Page 46 of Tate
“They both died.”
“Okay, bad comparison, but certainly the man deserves a little love from the woman he can’t seem to stop chasing.”
“The woman who is going to get him killed if he sticks around. He was inches from getting shot tonight—and not just once. He wasn’t even wearing protective gear—and hello, I’m changing that. Tomorrow, all my security details wear armor. He just hovered over me like a human shield?—”
“Um—”
“If you say that’s his job, I’m kicking you out.”
“Of your life, or just the room? Because I’m hungry and need a kitchen raid.”
Glo rolled her eyes. “C’mon.”
They got up and Glo led the way down the hallway, down the stairs, and across the tile to the massive chef’s kitchen. She left sweaty footprints on the cool tile and stood in the darkness as Cher opened the Sub-Zero fridge, the light cascading over her.
“Did you know Sloan is my mother’s assistant campaign manager?”
Cher pulled out a container of yogurt. “Who’s her manager?”
“The same woman she always uses, Nicole Stevens. She was the one who rounded everyone up and brought in the ensemble to play.”
“The pretty African-American woman?—”
“With the awesome hair, yes. They met in college. Nicole worked as a speechwriter, then as communications director for the governor before she helmed my mother’s mayoral campaign.”
Cher peeled the cover off the yogurt. “So, Sloan is back to stay.”
“We’re going out for dinner tomorrow night.”
Cher licked the wrapper. “Really. So, wearegetting back on the horse.”
“No. We’re trying to drive the Lone Ranger away. I’m hoping that the more Tate sees me with Sloan, the angrier he’ll get and quit.”
“Oh, I see. We’re living out country songs IRL. That’s a twist.” She dug the spoon in. “How long before Sloan is on to your evil plan?”
She frowned. “No…it’s not an evil plan. I like Sloan?—”
“Yee-haw.”
“Stop talking about horses!” Glo went to the pantry and opened it. What she wouldn’t do for a box of frozen Ho Hos.
Or better yet, chocolate chip cookies, like Gerri Marshall made on the ranch.
And of course her brain—and stomach—had to go there. Back to the Marshall Triple M, where Tate had taken her dancing and charmed her with games of gin rummy and carried her in his amazing arms after she’d been wounded.
Forget the chocolate chip cookies. She grabbed some Fig Newtons—her mother’s version of comfort food—and returned to the granite island. “Listen. I’m not saying my brilliant plan isOcean’s Eleven. It’s a simple plot. Annoy him enough that he’ll leave.”
“And in the meantime, break more hearts.” Cher took another spoonful of yogurt, let it slide onto her tongue.
“I won’t break…cut me some slack. I’m trying to save lives here.”
“So is Tate, it seems.”
“Maybe youshouldleave.”
Cher grinned. But she put the yogurt down and took Glo’s hand. “Sweetie. Why are you trying so hard to push away a man who clearly cares for you? In fact, he would give his life for you. Don’t you get to be happy…oh honey, why are you crying?”
Glo pressed her hand to her mouth, shook her head. “Because I…I’m so scared that I already love him, and…it’s just going to end in disaster.”
