Page 53 of My Secret Santa Dallas

No, that type is a surly cowboy back on a ranch in Montana.

“And do you have this genius guy's number?” I asked.

“I’ll call him,” he said. “He can come by later this evening. I promise you, you’ll like him.”

“That’s for you to decide,” I said, turning away, my boots slapping on the wet tile as I headed to Dad’s study to greet him. I was halfway sure he already knew I was there but was waiting for me to come to him instead of him coming to me.

After that, I’d go to my rooms and change; I still had a few good clothes there, and if I didn’t, I would have my credit cards and the best shopping districts around.

Dad’s study was a bastion of male ambiance, all woods and leather furnishing, oak bookshelves, and Moroccan rugs. I knocked on the door and waited for him to tell me to come in before I did. Dad bowed his silvering head over an old-fashioned ledger instead of the accounting software on his Mac.

“Hey, Dad,” I said. “Surprised to see me?”

He looked up. “The sensor from the gate told me you were here, so no. I am happy to see you, though you missed Thanksgiving.”

And I was sure it was as cold and clinical as always. Itwas hardly as warm and welcoming as the one I had in Montana.

“Is Mom home?” I asked.

“She is, but she went out to have lunch with some of her friends,” he said. “I suspect you’ll see her at dinner.”

“Do you know Dr. Alexander Ricola? One of Wentworth’s friends?” I asked him.

“Ah yes, I met him last night. A very bright fellow with a bright future in biotechnology,” Dad said.

If Dad had met and thought highly of him, maybe he wasn’t so bad. Still, I didn’t trust Wentworth as far as I could throw him. “I see. I am meeting him later on, so I’ll have to change. Tell her to come to my room if Mom comes home before I go.”

I headed to my suite and got into the shower after taking out a decent suit to wear. Half an hour later, I was back downstairs just as Wentworth called me into his office. I stepped in to see a man standing near the window, a glass of whiskey in hand and staring out at the extensive backyard and the rose garden my mother had planted.

How had Wentworth gotten him here so fast? Was he on speed dial?

“You must be the good doctor about to save the world from fossil fuels,” I said while stepping in.

He turned, and I saw sharp hazel eyes behind rimless glasses, his brown hair cut at the nape and swept away from his forehead. He smiled. “You’re just as beautiful as your brother mentioned you would be.”

His British accent ran over me, but it didn’t make me shiver as Dallas' dry drawl did.

“I regret not meeting you last night, but things were out of my control,” I replied. “Where is Wentworth?”

“He went to get another bottle of whiskey from the cellars,” he replied. “Please, tell me about yourself.”

We started a decent conversation, and the more I learned about him, the more I had to admit that Wentworth was right, regrettably—he was the kind of man I’d have loved to meet. But I still felt there was more to this arrangement than I was told.

Alexander was a decent guy and didn’t flash his education—or the lack of it, in my brother's case—like a fool. I could hear it when he spoke and told me about his work with biotech and his use of bioethanol production from sargassum seaweed in tropical countries.

“That is my pet project, though,” he said. “My main focus is creating AI algorithms to detect traits of human diseases such as cancer cells. And the odd robot or two.”

Robots—that caught my attention.

That was something I knew Wentworth would be interested in. He wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about cancer. As I was about to ask him more, Wentworth returned, and the conversation turned to the upcoming social engagements our class was about to attend.

“Our Christmas ball will be exquisite,” Wentworth slipped into his office chair, grinning like the damned Cheshire cat.

I knew he thought he had something, but I was not fooled. There was more to this—I just had to find out. While Alexander and Wentworth talked about a governor’s party at New Year's, I got my cell out and accessed the recording app. I waited until the two finished speaking, and Alexander said he had another meeting to head to before I said goodbye to them. I shoved the cell between the chair’s cushions, leaving it recording.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” I said. “Jet lag.”

“See you at dinner,” he said smugly.

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