Page 29 of Dumped for a Christmas Tree Farmer

Without a word, I slip out of the door, resolved to follow through with the original plan. I know exactly where James is headed. The only bar in town.

Chapter Twelve

December 28

Mav

Holly finished making her croissants and everything else I had listed out for her. Her dad’s chef, Maria, ended up coming by after a frantic Holly called her close to tears. By that point, I’d lost interest. The whole reason I’d brought Indy here was to make her feel better, to let her know that whatever is going on between Holly and James is nothing, a blip on what is going to be a long, profitable relationship for me, and a long, whatever kind of relationship she wants with James. But I just couldn’t keep my hands to myself. Not when I could see her pulse ticking on her neck so fast I just had to bite it. Like a goddamn vampire, I’d lulled her with my words until she was panting, gripping me like I’d imagined she’d done to her bedsheets when she made herself come the other night.

He’s going to rue the day he ever thought of letting you go.

I meant what I said. James will regret it for the rest of his life if he loses her forever. Because there’s still a chance for him right now; if he gets his head out of his ass, and away from Holly’s, he’ll get back the greatest thing that ever happened to him. And that’s when it struck me: I’ve been so hell-bent on pursuing Holly to solidify my empire, Indy has been slowly seeping her way into my bloodstream. And now I can’t stay away. When I’m near her, I can’t not touch her. Her kisses are drugging, and it took all the strength I had to get her off, and nothing else. I’d come in my pants just from having her rub against me, her pussy gripping my fingers; that’s all it took. One kiss from her and I would have bent her over the desk, not caring if Holly looked up and saw us through the window.

So no, I can’t kiss her again.

Even if making her come was the hottest thing I’ve ever done.

Even if her penchant for revenge is nearly as dark as mine.

She wants the lumberjack. And a small-town, adored-by-all-for-no-reason guy is not someone I’ll ever be. She doesn’t want a guy who works all the time, who is obsessed with building and building so he’ll never be deprived of a home again. She wants stability, consistency. That’s what MacIn-Douchebag offers her. Not city life and chaos.

I know this is true because the second she felt me come in my pants, she was off my lap and out the door. Not so much as a damn thank you for the orgasm. Sure, I wouldn’t kiss her, but we’d surpassed niceties at this point. She licked her come off my fingers no problem. Why would we need to kiss again? It’s not like I can sleep with her. Getting her off is too far as it is. There’s no way I’d get Holly back and her dad’s approval if I slept with Indy because I can’t resist the way her eyes roll to the back of her head when she’s got a serious case of the schadenfreudes.

My phone vibrates in my pocket as I lock up the building, taking a bite of the over-baked croissant Holly made.

“Charlie,” I say.

“I need a drink. I can’t stop thinking about dungarees.”

Christ, just what I need.

“Fine, there’s a bar in town. I think it’s called The Bear Den. Head there, and we’ll discuss all the reasons why dungarees are a bad idea.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Everything around here is walkable. Can you imagine living within a one-mile radius of everything in town?”

“I have everything I need within a one-mile radius in the city, and I have access to Uber and same-day delivery for anything I don’t. Why would I want to live here where it takes two to three business days to get anything done?”

“You bought a building pretty fast.”

“And I paid through the nose, thanks to you.”

“She would have said no if we hadn’t incentivized her.”

I sigh, deciding to hang up on him before we get into details of why offering forty percent more than the value of the building was a good idea. Clearly I’m not going to win that argument, even though I’m right.

The Bear Den sits at the end of Main Street, the opposite end to the bakery. In fact, you have to pass the town square and a gaudy statue of the town’s founder, holding hands with a bear cub, which is, frankly, as ridiculous as it is concerning. They’re opening themselves up to being sued for that suggestion.

You would think a small town like this would have a regular bar, but The Bear Den leans into its name. Photos of bear sightings litter one wall, including what looks to be an investigative murder board with a photo of a giant bear in the middle, a big red question mark to the side. Red strings, like snipped-out newspaper articles, photos, and faces of people in outdoor clothing who have gone missing in recent years. The bar must be the heart of the town, as it usually is in communities this small, and the gossip headquarters for criminal behavior or mythical conspiracies. It’s quirky, and for a moment, the ice-cold lump of coal in my chest warms. This is a real community. These people care about each other. I swallow down the lump in my throat and take in the rest of the space.

The floor is sticky, the bar a deep mahogany stained with the rings of condensation from a cool bottle of beer.

Spinning around, I catch Charlie’s eye as he waves a hand out from a dark green leather booth.

“I got you a beer. Your woman is here.” He tips the neck of his beer behind me.

“Indy?”

His mouth quirks up at the side. “Now, considering you’re in Holly’s hometown, here to apparently win Holly back, why is it that your mind immediately jumps to your landlady for all intents and purposes?”