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He hands the iPad back to me, and I glance at the screen. “You buy cosmetics for your ex?”
“It’s complicated.” He laughs, pointing at me across the desk. “You’re hired, by the way. Everyone thinks landmen are sneaky assholes. You’ll make me look nice—that’s exactly what I need.”
“I’ll do my research and come up with a concept that makes you a sterling beacon of honesty and friendship.”
“Friendship might be taking it too far.”
“Okay… We’ll stop at honesty and make it more accessibility.”
“But not too accessible.”
“Not too accessible.” I smile feeling eager to get started and… happy. How is that possible?
“Perfect.” He stands, holding out his hand. “Whatever you need, just let me know. Deacon speaks very highly of you. I look forward to seeing your work.”
“I’ll have a concept to you by the end of the week.”
One Texas landman down. That just leaves a horse trader in Fort Worth. I feel like I should start a television show. How to shake off the pain of a broken heart by kickstarting your career.
William is doing everything his power not to say I told you so. “Rich is a total flirt.” Today, he’s in a dark brown undershirt with a bright blue satin kimono on top. Love Island is on pause on the oversized flat screen television in the living room. “But he’s hopelessly stuck on his ex-wife, from what I understand.”
“Oh my gosh!” I hop over the back of the couch and land on my feet in front of him. Tonight I’m back in my red PJ pants and my favorite sleep tee that says I only sleep with the best.
“Easy, girl! My fuzzy navel!” William places the bright yellow drink carefully on the end table.
“I showed him the websites I’ve created, and he ordered some of Noel’s lip mask for his ex.” I sit back making big eyes and smiling like I solved an Agatha Christie mystery.
William rolls his eyes and waves his hand. “What to do with that boy. Although, she is gorgeous. Former Dallas Cowboy cheerleader turned journalist. She’s beauty and brains. You two should be besties.”
Shifting in my seat, I look up at the television, thinking. I haven’t cried once today—a first in two weeks. “I’m feeling really good.”
“You should feel good, Little Italy! You’re taking Big D by storm—just like I predicted.” He takes a sip and nods toward me. “What would Mamma J say?”
Ma… It doesn’t take a second for me to answer. “She’d say when are you coming home.”
We laugh, and I rest my cheek on bent knees. I’ll be home soon, but first I have to do what Mrs. Irene says. It’s time to take care of me, stand on my own feet, and figure out who I am without him. It’s time to grow up.
Curling under the warm quilt, I stare at the ceiling, thinking how far away from home I am. I’m sharing an apartment with my friend, and I’m learning to be myself as an adult apart from my mother, apart from him.
Closing my eyes, I swallow the ache in my throat, the never-ending longing in my heart.
Being independent is a good thing.
Still, when sleep finally washes over me, my dreams go where they always do, into the arms of a strong, silent Marine who told me to hold his hand and never let go.
Lincoln Beale is not at all what I expect as the head of marketing for Superior Show Horses. For starters, he’s not wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and an oversized belt buckle. He actually looks like he stepped out of the pages of Esquire.
“Miss Ray?” He’s quiet, more polished than Rich. Tall with dark hair and blue eyes, a nice square jaw and dressed in a buttoned-down oxford and tweed blazer with jeans. “Thanks for meeting me at the stables. We had an incident this afternoon that changed my plans.”
So formal.
I’m in dark jeans, a red blouse, and knee-high riding boots. Today, my hair is loose down my back, but I still project a very professional image. “It’s actually better this way. Seeing you in your element helps me visualize a concept.”
“A concept.” He slides a hand through his thick hair. “I would think a name like Superior Show Horses tells you all you need to know.”
He’s being genuinely nice, so I answer honestly. “What type of horses? Thoroughbred or stock? Racing, jumping, or rodeo? A picture says a thousand words.”
“I see your point.” Stopping, he faces me, and when he smiles, he has white teeth and an attractive dimple in his cheek. “Our logo needs updating, and we’d like to have a better website altogether. Deb, the owner wants to do a print campaign in the trade magazines, and I’m wondering if you’re free on Friday night for dinner.”
