Page 15 of Tangled Kisses
Capri stills, then tips her head back and laughs—low, throaty, full of approval. “Now that’s an exit. Dramatic flair and a hefty bill? I like your style.”
“I need this chance, Capri. I don’t care how you make your money, although I’ll admit you shocked the hell out of me. All I need to know is that I’ll be safe and I’ll be paid.”
“Yes, to both.” A wry smile tugs at her lips. “As for your ex-fiancé, he sounds much like my ex-husband. Pieces of shit wrapped in three-piece suits.”
“They should exchange numbers. Maybe start a support group.”
This time her laugh is genuine, softer. “Most definitely.”
“So, what does my job entail?”
“Caring for the staff and the clients. It’s cushier than you’d expect—monthly checkups, STD testing, contraception management. Minor injuries. Anything serious goes straight to the local hospital.”
I blink. “Wouldn’t that raise questions? How do you keep the cops from sniffing around?”
“Might have something to do with the fact that I financed half their emergency department with ranch money.”
“Well done, you.” I mean it. I like this woman immensely. She’s sharp, unflinching, but beneath the steel I sense something fiercely protective.
“You’ll stay here in the house with the rest of the staff. Four days a week, mostly evenings. You’re on call only if something truly terrible happens. Meals from the kitchen are included—better than any restaurant, trust me. On days off, you’re free to do as you please. Tangled Vines has bars, shops, and plenty to keep you busy. And the ranch has its own diversions.”
I bite my tongue against the hundred questions spinning in my head. “Sounds perfect. How many residents do you have?”
“Ten, both men and women. Dorian”—she gestures to a framed photo of a striking man on her desk—“was our star attraction, but he’s stepped back from the physical side of things. These days he escorts clients to galas and dinners but leaves the bedsheets untouched.”
“Interesting. I always thought escorting automatically meant… more. To be fair, I know nothing about the industry.”
“Each resident decides their boundaries. Dorian is stringent about his, but Griffin,” Capri continues, tapping her manicured nails against the desk, “is quickly becoming every woman’s dream. Isn’t that right, Griffin?”
Her sly smile shifts past me, gaze aimed over my shoulder.
I don’t want to turn around. Because I already know. That low drawl, those blue eyes, that chiseled jawline. My stomach sinks before I pivot.
And sure enough—there he is.
The cowboy from earlier leans in the doorway, hat gone now, revealing tousled dark locks that look like impatient fingers have tugged them.
Just-fucked hair.
God help me.
No wonder he was stiff with that silk-draped woman in the Mercedes. She’s not a girlfriend. She’s a client.
The realization crashes through me, making my skin prickle. Of course. The most gorgeous man I’ve ever met—and he’s off-limits.
Figures.
“You’re Griffin.” My tongue trips over the words, bitter in my mouth.
“I am.” His voice is even, but I see the tension lining his jaw, the way his lips press tight.
Seems he doesn’t enjoy this any more than I do.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves, our gazes locked.
But I force myself up, extending my hand. “Nice to meet you again, Griffin. At least now I know your name. Seemed unfair you knew Chowder’s, and he didn’t know yours.”
His palm engulfs mine, warm and steady. Then comes the grin—the one that sucker-punches the air right out of my chest. “Where is he, anyway?”
