Meg whirls on me so quickly I almost lose balance. “First off. How the fuck do you know Miles Burlington?”
I let out a deep sigh and sink against the stable door. Meg stays where she is.
“I don’t know him—” I begin, only for her to stamp her foot in annoyance. “I don’t. But I ran into him at the Polo Club during the holidays. He made acquaintance with the wrong end of the hose?—”
“That wasyou? Oh my God, Ruby, everyone was talking about it?—”
“I know, that’s why I didn’t tell you.”
She shakes her head and decides to forgive me enough to join me on the straw. “Did you really run him over?”
“Not on purpose. I was on the path, and Mav got spooked by something. Burlington happened to be on the path too and jumped out of the way. Landed in the bush.” I chuckle as Meg tries to cover up her snort.
“Wow. And now he’s offering you a dream chance?—”
“C’mon, it’s not real. He’s not going to come back.” Maybe if I say it enough times, I’ll convince myself.
“It sounded pretty real, and heiscoming back. He’s bought Calamity.”
“No way?”
“Way. And you’ll never guess who else was interested in him.”
“Who?”
“Santiago Torres.”
“Holy shit, now thatisgossip. You think he did it on purpose?”
“Absolutely.” She nods so enthusiastically that she looks like a bobblehead. “See, there’s a bonus of working for Miles Burlington. You can get the gossip.”
“Gossip and what else?”
She shrugs. “He’s hot.”
“That’s not a reason to work for him. If anything, it’s a con. He’s such a conceited prick that he probably thinks everyone’s in love with him.”
“Maybe. But they probably are.” She nudges her shoulder with mine. “Look, Rubes, this is an awesome opportunity for you. That’s all I’m saying. Just write a list and see where you get. You have a week.” She eases up to standing, claps her hands together to wipe away the straw and dirt, and holds one out to me. “Now come and help me get the arena ready.”
She leads the way, and after making sure Maverick’s got enough water, I follow...while mentally composing my list.
Which is when I realize that in all my years of jobs on yards, no one has ever shown more interest in me than Miles Burlington just did in five minutes.
True to his word, I’m allowed to stay on the Lucky Drop Ranch.
The week goes by quickly. Too quickly for me to come to a decision.
I’ve gone back and forth. My list of pros and cons is longer than the Declaration of Independence. I get to the point where I’m clock watching, counting down the hours and minutes until he returns, and I have to give him my answer.
And when his car arrives—a blacked-out Range Rover, because of course that’s what he drives—I still don’t know what I’m going to say.
Heading out of the main barn to fetch Maverick, who’s decided he’s had enough time outside today and is whinnying loudly at the fence while also trying his best to demolish it with his hooves, I stop behind one of the wide pillars. I watch Miles walk over to him. The first thing he does is pull something from his pocket and hold it out. Maverick takes it so gently you’d think that’s how he behaved all the time.
His outrage at being in the field vanishes, and he turns to putty in Miles’s strong hands. Again. There’s literally no one who doesn’t succumb to his charms.
I try not to include myself, but I’ve been doing my best not to think about those hands since I watched them stroke along Maverick’s neck—veins running down to taut, muscular forearms honed from years of controlling unpredictable, flighty ponies.
Of all the players I’ve heard rumors about, Miles Burlington’s are the most complimentary.
