by Remy Rose
But I’m hoping to move her in another way.
I’m in the kitchen brewing coffee at 7:30 Saturday morning when I decide to call Ingrid. It’s early, but she’ll be up—most likely even at the barn.
“Shouldn't you be sleeping in, Carlo? It's Saturday.”
“I could say the same to you.”
“You know I don't sleep in. Which is why you knew you could call me this early.”
“You're right. Are you at the stable?”
“On my way. Cassandra had the turn-out chore this morning. I'm going to need to hire another stablehand soon—my stepsister, Sonya, is leaving for Europe, and she's been full of excuses lately about how she has to get ready for her trip, how final exams are going to cut into the time she can work, et cetera, et cetera. I do love the girl, but her work ethic leaves a great deal to be desired.” She pauses. “I'm assuming it's all right with you that I find someone else?”
“Of course. Is Cassandra staying on?”
“She's never given me an indication she wants to leave.”
“How is she?”
“You mean, you don't know?”
I’m not sure how to respond to that.
“Carlo...are you two having issues?”
“Don't sound so pleased.”
“I don't mean to sound pleased. Truly, I don't. I can't say I'm all that surprised, though...I had my doubts from the very beginning that a young, naïve girl like Cassandra could handle someone like you.”
“Explain ‘someone like you.’”
She gives a little laugh. “Complex. At times, dark. Generous, intelligent. A smooth operator. And sexy as hell.”
“You have quite a varied description of me.”
“That's because there are many angles to you. So why did you call me, Carlo? I'm guessing it wasn't to discuss your personality traits.”
“No, but this has been enlightening just the same. I'm calling to ask you a favor.”
“Which is?”
“I'd like to have Cassandra exercise the horses more. She’s mentioned how much she loves riding—Brownie in particular—and I'd like for her to have the chance.”
A brief silence. “She's not what I would call experienced. Brownie has had a great deal of training, beyond what Cassandra would know. He's a bit out of her league.”
“That may be true. But I'd appreciate it if you'd give her the opportunity.”
“So what you're saying is, give her the opportunity.”
“Yes.”
“All right, Carlo.”
“Thank you. And give her a raise.”
“If you don't mind my asking, what is it you hope to gain with this?”
“Her happiness.”
“She's very important to you, isn't she?”
“She is special, yes. If you could make her think this is your idea, I'd be grateful.”
“I can do that. And I'm adding 'thoughtful' to your list of characteristics.”
“Thank you, Ingrid.” I end the call and pour my coffee. I didn’t tell Ingrid all that I hoped to get out of this gesture. Cassandra's happiness, yes, but selfishly, also her forgiveness.
It’s a start, anyway.
Flowers might be cliché, but I’ll send them, with a card. They have to be special...meaningful. I bring my coffee into the living room and settle in with my laptop, noticing the scent of furniture polish. Rosa came to clean yesterday. I decided against firing her—she didn’t deserve that. She’d apologized profusely, and given a little time, I could see that she’d been between a rock and a hard place with Brock and me.
And if I expect Cassandra to forgive and trust me again...I need to be able to do the same with my housekeeper.
Now...to search for flowers and their meanings. Roses are unimaginative; carnations scream grocery store purchase, and even though the simplicity and innocence of daisies fit Cassandra, I need classy and unusual. Scanning the images on my computer, I pause at a Cattleya orchid with large, white, outer petals and a ruffled, yellow and purple center pouch. I read the description: An orchid symbolizes rare and delicate beauty; proud and glorious femininity. Bingo. This is Cassandra's flower.
In a few weeks, Estelle will be calling the florist for me to order an arrangement for someone else, which she’s done for the past three years. I’ll get a thank you in the mail and an invitation to Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I’ll politely decline. Just like I always do.
I drink the rest of my coffee. I should have something for breakfast, especially since I’m planning to work out later. I’ve been so preoccupied lately that I’ve actually forgotten to eat. Cassandra’s at the top of the list of preoccupations, followed by the added burden of finding a replacement for Dall. I’m leaning toward making an internal move...maybe promoting Wayne Senerth from his position as regional sales manager. Wayne is young, eager, smart—full of ideas but takes direction well, and his confidence has grown with his region's performance over the past several years. The company can use his fresh perspective.
Company...fuck. The cigar dinner, tonight, at Bent Brook. I’m definitely not in the mood for that, but there’s no getting out of it, especially since I invited one of my distributors. But again...fuck.
So to recap, I have no appetite for socializing or food...but my appetite for fucking is a different story. Knowing that Cassandra is off limits makes me want her all the more. My libido has always been strong, and I’ve never had a shortage of women to satisfy it. It’s an unusual position: I’m not in a relationship with Cassandra, but there’s a connection strong enough to feel like I am.
Jesus—talk about irony. I want to be monogamous to someone who’s made it clear she’s done with me.
My phone vibrates. Cassandra? But no. It’s Alexis. With incredible timing.
Hey...just checking in. Have been thinking about you. Are you free tonight?
God, it would be so easy to say yes to my beautiful friend with benefits, especially when I’m horny as fuck, and especially when she’s rarely turned me down. But I do have the built-in excuse of the cigar dinner.
I text back. Hey. Good to hear from you. Unfortunately tonight is out. Event at club which will likely run late. Maybe another time?
Late nights have never been an issue with us. But yes, another time. xo
I’m glad she doesn’t push the issue. Got to hit the gym now, come home to shower and order Cassandra's flowers. Start planning for the trade show in a few weeks. Call my sister, set up a date to have lunch. And ignore my aching balls and my need to fuck—at least for now.
chapter ten ~ Cassandra
The good day I’m determined to have comes screeching to a halt beneath Ingrid's icy glare. Christ, what have I done now? The horses have all been turned out, and I’m in the middle of cleaning stalls, but Ingrid is looking at me with her upper lip quivering against the snarl that wants to claim it.
“I've been thinking of utilizing you differently.”
I prop the pitchfork against the wheelbarrow and wipe the stray pieces of damp hair off my forehead. Even in the autumn chill, I’ve worked up a sweat. “What do you mean?”
“You'll still be doing some of your regular chores, but I'm going to have you start working with a few of the horses.”
“Working with? As in, riding? Really?” This is totally random and a major surprise. Ingrid has always been reluctant about me even warming up the horses. It doesn’t make sense that she’s now out of the blue wanting me to—oh. Of course. It suddenly makes total sense.
“Carlo put you up to this, didn't he?”
“You have a very active imagination. This was my decision.”
“I don't believe you.”
Ingrid's caramel-colored eyes glint with disdain. “I would advise watching how you speak to me. Mr. Leone has left all aspects of this stable up to me—all aspects, including the hiring and termination of employees.”
“Ingrid. You don't need to jump all over me.”
“Again, with your tone. I don't need any q
uestions from you—just compliance.”
Sounds like your boss.
“Now. Since you're far from a dressage expert, I'm sending you home with some excellent DVD's to watch. I'll also be instructing you the first few times you ride, because I certainly don't want your lack of knowledge to interfere with any of the training that Brownie has had.”
“Brownie? Wait...you're letting me ride him?”
“He'll be one of a few. But don't think this is anything beyond providing the horses with light exercise on the days that I may have other obligations. Judy and I will still be the ones doing the real training work. This will simply free me up to attend more clinics, among other things. So you're actually doing me a favor.”
“It sounds like a win-win.” I flash her a wide smile. Which she doesn’t return.
“I'll plan to have you start next week. Your hours will increase slightly, so you'll have to plan your schedule accordingly. And I'm going to be advertising for another barn worker to take Sonya's place.” She checks her wristwatch, frowning. “She's late again today.”
“It's okay. I can start doing her stalls.”
“All right. By the way...I suppose you're due for a raise. Your next paycheck will reflect it.”
Watching Ingrid walk away down the barn aisle, her riding boots clacking on the concrete floor, I’m totally convinced that Carlo is behind all of this. Ingrid specifically mentioned riding Brownie and a raise. So what the hell am I supposed to do? I don’t want him doing me any favors, or controlling any aspect of my life. I have to make sure he understands this. But I don’t want to have any contact with him.
Ughh, I should have figured this would happen, what with me working at the stable he owns. But I can’t imagine leaving here. I took the job before I even knew him, and I’m not about to give it up, not when it brings me so much peace—which I need now more than ever.
I grab the pitchfork to finish cleaning the stall. This is a majorly rough break-up—if you can even call it that, since I’m not sure we were officially dating. I’ve never been the person who ended the relationship, unless you count the time in sixth grade when I wrote a long note to Danny Curtis telling him it was over after he tried to look down my blouse in social studies. Like I even had anything for him to see. It didn’t take him long to find another more willing shirt.
Will Carlo move on to someone else soon? Is he looking, right now, for another challenge? And a better question, why the hell should I care? I don’t. Say it with me: I...don’t.
Although the thought of his beautiful mouth on someone else's, his strong hands up under another woman's hair, his tongue between someone else's—stop. For Christ's sake, I need to be strong and rational about this. He betrayed and humiliated me. He hurt me. Intentionally or not, it happened. End of story.
A tiny thought, nestled deep within the recesses of my mind, breaks free and wriggles to the surface. But there is more to the story...what about his reason for the game?
Carlo’s words had been: Not that anything can justify it, but hopefully once you hear more, you'll be able to understand...there was an event in my past...
What was this event? And would it be enough to exonerate him from playing the game?
I’m sighing as I push the wheelbarrow down the aisle to the next stall. Life has gotten just a bit more complicated than the days of Danny Curtis. Of course, it wasn't like my childhood was all sandboxes and swing sets. I have my father to thank for that. The thought of him triggers a familiar stomach-lurch, remembering how he treated my mother. But it’s more than that. He abandoned me, too—his only daughter. Walked out and never looked back. My mother had just taken his shit, and I had, too. I watched my mother take his cheating and lying and indifference, saw the way the muscles in her cheek tightened when she'd explain that Daddy wasn't coming home tonight, and then tonight turned into ever.
I watched my mom shrivel up and fade away, until there was nothing left.
A choking sensation in my throat, my eyes stinging with hot, angry tears. My father had robbed not only my mother, but me as well. And he’d gotten away with it.
He robbed me of the kind of dad a girl could grow up adoring. But he gave me other things...his parting gifts were mistrust and disillusionment. I keep them wrapped up as tightly as I can, but there are many times, like now, when the ties loosen, and the hurt and anger carefully packaged inside me slips out. The gifts that keep on giving.
I told Allison that one of my goals was to take charge of my life. To be stronger. Maybe even a little Ingrid-ish. Not the complete deluxe bitch model, but I can take a lesson in that the woman is intimidating as hell and does know how to get a point across. My mother was the polar opposite, and I’ve also been more on the doormat end of the spectrum. I’m working on changing this in my present, but maybe I also need to focus on my past—to take charge there as well.
Which will include finding my father.
chapter eleven ~ Carlo
“Mr. Leone. It's good to see you, sir.” The head waiter at Bent Brook lifts my water glass and pours.
“Good to see you, too, Ken. This is David Shillings, one of my newest distributors.”
David extends a beefy hand for Ken to shake. He’s a big man with a robust laugh and an even more robust appetite. He'll get plenty to eat tonight.
“Welcome to Bent Brook, Mr. Shillings. I'll be back with your appetizers, gentlemen. Artisan Charcuterie with olives, cornichons and grain mustard.”
As Ken walks away, David turns to me with a grin. “What the fuck kind of place did you bring me to, Leone? Didn't know I'd need a translator for the menu.”
“It's basically sausages with olives and sweet pickles.”
“I can handle that. And when do the cigars come in?”
“After every course. I assure you, you’ll have your fill of food and alcohol, and you'll go home smelling like a small house fire.”
“Perfect. My wife's gonna kill me. Last time I smoked cigars with my buddies, she made me sleep on the couch in the basement.” He glances down at my hand. “Speaking of wives...I don’t see a ring. You married?”
“No.”
“Good for you. Got a woman?”
“We're in negotiations.” No offense, Shillings, but I’m not about to discuss this with you. I look around the dining room. It’s packed, like cigar dinners usually are, with men in bright shirts and chinos. Some even went the loud, Hawaiian shirt route. There’s steady conversation in the room, punctuated with bursts of raucous laughter. It’ll only get louder as the men drink more.
Quite a contrast to the night of Gianna's engagement party. Everything seems different, now.
I’m wondering what Cassandra’s doing right now—waitressing, or sitting at home alone, or out with friends. The thought occurs to me that someone else could ask her out. Or she could even initiate it. I shift in my chair, clenching up inside. Rationally, I know I have no right to claim her. But I can’t shake this feeling I have, in every fiber of my being, that she’s mine, and mine alone.
I just need to convince her.
David and I mingle with some of the guests before the appetizers come out. I recognize several of the men—a plastic surgeon, a chiropractor, a lawyer, the owner of my investment firm—and head toward Sam Oakes, owner of Oakes Vessels, so I can introduce him to David. Best to use this night to my full advantage, business-wise.
“Sam, I'd like you to meet David Shillings, one of our big distributors up in Hartford. David—Sam Oakes, one of our major end users.”
The two men shake hands. “Great night, isn't it, Carlo?” Sam lifts his brandy snifter, his eyes bright. “And we're just getting started.”
“It looks like some of us are already feeling no pain.”
“You have some catching up to do, my friend. And let me commend you on shit-canning Dall. I had the utmost respect for your stepfather, but Brock sure had him fooled. Getting rid of your president was one of the best things you've ever done. Never trusted that shifty son o
f a bitch.”
David’s looking from me to Sam, a puzzled smile on his face. Poor bastard. No clue what we're talking about, which isn’t a bad thing; a new distributor doesn’t need to know about a blemish on the company.
I change the subject and address Sam. “I’m guessing you'll be going to the trade show in Chicago?”
“Oh, yeah. Wouldn't miss it. Couple of us are staying at the Westin downtown. We'll have to get together for dinner and drinks.”
“I'm staying at the Westin as well.”
“Excellent. I hear the new district manager for Allied Packings is staying there, too.”
“I don't think I know him.”
“Ha! You don't know her, but you'll want to, believe me. She's smokin' hot—and single.”
“Really.”
“Oh, yeah. I'm betting you'll want to buy what she's selling.” He chuckles. “I know I do.”
The appetizers are served, followed by Macanudo cigars, a favorite of mine because of the mild flavor. Smoked salmon and watercress salad followed by Partagas cigars, and then the main course of rubbed ribeye and sauteed Swiss chard. Drinks flow—Sigaro red wine, Moet & Chandon champagne, martinis, cognac. I’m feeling a comfortable buzz by the end of the night.
So the new Allied manager is an attractive woman. I’ll be seeing for myself in about a month at the trade show. Funny how things change...in the past, no doubt I would have considered this woman as a candidate for the contest. But now, I’m done with games. Done with other women. I know what I want.
And I’m going to get it.
chapter twelve ~ Cassandra
I wasn’t in the mood to go out, but it’s Thirsty Thursday, after all, and Teal has been insistent that we go to Bull Feeney's. Plus, one of my goals is to make new friends, and Teal is having a few other girls meet us. Absolutely no guys, she reassured me. You're not ready. She’s right—I’m not sure I’ll ever be. I’ll try to be positive about going out, even though Bull Feeney's was one of the places I went with Carlo.