by Remy Landon
His colleague was standing in the archway as if waiting for others to notice him. Leave it to Brockton Dall to want to make an appearance. “I'll give you some private time with your snack cake,” he told Cassandra, winking. “One of my colleagues just came in...I'll bring him over to meet you.”
He felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. No worries, he told himself. Introductions, perhaps a little small talk, and then Brock will take his date and go find his table. With any luck, Brock would leave the party early—especially since he was really only here to see Cassandra.
“Well, here's the host of the party now.” Brock was smiling broadly, his arm around his companion's waist. As usual, he looked cool and confident and impeccably dressed, wearing a taupe suit and light orange, button-down shirt. The woman was attractive—tall, slim and sleek, with short black hair tucked behind her ears. Her red dress was strapless and clingy, revealing a modest amount of cleavage. She had the air of someone who was trying to appear comfortable but was not. Carlo found himself feeling almost sorry for her.
“Carlo, this is Sheryl. Sheryl, this is the illustrious CEO of Miller Valve.”
Carlo smiled, reaching out to take her hand. “Very nice to meet you.”
“Thank you. You as well.” She turned abruptly to Brock. “I'm going to find the ladies' room. Would you get me a drink? Sangria, or a Cosmo. Surprise me.”
Shaking his head and chuckling, Brock watched her walk away. Carlo raised his eyebrows. “Looks like you still have some work to do.”
“She likes to give the impression that she's in charge. It's become a different story in private, I assure you. But I have to admit, it's been a challenge. Although that's the whole point—right, friend?”
A tightness in his gut, and then a stab of resentment. Right, friend.
“So where's yours? Can't wait to check her out.” Brock's green eyes were bright with eagerness.
He might as well just get it the fuck over with. “She's at our table,” he said curtly. “I'll introduce you.”
Cassandra had been joined by Estelle and Martin, and the three of them looked to be engaged in comfortable conversation, as though they were old friends. The change in Estelle's expression when she saw Brock was not lost on Carlo. Cassandra looked up expectantly, her face radiant with happiness. Happiness at seeing him.
Carlo cleared his throat. “Cassandra, I'd like—this is my colleague, Brock.” The words I'd like you to meet had become caught in his throat. He was unaccustomed to stumbling over his words, and he could feel Estelle's eyes on him.
Twisting in her chair, Cassandra offered her hand to Brock, who bent down and kissed it. Son of a bitch. Carlo's hands curled into fists, and he instantly chided himself. Easy. It was just Brock being Brock.
“I've been looking forward to meeting you.” Brock's voice was pleasant and smooth. “I've heard about you from the boss here, but I have to say, nothing could have prepared me for the exquisite beauty at this table.”
An awkward silence, with Cassandra blushing furiously and Carlo stiff with not knowing how to respond. Estelle saved them both with her trademark biting wit. “Why, thank you, Brock...how kind of you to say. Martin and I are flattered.”
Cassandra's hand came to her mouth, stifling a laugh. Brock chuckled, but his eyes were cold. “I'll let you fine people get back to your conversation. Cassandra, I hope we can chat again later.”
She nodded and smiled, and Carlo was relieved to see she didn't appear overly taken with Brock's good looks and charm as so many women were.
The evening progressed uneventfully. Before taking their places at Carlo's table, Gianna and Jordan moved about the room, mingling with guests until the appetizers were served, crab-stuffed mushrooms and goat cheese tarts with red onion marmalade. Cassandra leaned in to ask him if there would be Ring Dings for dessert and Carlo laughed, squeezing her hand under the table and caressing her thigh until she blushed and gave a small gasp.
Dall seemed to sense that Carlo wanted him to keep his distance, and this was a relief. Sheryl appeared to have loosened up with a few drinks, draping her arms over Brock's shoulders. After the main course was served—a choice of coconut-crusted chicken, ginger sesame pork loin or seared sea scallops (Carlo had requested a seafood dish for Cassandra)–champagne glasses were filled, and Carlo stood up to make the toast.
“I'd like to first thank Brenda and the good people of Bent Brook for putting on such a fine party on relatively short notice. I'm very grateful.” Brenda, standing in a far corner with her hands folded in front of her, smiled and nodded at the guests' light applause. “And secondly, I'd like to thank all of you for being here to celebrate Gianna and Jordan's engagement. It's no secret that I was initially a little taken aback when my little sister announced she was engaged—but it was more of a reflection of me not wanting to admit she was ready for this. I don't know if any of you have noticed, but I can be just a bit protective.”
Gianna nodded vehemently, her eyes wide, and there was laughter.
“I have no doubt that our madre cara and stepfather are looking down upon on us with great joy, and although they are not here with us, I feel them in spirit.” He looked down at Gianna, whose eyes were glistening with tears. “There are many people in this room who adore you, Gianna, but no one could love you more than I do.” At this Jordan hesitantly raised his hand, prompting a roar of laughter.
“Except Jordan,” Carlo continued, smiling. “I guess we're tied.” His tone grew serious. “For so many years, ever since you were born, you have been the light in my life, and from the way that Jordan looks at you, it's clear you are also the light in his. Possa la vostra luce continua a brillare. May your light continue to shine as you embark on your new life together. I love you, Gi.”
He felt his eyes begin to burn as he raised his glass. Gianna pushed back her chair and went to him, tears spilling down her cheeks, and Carlo enveloped her in a hug as the guests, visibly moved, erupted in applause.
In that moment, Carlo glanced down to see Cassandra's eyes brimming, her face pure and achingly lovely, and the feeling this stirred in him was so fierce, he had to look away.
chapter twenty-nine ~ Cassandra
When Ingrid asked her to go to one of the food vendors and bring back lunch for her and Judy, Cassandra jumped at the chance. Anything to get the hell away from her boss and the trainer, who had basically been tweaking out at her ever since they'd arrived at the Devon dressage show. She had known it would go this way; Ingrid and Judy were impatient with her on any given day at Windswept, but here...they were wound tighter than an eight day clock (to coin an expression from her mother). Syrius, Judy's chestnut Trakehner from her own stable, had come up lame two days before the show, so she'd had to scratch his events, which had amped up her stress level to new heights. Rafsi was being Rafsi, and the calming supplement she'd been given hadn't had the desired effect. Brownie was his usual sweet, unflappable self, munching on hay in his stall and looking around as if wondering what all the fuss was about.
And just imagine, Cassandra thought wryly, she would get to do this all over again tomorrow. And the next day, since it was a multi-day show. It was so much nicer when she could just browse, take in the sights, sounds and smells as a spectator: the dazzling gleam of the horses' polished coats, the immaculate riders in their crisp show attire, the enthusiastic announcer on the loudspeaker, interspersed with sprinklings of applause from the crowd. There was a whole other show besides the horses: vendors of all kinds, selling items such as framed horse prints, pottery, browbands adorned with bling, and of course, the food—Goshen Donuts, chai, gourmet dark chocolate, ice cream...Cassandra grinned as she imagined Carlo teasing her.
But of course, Ingrid and Judy would not be wanting sweets. Which may have been part of their problem; they practically lived on carrot sticks and bottled water. She stopped in front of Big Owen's Concessions and scanned the menu, frowning. It didn't help that the two barn Nazis hadn't told her what they wanted for lunch. She
had asked, nicely, but Judy had flicked her hand in the air in a clear I am far too busy to listen to you message, and Ingrid had simply glared.
Being dismissed and treated like she was inferior was maddening, especially on the heels of last week's party, where she had felt amazingly relaxed and comfortable in the posh, elegant setting. The people there made it easy—Estelle and Martin had been so kind, and Gianna so sweet. It had been very touching to see how in love she and Jordan were. Cassandra had liked everyone she'd met—everyone, except for Brockton Dall. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something about Brock that made her wary and uneasy. He was a gorgeous man—charming, too, with that wide smile and striking green eyes—but she felt a weird sort of chill whenever he was near. Estelle didn't seem to care for him, either, and even Carlo acted like Brock was an unwelcome visitor rather than a guest. And it wasn't as though Brock interacted with Gianna or Jordan—or anyone at the party, for that matter. Cassandra had watched him from a distance, noticing his detached expression and the creepy way he raked his eyes over a woman's body. He was part of the scene, yet he didn't belong.
But Cassandra had felt as though she belonged there, and most of it was thanks to Carlo. He made her feel flustered and tongue-tied but sexy and beautiful as well...the way he squeezed her hand under the table and stroked her leg, the way he introduced her to others, as though he was proud of her. She had always sensed a level of tenderness in him, but that night, she'd seen it, and it had moved her deeply. The toast he'd made to his sister had brought tears to her eyes. She'd had a wild urge to jump up from the table, along with Gianna, and go to his side—lace her fingers in his and lay her head on his chest, listen to his heartbeat and whisper to him that it was all right, that everything would be all right...
Which of course, she knew, made no sense. Carlo had it all; he didn't need her to comfort him. But still, she felt it.
“Miss...can I help you?” The man behind the counter was trying to hide his irritation.
Shit, she needed to get herself back where she belonged at this moment, in a polo shirt and jeans, not an evening gown and heels.
“I'm sorry...um, I'll have—” Cassandra's eyes darted across the menu in desperation.
“She'll have four Pop-Tarts and all the Ring-Dings you've got.” The voice behind her was deep and warm.
Cassandra was smiling before she whirled around. “Hi,” she said. “You're here. I wasn't sure you'd make it.”
Carlo was in casual yet classy mode wearing tan pants, a bright blue golf shirt and his Aviators. The stubble above his lip and along his jawline was more pronounced, making him look roguish. “I wanted to be here to celebrate my mother.” His face broke into a slow, easy grin. “And for other reasons.”
“How did you find me?”
“Pure luck. Or maybe because it was lunchtime, and I figured you'd be near the food.”
The man at the concession stand cleared his throat. Cassandra quickly turned to face him. “I'm sorry...umm...two veggie wraps and two bottled waters, please.” She found herself not really caring if Ingrid and Judy approved of her selection—not really caring about anything except the man standing behind her.
Carlo reached around her, a fifty dollar bill in his outstretched hand. “Give this to the kind gentleman for his troubles. He can keep the change.”
Cassandra rolled her eyes, shaking her head at Carlo and trying not to smile as she handed the bill to the man, whose annoyance immediately disappeared.
They stepped aside to wait for the order. Carlo took off his sunglasses, using the bottom of his shirt to clean the lenses. “I'm guessing that Ingrid's bitch switch has been flipped?”
She giggled. “Oh, yes. I feel a little sorry for her, actually. Judy makes things even worse.”
“What's that expression about horse people being stable people? I'm not buying it.”
“Now that is definitely an insult.”
“There are exceptions to every rule, of course. Like you.”
“You're saying I'm stable?”
“Most of the time.” He grinned at her, his teeth white and dazzling. “I brought something for you.”
“Besides insults?”
“Yes.” He put his hand into his pants pocket, bringing forth a small plastic bag with a familiar red bullseye pattern.
Cassandra looked up at him in delighted surprise. “Target?”
“I wanted to broaden my horizons.”
“You actually went in?”
“I did. Nice place. I was pleasantly surprised. I didn't know if they'd have what I was looking for, but they did.”
She reached into the bag. Horseshoe earrings—gold, with fake diamonds, of course, but they were adorable and delicate and sparkly. “I love them,” she said. “They're perfect. And they are so me.”
“I thought so, too, although they're artificial. And you're the real thing.”
Their eyes met, and her heart began to pound. What had he meant by this? He appeared a little startled, too—maybe even wishing he could take back the words.
The man behind the Big Owen's counter saved them with the announcement that the order was ready. She and Carlo walked back toward the stable with the sandwiches and waters in awkward silence until Carlo spoke.
“I'm going to Texas next week, so I won't be in much contact.”
Oh. She tried to hide her disappointment. “Business?”
“Yes. Sales meeting.” He paused to motion toward one of the show rings where a black Thoroughbred was warming up, its nostrils flaring and its neck speckled with flecks of foam.“Looks like the humans aren't the only ones keyed up.”
“Some of them do get really nervous, like Rafsi.”
“What about your favorite?”
“Brownie?” She laughed. “He's cool as a cucumber. One of the things I love about him.”
“Has he been in an event yet?”
“He has the Fourth Level test later this afternoon. I can't wait to watch him. This is probably awful to say, but honestly, I just love watching him. I don't even care how he does.”
“Better not let Ingrid or Judy hear you say that.”
“God, no...they'd kill me. They're all about the ribbons.” She shook her head. “I've always found this whole show thing a little silly. I've never understood the whole fascination with it. For me, it's enough just to be with the horses. When I was a teenager and my mom had paid for me to take lessons, my instructor had told me that she'd been in dozens of shows, but her favorite thing had always been riding on the trail with the horse 'on the buckle' –meaning a relaxed, easy ride, with your reins loose enough so the buckle lays on the horse's neck.” She smiled, remembering. “I like that.”
“I suppose we all could use more 'on the buckle' time.”
Ingrid was sitting outside the barn in a folding chair, looking pristine in her white blouse and breeches. She stood up as they came near, shooting dagger eyes at Cassandra before smiling at Carlo, walking over to kiss him on the cheek. Cassandra felt a jolt of jealousy.
“I'm so glad you could come, Carlo. And you found Cassandra?”
“Yes. I happened to see her in the vendors' area as I walked in.”
“How amazingly serendipitous. I'll be riding in the next event, so your timing is perfect.” Ingrid turned to take the sandwiches and waters from Cassandra. “Judy's making a phone call, but she'll be back. Why don't you take the Show Sheen and give Rafsi one last polish?”
Trying to get rid of me, no doubt. Cassandra flashed a quick smile at Carlo who winked back.
As expected, Rafsi was dancing in her stall, nickering nervously. Cassandra smoothed the horse's forelock, reaching into her jeans pocket for a peppermint and slipping it to the mare with a whispered warning not to tell Ingrid. She shook up the bottle of coat polish and sprayed a fine mist over Rafsi, careful to avoid the saddle area which would make it too slippery—although then again, seeing Ingrid flip upside down would be a definite day-brightener.
She went to
Rafsi's tack box for a clean cloth to shine up her coat, thinking about what Carlo had said. You're the real thing. Of course, he was probably talking about how she was genuine as a person. But the way he had looked when he'd said it...
Don't go there, she told herself firmly. Just don't. She needed to enjoy what she did have with him, and be glad that she had given herself permission to date him. That was a big enough step; she didn't need further complications. And Carlo had made it clear he wasn't looking for a serious relationship. So they were well-matched in that respect.
Cassandra put away the cloth and spray bottle and suddenly remembered the earrings in her pocket. Trading her gold hoops for the horseshoes, she gave Rafsi a quick kiss on the nose and went back out into the late September sunshine.
Ingrid was finishing her sandwich and still chatting with Carlo. She looked almost annoyed when she saw Cassandra. After taking a sip of her water, she pointed the bottle in the direction of their horse trailer. “I think I left my jacket in the trailer. Please get it for me, and make sure there's no lint on it. Also, I need a couple of aspirin for my headache.”
Cassandra could feel her own headache coming on. She could sense Carlo smiling at her, and she didn't dare to look at him for fear she might burst out laughing and piss off Ingrid.
“Okay,” she said brightly. “Jacket and aspirin. Be right back.”
“I'll come with you,” Carlo offered. “I'd like to check out the trailer.”
Trying to keep a straight face, Cassandra felt like an impudent child as she and Carlo walked off. She knew Ingrid had wanted more time alone with Carlo and was probably seething.
“You could now be considered Ingrid's errand boy, you know,” Cassandra teased.
“I suppose I could.”
“I don't see you taking orders very well, though.”
“No. I prefer giving them.”
“I'm well aware of that.”
They came to the horse trailer, a six-horse silver gooseneck with rubber mats on the walls and floors and a dressing room. Carlo nodded, impressed, as he looked inside. “It's immaculate.”