Page 12 of My Secret Santa Dallas

His fingers white-knuckled the wheel. “Does it matter?”

“It kind of does,” I said. “If I knew my own family had axed the career I’d been working on for over a decade, then again, I wouldn’t put it past my uncle. He’s a misogynistic snake.”

“At least you know who your enemy is,” he said. “I didn’t even know I had one.”

“Seriously?” I asked. “I mean, you looked after the books; how could you not have seen any differences or noticed if they were cooked?”

“Our company was a hedge fund setup,” he said. “We didn’t get money from the HQ; we only used the Drayton name to have leverage and gain rich clientele. Aside from that, we were autonomous.”

“Ah,” I understood. “It makes sense now. Maybe the company can rebound if they don’t have direct dealings with HQ, you know, rebranding and all that.”

His jaw worked. “We’ll see.”

We’d reached the outskirts of town, where, according to the document that had passed from Hunter Portman’s desk, which outlined a plot of land, fifty acres, I suppose, where the 275 square foot plant was to be built.

From the schematics, the plant would not even take up half an acre. Still, the rest was to be used for sustainable development, making an independent solar power plant to keep the place going and also to serve for waste treatment. There was even a part about extending the plant—which was why the extra acres were needed—but there were also plans to create a tanner and leather facility, but I wasn’t sure when that would come in.

We came to a stretch of land freshly cut down, the stretch spanning as far as the eye could see. The road into the land was flat and made of pressed dirt, showing tractor tires, truck treads, and whatnot.

The truck came to the active construction site, and I saw the dug-out foundation, the steelwork going up, and sheds chock full of materials. Men and women wearing hard hats and neon vests roamed the site, checking off boxes while other workers organized the materials.

“I’ll be damned,” a strange voice had us pivoting to the left, and a tall, gray-haired man, came forward. “Dallas Donovan. Warrick told me you were around these parts, but I hadn’t dared to believe him. I was wrong, and I am so glad I am dead wrong. How are you, son?”

I shot a look at Dallas, wondering how he’d react to this. He stuck out his hand, though, and shook the man’s hand. “Mayor Treeve. I’m glad to be back; a bit overdue, isn’t it?”

“Very,” the mayor replied. “Welcome home.”

He then shifted his attention to me. “You must be Miss Cullen from Portman’s Corp. Warrick told me about you, too. Do you want a walk-around?”

“Please,” Dallas replied. “I’d love to see what is going on.”

Two hours later, after crisscrossing the construction grounds and seeing where the plant was going to be, the slaughter-hall, the chilling hall, and the deboning room, we had a good handle on where things were going to be, and we checked off the boxes in accordance with the schematic.

“That’s all of it,” the mayor said. “You can come back anytime.”

“About that,” Dallas said. “Warrick is going away for a while, and he has put me in charge of this project for the time being. I’ll be here more often than not.”

“Wewill be here,” I inserted, stressing the ‘we’.

His brows lifted, his gaze shifting between Dallas and me. “Oh, well, no problem on my part, since I might not be overseeing it as often as I would like either.”

“That is not a problem,” Dallas replied. “As long as I have your office’s number, and I do, I will send over the reports as soon as I get them.”

“Well, we’re all set then,” Mayor Treeve said. “Oh, did Warrick appraise you of the Secret Santa setup? We’re holding the shindig at Millie’s Diner. Why not drop by there for a spell after you leave here? I am sure they would love to see you.”

Dallas didn’t like that— I knew he didn’t. In under sixteen hours, I was a master at deciphering Dallas’ expressions.The man did not hide his emotions as well as he thought he was doing.

“I’ll do that,” he said.

“Good man,” Mayor Treeve clapped Dallas’ shoulder and shook my hand again. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Me too,” I replied. “May I say, I haven’t seen much of your town yet, but from the little I have seen, it’s very idyllic and quaint.”

I sweared, his chest puffed out. “Why, thank you. I do my best, as does everyone in this town.”

“I see,” I nodded. “Where is the best place to get a fancy cup of coffee?”

“Riverbend Café,” Mayor Treeve said proudly. “I can guarantee you will have the best coffee there, bar none. As a matter of fact, tell Sam I’ll pick up the tab. It’s my treat.”

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