Page 46 of Tempted By the Broken Cowboy
She can call it whatever she wants. I call it round two.
17
QUINN
I’m nothing but a bundle of nerves from the moment I wake up. The kind of nerves that no amount of coffee, deep breathing, or pep talks can shake. All because today is the day. The day I prove myself, or fall flat on my face in front of everyone who already thinks I’m destined to fail.
Clothes are scattered everywhere on my bed as I try to decide what I’m wearing. I’ve tried on three different outfits already, tossing each one aside after a single look in the mirror. Too formal. Too casual. Too… wrong. My reflection glares back at me, pale and wide-eyed, shoulders stiff. I smooth my hair for the fifth time, then mess it up again.
“Quinn,” Beck drawls from the doorway, leaning against the frame without a single care in the world. “Are you planningon giving a presentation or walking the runway? You’ve been changing more than a debutante at her first ball.”
I didn’t even hear him come in or notice that my door was wide open.
I glare at him from the corner of my eye. “Today is important, Beck. I can’t show up looking like—like—“
“Like yourself?” he cuts in, smirking.
I snap my gaze toward him. “You don’t get it. These people are brutal. They don’t want me there, and if I give them even one reason to write me off, they’ll take it.”
He shrugs, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into the room. He’s in jeans and a button-down, sleeves rolled up to show off his tattoos—it’s just another day on the ranch for him. No nerves, second-guessing, or storm brewing inside his chest unlike me.
He picks up one of my discarded blouses from the bed and tosses it back down. “You’re overthinking. Go with the black dress. You look sharp in that one. Confident.”
I narrow my eyes. “Since when do you have opinions about my wardrobe?”
“Since I decided I’m coming with you,” he says, so casually it takes a second to register.
My heart jumps. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Yes,” he counters, folding his arms. “You’ll thank me later.”
I shake my head, heat rising in my cheeks. “Do you even hear yourself? They hate you, Beck. You showing up with me will only make things worse. They’ll think I’ve lost my mind.”
“Maybe you have,” he says with a grin. Then softer, “But you’re not walking into that den alone.”
I want to argue. I want to scream that his presence is the last thing I need. But there’s a steadiness in his eyes, a calm that cuts through my spiraling panic. He’s not joking now, not really. He means it. He’s already decided, and I know better than to waste my energy trying to move a brick wall.
I let out a sharp breath. “Fine. But when they turn on me, I’m blaming you.”
His grin widens as he plucks the black dress off the hanger and holds it out to me. “That’s fair. Now put this on and we’ll go knock ’em dead.”
I snatch the dress from his hand, muttering under my breath as I head for the bathroom. Behind me, his low chuckle follows, maddeningly calm while I’m coming apart at the seams.
City Hall is every bit as intimidating as I remember it to be. High ceilings, polished wood floors, and a long, gleaming conference table that stretches down the center like a runway meant for judgment. Men and women in expensive suits gather in little clusters, their hushed conversations broken by sharp bursts of laughter that sound anything but warm.
These people run Wrangler Creek, and today I’m here to defend my seat at the table.
As soon as Beck and I step through the doors, the room stills and heads turn. The whispers start almost immediately.
“Is that him?”
“A Morgan.”
“The Beckett Morgan?”
“Has she lost her mind?”
Every word pierces mercilessly through my armor. My pulse spikes, cheeks burning, but I force my chin up. This is what I signed up for. This is what I wanted—to prove them all wrong.
