Page 5 of My Secret Santa Dallas

“Let me see that contract.” Dallas strode by me, and I got a whiff of something woodsy.

He took the document and spun it, eyes flying over the sheet. “Starting amount: two point five million, after two years, return rate: six percent, compound annually, end balance: two point eight million and change, with interest three hundred thousand and odd.

“No. It’s a start-up; the rate needs to be dropped to three percent, and then we can increase it as the company grows. Who in their right mind goes for the top-down instead of the bottom-up? I know it’s a startup, but that doesn’t meanrip-off.”

I turned to Warrick. “What do you think, sir?”

“I—” Warrick rubbed his face. “I think… no one is in the wrong here, but maybe we can come to a compromise. Maybe we can drop the ROI down to three percent for the first year and then grow from there. We have to take it one step at a time because we don’t know what might happen with the cattle. We need to have a steady, stable ship before we sail it.”

I thought it over. Maybe there was some wiggle room here. “I will confer with Mr. Portman, and we’ll go over the terms.”

“Good,” Warrick replied. “I hope the room Marie gave you is okay.”

Dallas’ head snapped at us, eyes narrowing. “What? She’s staying with us?”

“How else am I to oversee the building and the construction?” I asked pointedly. “I can’t see the ins-and-outs by video chat, can I?”

His mouth flattened, but I ignored him. “I have some calls to make, so please excuse me.”

“Sure, we’ll see you at dinner. Dallas, stay a spell, will you?”

With a curt nod, I left the room, barely brushing by Dallas; his nostrils flared like a pissed-off bull. I couldn’t care less; let him be pissed off. Hell, I was pissed off. Who did he think he was, walking into the room like he owned the place and busting my chops? He blew apart a deal I’d worked on for sleepless nights and endless days, and now I had to go back to the drawing board.

My loaned bedroom had a soft dove gray color and a crisp ultra-white for all the trim and crown molding, gray and white curtains, and a bed covered in a dark gray coverlet and white sheets.

I toed my Lombardi heels off and tugged the bun out of my hair, letting my hair fall to my waist. Putting it into the hairstyle appropriate for work was a pain, but I could not let it down and let people think I was some floozy sorority girl who used her looks to get to the top.

I shifted my heels to the side and sat the file on the table-and-chair set near the window. I changed into jeans and a blouse, got my calculator, pens, and a pad out, and began to rework the contract, knowing how Mr. Portman would like the terms.

When I had the terms down, the investment was the same, but the time was two years, which didn’t coincide with the lowered returns. I would type it up later, but for now, I had a hard craving for coffee in any variety I could get.

Slipping my new boots on, I left for the lower floor, where lady Marie had told me I could find her and geta cup. She was right where she said she would be, puttering around the kitchen, humming to herself.

I’d never seen myself as a homemaker, even though my family was from the south; we were old money south. My family had not jumped on the planter aristocracy; we’d built railroads and shipping convoys. It was a good thing, too, because slavery was a horrible thing, and it was why I had aligned myself with a company that did not outsource to companies with unethical labor.

“Miss Cullen.” Marie smiled. “Welcome to Montana. Have you had a chance to look around yet?”

“No,” I shook my head. “But I am intrigued. I have flown around the world in lieu of Mr. Portman himself to see all his worldwide operations, but I’ve mostly stayed in the offices, not the ranches. Do you think you can make me a coffee, please?”

She nodded and dropped some heavy cream into a pan before getting the coffee maker going. “I see. You know, there are three more ranches around here, and they all have something unique to them. The town is as unique as they are, too, and I think you’d love to see it, if anything, to get a feel for what it is like to live in a ranching town.”

“I see,” I replied while gazing out the window to the pasture beyond, covered with roaming bulls on one part, and the others had horses. I spotted a few men on the pastures with them, their distinct hats not that much different from the guys I’d seen in Texas on Mr. Portman’s ranch. “Do you think you can get anyone to show me around this ranch too?”

“Not in those boots,” Dallas’ gruff voice interrupted. “You’ll twist your ankles in those.”

Asshat.

“I was told they were fittingfor a ranch.”

“Where?” he said gruffly. “At a ranch-themed party? Because that is what they looked like.”

I ground my teeth. “Do you have any suggestions for anything better?”

His eyes trailed over me, slower than molasses on a winter day. I stopped myself from shivering. I should not be attracted to this asshole. He fixed himself a cup of coffee, black with a single splash of milk, leaning on the counter behind him. His long, lean-muscled body was on display, especially those muscled legs of his bulging under his jeans.

He sipped his drink. “How much did those boots cost?”

“Three fifty,” I said. “They were on sale.”

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