Page 22 of Hard to Love
Jesus, didn’t she understand a business wasn’t something you skipped through like a field of buttercups? “Given any thought to a business plan?”
Rather than answer him, she wandered toward the far corner. With deliberate strides, she stepped off what he assumed were the imaginary vendor booths.
“Even if you have the cash to pour into the idea, you have to recruit your artisans first. Otherwise, you might nothave the setup right based on their needs. Think about furniture making as opposed to needle arts.”
“Know what I like about you, Villanueva?”
Probably nothing, but he couldn’t help but ask, “What?”
“You know something about handcrafts. How would you feel about helping me out with this little project?”
What she was considering pulling off was anything but little, and he had no plans to stay in Prophecy, regardless if the Maddox family chose him for the tooling contract or not. “I don’t think so. You know, that little apartment upstairs probably isn’t a good idea. I won’t be in town that long and—”
She slid him a look from the corner of her eye. “So you don’t believe in your work enough to think PBC will offer you the contract?”
Something expanded inside Alex, pressing against his ribs, and he was pretty sure it was his pride. “I didn’t say that—”
“Because if you don’t believe in yourself then—”
“I’m the best, dammit.” His increased volume trampled her words.
Her right cheek rose with a little smirk. “Then you’ll be around a little longer than you think.”
This woman had a knack for getting under Alex’s skin. Not just getting under there but snaking around and setting off firecrackers under every nerve ending. And that was dangerous. There were other bootmakers he could work with, companies without blue-eyed, gypsy-haired shit-stirrers. But she was a driven, ambitious shit-stirrer, and that he respected. “Even if you figure out the space issues, do you have anyone to put in those booths?”
She turned a slow circle, taking in the entire space asthough she were imagining what it would look like full of artists and buyers. “And I don’t want just anyone.” She stopped and pinned him with a stare. “I want the best.”
Four innocent words, but from the spark in Greer’s eye, Alex couldn’t be sure if her statement held an underlying meaning. His body, however, was ready to believe that her words meant she wanted to strip them both down to the skin and pull him to the floor and have the best-ever sex. It had been a while since his last not-quite-friends-with-benefits situation, and his body was more than ready to accommodate her.
Alex shoved his hands into his front pockets, trying to pull his jeans away from his interested dick. She was talking business, and he was thinking about shoving her ass-hugging jeans down around her ankles, bending her over a tarp-covered lump of something-or-other, grabbing himself a handful of that wild hair, and fucking her until neither of them could stand upright.
And God knew that was a complication he didn’t need. One he definitely couldn’t afford.
But that didn’t keep him from wanting it.
He took a breath. Too damn bad he didn’t have an industrial-sized fan to chill out his cock and his mind. Both had gotten him into plenty of trouble in the past. “The best are often hard to come by.”
“Artists are proud, right?”
“Some of them are downright egotistical.”
“Them? Are you saying you don’t consider yourself an artist?”
Shit. He didn’t want to get into this. What he was or wasn’t. “Them, us, whatever.”
“So we’re a competitive bunch, like to prove what we do, the art we make, is worth something.”
“Yeah.” He had no idea where she was going with this.
“Then all I have to do is create an irresistible way for them to prove they’re the best.”
“And what’s that?”
Her smile was a seductive combination of flirtation and determination. “Oh, maybe a little something like a competition.”
Giddy pleasure bubbledup inside Greer like a Mentos and Diet Coke experiment. If she didn’t do something about this idea right now, she would blow the cap off. So she grabbed Alex’s arm and dragged him toward the barn door.
“What kind of competition? And did you just pull this idea out of your ass?”
