a little pleasure on the side had kept him going. Cassandra was his little pleasure on the side. When the game ended, he would let her go. Catch and release, just as he had done with the others. He knew that Cassandra would be surprised by this, maybe even hurt, but as much as he hated the idea of causing her pain, ending this would be better for her in the long run.
It would be better for both of them.
chapter twenty-seven ~ Cassandra
“You got a fella yet?” Walter's watery blue eyes were twinkling as Cassandra set down the plate of cheese fries in front of him.
Stan, sitting across from Walter, snorted. “Give it up, old man—our girl here is not about to di-vulge any information to the likes of you.” He jabbed a fork into the mountain of fries, lifted it to his mouth and chewed noisily.