So of course he takes that as an opportunity to speak again.
“Any more ‘problems’ I need to solve?”
I can’t believe he air-quoted me. Asshole.
“Nope? Okay, good. Then I have one more question. What’s your handicap?”
Goddamn it. Why am I getting tongue-tied in front of this guy? Why does he care what it is? Last I checked, grooms aren’t required to have handicaps, or maybe it’s different in England.
It’s enough to yank me out of my annoyance. “I . . . um.”
“Do you have one? Officially?”
I shake my head, and defensiveness stiffens my shoulders. “No.”
“Who taught you to play?”
“No one. I taught myself,” I say, hesitantly.
He blinks once, then again. He looks like he’s deciding between disbelief and astonishment. “You taughtyourself?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve never had lessons?”
I shake my head again, my hackles rising from the depths of my insecurity, standing before one of the world’s best who had everything handed to him on a platter. I might have talent, but the last eight years have proven that if you don’t have money, then it makes fuck all of a difference.
Also, I don’t know what any of this has to do with being a groom on his yard, unless he’s that much of a pretentious asshole that everyone who works for him has to come with the highest qualifications.
“No. I’ve never had lessons.”
“You’ve only worked as a groom this whole time? Never played?”
My heartbeat strains under the weight of his stare. “I just told you that. What the fuck is with the twenty questions for a job I also already told you I don’t want?”
He ignores me and goes in for another. “No one’s ever watched you play?”
Pushing his baseball cap, he scratches through those thick curls squashed on his head and replaces it. All the while I’m held in place with the intensity of his blue eyes boring into me,regarding me, while his brain whirrs—it’s not hard to imagine what he’s thinking.
It’s what all the players think. In fact, find me any sportsman who doesn’t. Where money leads, girls follow.
“Are you sure you cleaned your ears out?”
A barely-there twitch under his eye flickers for a second before his face splits with a wide, amused grin, and my mouth dries up.
“I’m sure. I just . . .” He stops talking, and I get the impression he’s reassessing whatever he planned to say. “Ruby, I want you to come and work for me at Foxleigh.”
“Why?” My arms cross forcefully over my chest. “So you can get your revenge on me? Or because you’ve run out of women to sleep with in England?” One thick eyebrow rises at my point, but I’m not done. “I don’t need to travel across an ocean for some perv to think I’ll spread my legs in gratitude at the chance of employment. I can get that right here. In fact, I just left a similar opportunity this morning?—”
“And I believe I already know the result if I tried. For what it’s worth, I would havekickedhim in the balls.” He chuckles, but it’s dry and humorless.
My retort dies on my lips.
“I’m not interested in fucking you, Ruby. And I’m not looking for a new groom because I have plenty. I’m interested in your talent. I watched you in the arena. You’re a natural, but you need some work, and I’ll teach you until you’re good enough to play for my team.” He stares at me, and I don’t find a shred of a lie or hint of revenge in his words even though I search. My belly flips out of nowhere. “You’ve got a week to decide. Don’t worry about leaving. I’ll talk to Monty, and he’ll let you stay here until I get back.”
Giving Maverick one last pat, he walks off without another word. Ruby and I stare at the spot he vacated, and even Maverick seems to follow his movement.
“Jesus. That was intense.”
