Page 13 of Something Like Sunflowers

“Oh, yes,” I say, “the charity. We were thinking about doing one…” I look at Molly for more guidance, but she looks like she’s about to pop a gasket if she loses to James, so I just wing it. “Whoever gets more money for their charity…gets the job?”

Molly’s eyes are wide now, but she’s smiling and nodding with a twinkle that says she likes this idea a whole lot more than whatever her original plan was. James isn’t concerned, go figure. But he has moved on to bigger and better things, such as his Sargento cheese stick. Who knows how long that will keep him occupied.

“I like this idea,” Claudette finally says. “But we need some rules.”

Hunter isn’t smiling anymore. He’s kept the same stone cold, neutral face since I called him a player, and even though I think it was justified—I mean, just look at the evidence all over the Internet—I also think I feel bad.

“Rule Number One,” Claudette begins, “you must use your existing social media platforms to promote your charity so we can follow along and track your progress.”

“Shouldn’t be hard for Playboy over there,” I mumble. I expect Hunter to tousle my hair or elbow me. To say something snarky. Anything. But he doesn’t, and I feel uncomfortable with that.

Regardless, he’s my competition. I must think of him that way, and only that way.

“Rule Number Two, you will have exactly three months to promote and conduct your event. Rule Number Three, you must hold your events in the same area on the same day for us to get accurate results where marketing and audience statistics are concerned. You are from the same hometown, so that should be easy enough.”

My eyes widen, but Molly shoots me a glare that says to keep my lips sealed, so I do. I don’t know why I keep trusting her, but so far, I’m failing on my own, and I need to learn to trust someone if I’m going to get where I want at this company.

“At the end of the three months, we will all fly out to Forest Prairie—”

“Pine Forest,” Hunter and I reply in tandem. The whole room falls silent while Molly, James, and Claudette exchange glances. I shift my gaze to Hunter, but he averts his eyes, and suddenly I feel like someone stole the wind from within me. Deflated my lifeboat. I’m sinking.

But no! This is my interview. My life.

We had our chance. And he proved that when life got tough, he could move on from me however easily he wanted to. However much it broke my heart. Now this? This is my chance.

I turn to Claudette and clear my throat, outstretching my hand and giving hers a quick, firm shake. “It sounds perfect. I can’t wait to show you just how much money I can raise with the Classy Country image in mind. You won’t regret it.”

“I bet I won’t.”

Hunter, who’s been dead silent since I called him a player, finally perks up and pastes on the most fake smile I’ve seen since my own damn face on last week’s news. I’m almost charmed myself, but only momentarily because when he speaks, I remember how much I hate him.

How cocky and full of falsities he is. How easily he lies, and how pretty it sounds when he does it. I want to clobber Hunter Isaac.

“Miss Claudette, thank you for the opportunity to put my little program on the map. I’m honored. I’m already working with the youth rodeo team, and Classy Country’s designs can be featured on our competition wear and merchandise.” He leans in and pulls a handkerchief out of his stupid T-shirt pocket and wipes at the non-existent sweat on his brow before lifting the hem of his shirt, waving it in and out and showing more skin than I feel was legitimately necessary for the temperature.

“It’s hot in here, don’t you think?” He winks at Molly and James and then turns to me, licking those lips like he seems to fancy doing.

I can play, too, Isaac.

“That’s awesome, Hunty,” I say, my words dripping in sugar. He tries not to show it, but I get the satisfaction of seeing the cringe sweep across his features. He hates when girls call him Hunty, so Hunty it is. “I’ll be at the fair working on my charity, too. Guess we can see once and for all which of us is better.”

“Oh, Little Devy Campbell,” he twists his lips, eyes glinting in mirth, “you said that once upon a time at a lemonade stand, and I’ll be the first to remind you, I won that day.” He twists his chair to face me head-on and places his hands in front of him on the table. “Bet I’ll win this time, too. It just feels like tradition, ya know?”

At that, I place my hands on the table to mirror his body. Everyone is still present in the room, but I’m not paying attention to everyone. I’m only paying attention to the cocky-ass cowboy in front of me. “You won’t beat me with a bunch of stupid horses and ropes.”

He grunts. “And I suppose you’ll be winning with the Little Miss Rodeo pageant, then?”

I hate him so freaking much right now, I don’t even think twice about my answer. Sure, why not? I’m a national pageant queen. I won the Little Miss competition for three years running. I headed the charity council for years before I moved away. It’s not like they would turn me away if I asked to help this year. Especially if I come bearing exclusive Classy Country patterns to use. What better way to show Claudette what I can do than by dominating at what I know best?

“You better believe it,” I say. “And my multi-talented girls are going to put your little pony riding babies to shame.”

We both just stay like that for a minute, breathing the fire that has been scorching between us for a decade, waiting to consume its other half.

I hate Hunter Isaac.

No. That’s a lie.

I hate how he makes me feel.

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