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Tracie stepped close, and her eyes slid left and right to make sure we were alone. It was the look of a woman about to drop some serious gossip. And I was there for it. I leaned forward.
“He is one of the most eligible and unattainable men in LA. He is a hot commodity.”
“Unattainable?”
“Total confirmed bachelor. Getting a third date with Wilson Phillips is a quest that most single, ambitious females in Hollywood have taken up and failed to complete.”
“Why bother?” Chasing a man notorious for not being open to a relationship sounded like a ton of effort for no good reason. If I got dressed up and blocked time out of my schedule to go on a date, I wanted a man who was interested in a relationship, not one I’d have to beg for a third date. Thankfully, I was old enough to have my head on straight.
“You’re kidding, right? It’s like winning the dating lottery. He is loaded. Not a man whore. Knows everyone in LA. No ex-wives.” Tracie counted off Wilson’s list of what I saw as underwhelming attributes on her elegant fingers. “And hot! Have you seen him? Wow!” She clawed the air with her long nails and growled.
Now Tracie was making sense. Mewow was right. My kitty was all for getting petted by Mr. Unattainable yesterday at the pool. The smoldering gaze. The kissable lips. He had magnetism, but it wasn’t enough to have me interested in buying a ticket to the unwinnable Wilson Phillips dating lottery. Although thoughts of him might pair nicely with a freshly charged vibrator.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. New rule. No jilling off to fantasies of my client.
“Hee-Haw! Hee-Haw!”
The braying nearly blew out my eardrums. I should have picked somewhere else to sit. Damn donkeys.
Tracie jumped a foot off the ground, a hand pressed to her heart at the rude interruption.
“Oh my, is that normal?” She looked aghast at the medium-sized gray quadruped on the other side of the wood three-rail fence.
Most people’s only exposure to a donkey was Eddie Murphy’s character in Shrek, and they failed to understand the reality. Donkeys were loud, silly, and often downright annoying equines with a host of special needs. And the reality was why so many ended up here at the Stubborn Donkey Sanctuary.
I turned to look at the pen. Myrtle, the jenny with an attitude that they named the brewery for, kneeled on her front legs, haunches in the air, leaning between the fence rails in donkey down dog. Her fuzzy neck extended as far as it could go, lips pursed, straining forward. Millimeters from a single blade of bright green grass.
“Yes. That is Myrtle. She is on a diet. And hates it. No green grass for her, too much sugar.”
“Poor girl, I’m grouchy when I’m going low carb too. Can I pet her?” Tracie’s hand reached out toward Myrtle’s spiky mane.
Myrtle shoved forward. The fence bowed slightly, but not enough. She still couldn’t reach the grass. She pulled back, stood, and again brayed at us like we were to blame for her short neck.
I winced and waited for her to quit making such a racket before I answered. “Sure. If you want her to love you forever, give her that grass.”
Tracie plucked the single blade of contraband and extended her hand toward Myrtle. The donkey knew a good thing when she saw it and lipped the grass carefully from Tracie’s fingers. Her soft brown eyes filled with devotion.
“Those ears. So big.” Tracie stroked one of the impossibly long appendages. “Can you take a picture of us for my socials?” She passed her phone to me, and I clicked off a few shots, as she loved on Myrtle.
The pair would make great social media fodder. I was lining up the fifth or sixth shot when Tracie suddenly straightened, and a hundred-watt smile lit up her face. Her attention was fixed on someone over my shoulder.
I turned slowly, the sinking feeling in my gut growing. Wilson Phillips had to be behind me. Of course it was him. No other man in this county would get that smile from Tracie.
She rushed forward, all gushing introductions and breathless panting. It looked like she was trying for one of the worthless Wilson Phillips dating lottery tickets. Note to self: stay far away from that drama. I’d already almost blown this opportunity, and I wasn’t going to let it happen again. Smart choices and good behavior from now on.
I edged away while Tracie had Wilson distracted. Kate would be a more sympathetic audience for my apology. I had almost escaped when he caught my arm, anchoring me in place. My skin, where his hand rested, warmed with awareness, and the fine hairs on my arm bristled. Heat started churning in my belly and spreading outward—the same heat that led to all kinds of brazen behavior yesterday.
Bodily reaction be damned. I needed to keep my eye on the prize. My commission. Do not muck this up.
The gentle restraint conjured thoughts of him holding me down. Pinning me to a mattress. How delicious. Ugh, not helpful.
I tugged away. His hand fell to his side, curling into a white-knuckled fist.
I was stuck—ready to run but needing to talk.
“It was lovely to meet you, Tracie. But can you give Cameron and me a moment to chat?” He dismissed Tracie with a wave of his hand. A king commanding a loyal subject. A smiling Tracie abandoned me to Wilson’s tender mercies without looking back.
The silence stretched long, only the rustling of tree branches filled the void. I fidgeted, twisting the gold ring on my right hand.
