Page 26 of Wingwoman
“How do you…? Ugh, nevermind. The point is, I’m not letting you buy me four thousand dollar boots.”
“You said you didn’t own any boots… other than your Cole Haan. Which, as pretty as they are, they’re not going to be great when you’re riding horses with me.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I groaned. “You were able to guess my shoe size? Do you know how weird that sounds, Josh? And… wait, I’m not riding horses with you!”
“You will when you’re my muse.”
I shook my head and forced my exhale slowly through my pursed lips. It didn’t matter what he said. The boots were going back. There was no reason that if I had to ride horses, I couldn’t do so with some second hand Fryes like a normal girl.
“Anyway, was there a reason for this call?” I asked, not wanting to argue anymore.
“Yes. I saw my date for this afternoon.”
“And?”
It was his turn to sigh. “Miss Texas, Hope? Really?”
I reached for a hoodie, sliding my arms into it. Texas was hot, but that just meant everywhere cranked their air conditioning to frigid temperatures. “She’s beautiful. Poised. And she’s willing to move in with you under theseunusualcircumstances if things go well between you two.”
“A fucking beauty queen,” he grumbled.
“You said you would give this a chance, Josh. If you can’t do that—”
“Can she ride a horse?”
I swallowed. Damn. The one thing I forgot to ask about. “She’s a Texan, born and raised,” I answered ambiguously.
“So was my dad and he never stepped foot on a ranch until my mother. That means nothing.”
Huh. His dad. That was an… interesting answer. Come to think of it, Josh hadn’t mentioned his family at all in our chats, other than his mother that one moment in the Uber. What I knew came solely from my Google searches. Parents divorced when he was nine. And of course, his mother’s passing.
“Well, why don’t you take her on a date somewhere that has horses?” I suggested. “You can see for yourself her comfort level and gauge it from there.” It was risky. But half of the photos on her website were of her snuggling up to animals. How different could a horse be from a Great Dane?
“Okay,” Josh said slowly, dragging the word out. “I’ll text you the address of where to arrange our first meeting.”
“Great.” I already knew from her manager that she was very interested. And who could blame her? Publicly dating a celebrity like Josh Gabriel would really boost her image. Hell, it might even help her win Miss America. “Would tonight work for you?”
“Nighttime? Riding horses in the dark?” He gave a snort that was half laugh, half mocking me.
“Okay,” I said, running my fingers through my dripping hair. “You don’t have to make fun of me. But see? This is exactly why I would make a terrible muse for you. I can’t ride a horse. I’ve never even been near a horse.”
“All the more reason why you need proper footwear. And as long as I can teach the woman how, I don’t care if she can’t ride.”
“Great. Noted for when you meet and ride with Miss Texas.”
There was a muffled curse on the other end of the phone before he said, “Look, I’m around today. If she can meet up, I could do it at four or five o’clock before the sun goes down.”
Hm. I could make that work. As long as she was available. “Then if it goes well, you’ll consider taking her to dinner tonight after?”
“If it goes well, yes.”
“Great! I’ll set it up.”
There was a brief pause before he said, “You’ll be there too, right?”
This was sort of new territory for me. I didn’t usually research and set up my clients like this. It was typically more organic of a process. The end result was that I didn’t quite know the protocol under the new circumstances. Especially when said client had it out to recruit me as his muse. But boots or not, the man had paid me twenty thousand dollars for two weeks of almost exclusive work. If he wanted me there? Then I had to be there.
My eyes drifted to the boot box beside me. Besides, it would give me a chance to return the stupidly extravagant gift he’d bought me.
