I relax and sigh. “That might be the end of me working for Saddle & Spur,” I comment, glancing at the others.
Ram shrugs. “Doesn’t mean you can’t still get the story,” he says. “Anyone would pay top dollar for an interview with us.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like I’m gonna get that.”
His eyes crinkle. “I don’t know about that,periodista.”
I tilt my head, studying him, before looking at the other two. “So, you wouldn’t kick me to the curb if I get fired?”
Tripp shoves his hands in his pockets when no one says anything. “My dog likes you. Wouldn’t wanna break his heart.”
I smile. We’ve come a long way from grumpy non-answers to kind of admitting at least his dog wants me around. “Are you guys done for the day?”
“Tripp still has to collect his papers, and Beau needs to go reassure the higher ups that there won’t be a repeat of today. They’re on edge right now,” Ram says.
Beau rolls his eyes. “Nervous folks.”
Beau and Tripp go do that and leave me standing with Ram. At first, the silence is awkward, but then it just gets heavy. I look at him, my fingers twisting together.
“I’m not sure if you’re judging me or not,” I comment.
“Judging you?” he laughs. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“Well. . . I did make out with your friend in the middle of a packed arena,” I point out.
He hums. “And almost fucked him in the curtains I heard.”
I wince. “Yeah.”
“Again, why would I judge you for that?” He takes a step closer. “Especially when I’d very much like to do the same.”
I swallow. “I am so out of my depth here,” I admit.
“That’s okay,periodista,” he breaths, his fingers coming up to stroke through a strand of my hair. “We can keep you afloat.”
I open my mouth, prepared to ask him why. Why me? Why is this okay? Why are they all just happy to kiss me and drive me insane? I don’t understand. But I don’t get the chance to.
“Indie Chen?”
I turn to the voice, frowning when a man I don’t recognize stands there. He’s wearing a black suit, tattoos peeking from the edges of his neck. I can’t tell what they are, but it looks like it cost a considerable amount of money.
“Who’s asking?” I say, trying to figure out if I’m supposed to know him.
He pulls an envelope from his inner pocket and holds it out toward me.
“What’s that?” I ask. “Am I being served?”
He shakes his head. “Your father sent me to deliver this.”
I’d been about to grab the letter, but at his words, I immediately shrink back. “I don’t want it.”
“He’s been trying to reach you, but you haven’t answered calls. I’ve been instructed to give this to you in his stead.”
“I said I don’t want it,” I repeat, shaking my head. “You can keep it.”
The man takes a step forward and Ram is suddenly there, his eyes hard. “I suggest you stop right there.”
The man looks at Ram with raised brows. “You don’t know what you’re stepping into. You should back up.”