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Asshole.
Chapter Ten
Leland
The problem with having a busy day is trying to keep my focus and being unable to do so. It’s frustrating and all I keep thinking about is Sarah.
She’s in my head.
The warm silk of her skin, the soft heat of her breath, that mouth. Why is there something so damn familiar about her mouth?
Because there when we were on the side porch, something about the way she looked up at me, that caught me, tugged at something deep inside, hidden away.
I rub a hand over my eyes.
Now, I’m imagining things.
I want to put it all down to her playing fucking hard to get, or whatever her problem is, but while I like a chase, I don’t go after what I can’t have in that way. I don’t push someone like I push her.
I told myself I was going to play games, but that keeps slipping away when Sarah’s there.
On paper, we don’t fit. I don’t do complicated. I do sweet and easy and panting for me in just the right way. If it’s a chase that’s framed in want on both ends, and we’re into it, oh, yeah, give me that.
But Sarah means it with her words when she pushes and lies with her body and eyes. She wants me, though she doesn’t want to want me.
“Get it together,” I mutter.
There’s a knock at my door and my PA pokes her head around.
“There’s someone here to see you, Leland,” Melissa says.
She’s a pretty blonde, about my age, and if she didn’t work for me and wasn’t happily married with three kids, I’d be up in all that. Or would have. It’s not that I want her or don’t, it’s more of an instinctual thing of sizing up the prey, and for once in my life, I’m not even vaguely interested on that level.
“Anyone important? I have a deadline.”
“He said he’s from Alpine Energy. Nathan Bailey?”
“Send him in.”
Finally, someone is here, and I can hopefully get some more light on their latest campaign.
The man is not what I expect. Dressed to fit in, in jeans, boots, even a flannel shirt, I’m betting each item is designer and they all look new.
I invite him to sit but he declines.
“Checked in with the sheriff’s office?”
His brows rise above his black-framed glasses. “I wasn’t aware people coming into town to look around had to do that.”
“You do when it involves the sheriff and his fiancée,” I say. “You’re here trying to get the land the sheriff’s fiancée owns.”
I leave the words to hang there and he only smiles, the slight double chin of age and soft living showing a little more. There’snothing sincere about the attempt at affability, which is fine by me. We’re on the same page.
And he’s here because I’ll be the one they’ll have to deal with. He’s looking at me like he’s got me sized up and labeled.
Fine by me.
“Everyone likes money, Mr. Conley.”
