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I say Lolly Benoit is burned into my brain like a brand. Her horror when she found what I was about to do, her mouth when it found mine and met like with like, her ease when she rode away from me. I don’t know what Lolly has, but she has it in spades and I want to taste it all.
Pascal steps up with Juliette’s steak tartare, but she shoos him away.
“Shall we?” She pushes back her chair and makes for the elevator without a backward glance.
THE CHECK IS IN THE MAIL
Lolly Benoit. High Winds Polo Club. Palm Beach, Florida.
“Lolly!” The tone of Stephanie’s voice makes Tattle’s neck shoot straight up like a giraffe’s, and every muscle in my back does whatever the human equivalent is.
I do not have the bandwidth to deal with this woman’s nonsense today. I’m all wrung out and need to preserve what’s left of my sanity.
“Where’s my horse?”
I mutter something that might be, “Why don’t you get here earlier and get your own damn horse ready?” but then Tattle, who has only just gotten back from the vet, turns to look at me with her dark brown eyes, and I change my tune.You’re right, girl. Gently does it.
Like him.He was the model of restraint and leadership when Tattle needed us, ordering all food out of the barn aisle, clearing space so he could walk her without her reaching for something that might make the colic worse, administering meds per the vet’s instructions. And that was all before I made it downstairs. All I saw was a gentleman doing what gentle men do best: leading by example.
If that’s not hot, nothing is.
Ugh. Mariano. What the hell! He’s the last person I want to think about. He might have been a dream when he was handling Tattle, but he played on my emotions, making me think—stupid, foolish, optimistic heart—that he’d changed his mind, and then ducked out like we hadn’t started an inferno in my pants.
And his!
That wasn’t fake anything that he was touting. The man had it bad. But then again, I guess he’s young enough and fit enough that he’d salute a passing doorknob if he thought he could get it on. I wish I’d never laid eyes on him, and I triple-wish I’d never let my lips touch his. I can still feel the brush of his stubble against my cheek, his mouth exploring mine, his erection pressing against me. And I freaking hate him for all the feelings I’m feeling. It’s not fair that your body does body things when your mind knows it’s too good to be true and you should be doing the opposite.
“Seriously, Lolly! What is taking so long?” Case in point. Stephanie is just outside Tattle’s stall, actually flicking her crop against the wooden wall.
“She’s been having some digestive issues lately.” It’s not the full truth, but I’m not going to be the one to tell her why Tattle’s on complete stall rest. It’s not my fault if she doesn’t answer her phone or read the daily reports about her horse. “She’s on stall rest.”
“Who am I riding, then?” She glances around the barn, thwacking her crop against her boot.
What a b - i - itch. Seriously. At least ask about your pony.
“Almost ready!” I give Tattle another soothing stroke and scuttle one stall over to Ambrosia.
Thanks to my unexpected encounter with half-naked Mariano, I’ve been running behind all day. Because after seeingthatup close and personal, together with that body-smush thing we did, I needed to clear my mind, and the best way to do that is to ride. Again. Up on Velveteen is the one place where I’m fully in the moment, where all that matters is me and her and what we have to say to each other.
As I was riding, I caught a glimpse of something moving in the barn aisle—Mariano?the traitorous part of my brain wondered. It’s just not fair that someone so arrogant—and sure that he could waltz in and just have me—could be so attractive. But by the time Velveteen and I had gone past there was nothing, no penis-pressing, perfect-kissing, delectable-touching Argentinian in the barn aisle, just Gustavo’s cheery whistle coming from down at the other end of the stable, where he was getting started on the day’s stalls.
Stephanie has already been at the barn for a good forty-five minutes, bleating into her phone about Kyle-this and Kyle-that, jangling her Tiffany charm bracelet for effect, telling her listener about “Kyle’s huge mallet” and how amazingly he played against Mariano in Hawaii. But during all that time, she hasn’t bothered to lift a single finger to get her own horse ready, while I scrambled around tacking up almost all the other horses who are getting ridden in today’s Coaching League Chukker.
Because why would she? That’s what she pays me for. Except…
I’m so glad I have something practical to focus my mind!
…Stephanie hasn’t paid me since the month before last. And if she doesn’t pay up, I don’t have enough money to pay this month’s club membership. Not even close. Because the work I do at the stables might pay for my room and Velveteen’s board, but the extra I make from clients too rich to bother with their own horses is money I need. Like, yesterday.
Stephanie is my biggest client by a long shot. She pays me for extra turnout and extra grain and extra rides and regular grooming. Except, apparently, she doesn’t pay me. So, when she reaches to snatch up Ambrosia’s reins, I don’t let go.
“What the hell, Lolly?” Stephanie shoots me a look like she might smack me with her crop. It’s a look designed to make me take a step back. Instead, it scares Ambrosia. The poor mare backs away so quickly her hooves slip on the pavers. Stephanie leaps back, her eyes wide, leaving me holding the reins. Because I’m the one who actually does shit with horses, who knows how to cope with them when they’re scared. “What’s the matter with her? Has she been getting turned out like she’s supposed to? What about Tattle? Have you been making sure she’s being exercised?” She’s already forgotten Tattle is supposedly on stall rest. Or maybe she never even heard me tell her.
Stephanie goes on yapping, but I ignore her. Instead, I breathe out a sigh and Ambrosia blows, then lowers, her head. I lead her forward again, back to Stephanie, who seems reluctant to take the reins now.
“About that.” I make my voice firm. Ambrosia’s ears swivel to me, then back to Stephanie. “I’ve been turning Tattle out, and grooming her, and everything else. It’s all on the invoice I sent you last month. And the one I sent you this month. Did you get them?”
Stephanie’s mouth does something that is half-smile, half-smirk. “Just because it’s on an invoice, doesn’t mean you did it.”
