Page 11 of The Heartbreaker Next Door

Because apparently cows, cowboys, and obscenely beautiful scenery weren't enough.

They needed wine and massages too.

At the center of it all stood the main house.

And holy shit.

The place was enormous. Two stories of stone, timber, and weathered cedar, with tall windows reflecting the morning light and a wraparound porch that looked like it had been there long enough to belong to the land rather than just sit on it. Rocking chairs lined one end. Flowers spilled from oversized planters. Wide stone steps led to double doors that probably cost more than my car.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. A horse answered with a low whinny. Then came the metallic clang of a gate and the rumble of a man's voice I couldn't quite make out.

The air smelled like sun-warmed grass, cedar, horses, and lavender, with something faintly sweet drifting over from the vineyard.

It should have felt manufactured.

Too polished. Too expensive. Too perfect.

Instead, somehow, it worked.

Lockhart Ranch was the kind of place where you could spend the morning getting dirt on your boots, the afternoon getting that dirt scrubbed off during a two-hundred-dollar massage, and the evening drinking wine made from grapes grown fifty yards from your chair.

Rustic luxury on steroids.

And as I stared through the windshield at the ridiculous postcard unfolding in front of me, one thought kept running through my head.

Who the hell actually lived like this?

I followed the directions Selma texted me and parked at the admin building. As I got out, I had the strangest feeling. I’d only had it once before, it was the day I found out I was pregnant. I had no inkling at all that I was, but as soon as I got up that morning, I just knew my entire life was going to be different. Something in my soul told me my life would never be the same, and whatever it was, intuition or premonition, was correct. From that day forward my entire world revolved around Maverick.

That same feeling came over me now. I knew for certain, without a shadow of a doubt, from this day forward my life was going to change. I just wasn’t sure if would be for the better or worse.

I grabbed my bag which had my portfolio so I could show Selma my work. I, of course, had digital versions online, but some people liked old school. When I reached for it, I noticed my hands were trembling. I did my best to be my own mental beta-blocker and just focus on being myself, putting the best foot forward, and whatever other contrived saying would help me get through the interview.

As I walked up the pavers to the building, the front door opened and a stunning woman appeared. She was short. Petite. I was only five foot two, and I was at least a couple of inches taller than her.

She might be little in stature, but her aura wasn’t. She commanded a space. And she was breathtakingly beautiful. A sweetheart shaped face with huge, almond shaped green eyes that held a fire behind them.

“Felicity!” She smiled widely as she welcomed me.

I instantly relaxed. Just being in her presence was soothing, calming.

Selma led me down a narrow hallway that smelled like lemon polish and fresh-cut flowers. She ushered me into her office, a sunlit room with wide windows overlooking the ranch’s sprawling front lawn. The walls were lined with family photos: boys in baseball uniforms, babies on ponies, a wedding portrait with Selma herself looking regal in deep purple, standing next to a broad-shouldered man in a tux. On her desk sat a vase of perfect white lilies, a ceramic mug with “Mom Boss” painted in gold, and a stack of resumes organized into aggressively neat piles.

She gestured for me to sit in an upholstered armchair across from her. “I’m so glad you could make it on such short notice,” she said, settling behind her desk.

I forced a cheerful smile. “Thank you for seeing me last-minute. I hope I didn’t throw off your morning.”

“Not at all,” Selma said, waving her hand. “Mija, when you have five grown sons, a ranch, and an entire town’s worth of drama, an impromptu interview is basically a vacation day.” She leaned in, elbows on the desk, already giving off the vibe of someone who could run a board meeting and a bake sale at the same time. “Now, let’s get to it.”

She flipped through my resume with quick, practiced glances, pausing every so often to look at me over the top of her reading glasses. “So. Event planning.” She pronounced it like it was a rare and exotic career path. “I see you were at DeVille Vineyard and then Willow and White events for several years and then did some independent contracts for your own business.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve mainly focused on weddings, corporate retreats, that sort of thing. I always say running a big event is turning other people's Pinterest boards into reality while preventing them from having nervous breakdowns. My job is equal parts logistics, psychology, crisis management, and making things look pretty. It’s anticipating every possible disaster, preparing for it, and then smiling like none of them are currently happening.”

Selma chuckled in delight. “That’s the best description I’ve ever heard.” She sat back in her chair, letting her hands rest on the arms like she was presiding over a very important council. “Our current events manager is off on a year of maternity leave, and we need someone to jump right into the deep end. I was worried whoever we hired might not be able to swim, but I think you’ll be doing laps around everyone.”

As soon as she began speaking, I felt my nerves start to unwind. I’d done enough interviews in my life to know within the first few minutes whether it was going anywhere. This one felt like we were connecting.

After a few more questions, mainly about my relocating, her giving me condolences for the loss of my uncle, and the convenience of living right next door, she suddenly stood and clapped her hands. “Great!”