Page 22 of The Cowboy's Second Chance Bride

“If you don’t use creamer, why do you have”—he gestured to my fridge—“crème brûlée in your fridge?”

“For company. I’m not a barbarian.” I took another sip and felt my lip curling in disgust. I pressed my lips together tightly. Not only had he ruined my sleep, but now he was ruining my coffee as well. He was a plague on my life.

“If you’re ready, we can leave. After the presser, I want to talk to you about the lack of security at your house.” He stood, gave me a nod, and headed toward the front door.

“Just go away, Cal. Seriously.”

“Don’t tell me I don’t know you, Reenie. I know as soon as I’m outside, you’re gonna dump a ton of creamer in that coffee. Straight black made your eye twitch.” He tossed this over his shoulder and followed it with a chuckle.

I gave him my favorite middle finger and sent angry energy waves in his direction. Cal laughed all the way out the door. I waited until I heard it close before I added the necessary goods to my coffee, then hid the evidence in a dark travel mug.

After grabbing my large black tote that also worked as a purse, I locked my front door and went out to the garage, where my black SUV waited. I didn’t get any farther than backing out when I was forced to stop because both Cal’s rental and his body were blocking my way. His arms were crossed over his chest.

I gave him a finger wave, clicked the button to bring the window down, and stuck my head out. “Is there a problem?” I bit my cheeks to keep from laughing.

“How am I supposed to drive with that written on my windshield?” He jerked his head toward his car.

“I thought it best we come out strong. Make a bold statement.”

“And writing ‘This moron doesn’t beat me,’ and signing your name and drawing an arrow pointing to the driver’s side is your bold statement?”

“Too strong?” I let a chuckle escape.

“Perhaps it implies other morons do.” He snickered. “You and those markers. I’m going to take them away from you.” He was a tall, rigid pole of pent-up… something. Anger was not the word, because laughter was starting to seep out of him.

“Bah.” I waved a hand, dismissing his words. “After today, I’ll be out of your hair, and you’ll never see me and my markers again. The hose is on the side of the house. I’ll wait here.”

I pointed to the side I was talking about, then closed my window. I hoped he would spray himself accidentally. I was looking for proof that the universe was on my side.

As usual, the universe let me down. He wet the window, then put the wipers on as he continued to spray the windshield. My words were erased in mere seconds. I shrugged. At least I’d had a good five minutes of irritating him.

I followed him to a popular five-star hotel in downtown Dallas. After leaving my car with the valet, I met him in the foyer and followed him to a small conference space where Paul Not-a-Lumberjack Runyon waited for us.

“The room is full. We start in five minutes.” He turned to me. “It’s nice to see you again. Thank you for coming.”

I asked the question that had been on my mind. “Why do a conference here and not in Seattle?”

“We’ve done security teaching at all the colleges here, as well as for the pro sports teams, and personal security for many of the billionaires who live here—even the well-known political ones. In Dallas, we have a lot of allies but also a lot of people who want answers. This is the quickest way to get those answers to them.”

He was talking about presidents and presidential candidates. No wonder Cal was worried about their reputation. Anonymity was power. Keeping secrets from the enemy was instrumental in providing protection and safety countermeasures to attacks. This smear campaign was ripping the anonymity away and, therefore, scaring potential clients and was lobbing financial hits, all while discrediting Cal’s company.

I got hung up on another tidbit. Cal had been in Dallas several times over the last decade. I’d never heard about it, and we’d never accidentally come across each other. I should have been glad about that, but I was disappointed. And that made me a ginormous moron. All these years, I’d purposefully kept any mention of him from crossing my screen, and I was sad that had worked? I wanted to slap myself in the face and knock some good sense into myself.

Good luck with that, my inner voice said.

Oh, shut up.

Cal went to check on the attendance while Paul reviewed some of the stock questions they anticipated would be asked and his suggested responses. I gave my nod of approval to all but the last one. That I had declined working with them because it didn’t align with my plans.

“Yes, when Morgan initially offered me the job, I turned her down. Yet, when she told me how much it paid, I reconsidered. I’m working toward a goal, and that money would have taken me far. And truthfully, if the job was still available, I would likely take it. I can’t lie out there and say I didn’t want the job, because I did. I can’t say it doesn’t align because I’m branching out to do a documentary. But I can say that the timing isn’t best for me right now because there’s truth to that. Semantics, ya know.”

Paul nodded, studying me. I could tell the gears in his head were grinding, and I was curious as to what they might be coming up with.

Cal interrupted us. “Come with me.” He held out a hand. “Paul’s going in ahead of us.”

I smacked his hand away. “Just go. I’ll be behind you.”

I couldn’t bring myself to say “follow,” because it was like saying I’d follow him anywhere. Being around Cal was messing with my good sense, and the sooner this presser was over, the sooner he would get out of my life, and I could go back to pretending he never existed. I could get back to me.

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