Next to me, Meg gasps. I don’t know whether it was because of my snarled response or the fact he offered me work in the first place. Because what the actual fuck?
“Why not?” Miles Burlington replies like working for him is the most perfectly normal step in our relationship, and I struggle to come up with a response that isn’t “I hate you” or “I don’t trust you” or something else more succinct and valid because he’s the type of person to keep digging until he gets the answer he wants.
I bet he’s never heard no before, and I’ll double it to bet that he doesn’t listen when he’s told it. Smarmy. Rich. Asshole.
Maybe this is a game. I can see him needing a power play, some kind of twisted kink where he gets off on reeling girls in before kicking them to the curb. Maybe this is revenge for almost trampling him.
He already knows I hate him, I can see it in the smirk he’s still wearing, and he expects me to come up with a better explanation than “because.”
Okay, how about this one. “Aren’t you scared I might try to run you over again?”
I’m not going to tell him it wasn’t intentional, that it was purely coincidental that I was on that path because I always use it as a shortcut. But I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again.
He barks a laugh. “Not particularly.”
“Well, I’m still not coming to work for you?—”
“Ruby, you need a job,” Meg mutters quietly, her lips barely moving.
“She’s correct. Listen to your friend.”
“Do you have Superman hearing or something?” I ask, though my head’s spinning from the absolute lack of sense that has befallen everyone but me.
“Nope, just regular old ears. Remember when you asked if you could clean them out? I took your advice, and now I can heareverything.”
I scowl, both at him and the weight of Meg’s wide-eyed stare. I never told her about my run-in with him at New Year’s. I never told anyone. You can’t deny something you’ve already admitted.
I try again with a different tack. “Didn’t we already establish you’re English?”
“We did.”
“And that’s where you’re based?” I add innocence to my tone. His head’s probably big enough already without knowingIknow where he’s based.
Foxleigh Park is up there among the most prestigious grounds in the polo world, alongside Meadowbrook and the National Polo Center. It was a place I dreamed of playing, but not like this. Even though I haven’t yet figured out what’s going on here, I know I’m not stupid enough to fall for it.
“It is.”
“Well, there’s the problem then. I can’t come to England.”
“Why not?” His tone is one you’d placate a child with—patronizing and slow—why can’t you put your shoes on . . . why can’t you go to school today?
In what is likely the only time I will ever thank Scott McTavish for anything, I puff my chest and say with my whole heart, “I don’t have a visa.”
“That’s not what I would class as a problem. We can get you a visa.”
“Well . . .” Tension pops my jaw, and I glare at Maverick, who’s now nuzzling into Miles Burlington’s shoulder. “I’m not leaving my horse.”
It’s debatable whether Maverick would feel the same about me, given he’s turning to putty under Miles’s long, thick fingers stroking through his mane.Traitor. Where’s the horse who usually snaps his teeth at visitors? The one who lunges forward when they’re least expecting and terrifies anyone within a hundred yards?
Not here, that’s for sure.
“I’m not asking you to leave him. You can bring him to England.”
Meg gasps again. I crane my neck in an exaggerated manner and shoot her another scowl—like, seriously?Whose side is she on?
But of course she’s not looking at me. She’s staring at Miles, all heart eyes and swoony sighs. Fine, I’ll do it myself. Turning back to Miles with a list of reasons on the tip of my tongue for why I have absolutely no intention of ever going to England with him, I open my mouth.
Except no words come out.
