Page 2 of Lonely Beard
I splutter, holding my clipboard up between us. The wind’s getting stronger, howling over the mountainside and tugging at my skirt suit. The frosty air cuts clean through the fabric, slicing right to my bare skin beneath, and I fend off a shiver.
I willnotlook weak in front of this man. Not this jerk who keeps watching me so calmly and with such disdain, like he knowsexactlywhat sort of person I am and finds me seriously lacking.
“Look, Mr McRae. I have a perfect record at Soulmate Express. Do you understand? Ialwaysfind my clients their soulmates, and so help me, I will find yours too—”
“No.”
Ugh! I smooth a hand over my bun, my fingers trembling with frustration.
“This isn’t about you.” He says it slowly, like I’m a small child who keeps trying to bother the grown ups. Tugging on his pants leg while he’s busy with the game. “Or your record. And I’m done.”
Is he serious? Iflewhere for this conversation. I took a flight and hired a car; I drove up that crazy, snaking mountain path; I ate a drive-through burrito dangling out of the car window so I wouldn’t stink up the leather, all so I could meet Aiden McRae and find his soulmate once and for all.
And you know, if he’d answered one of my dozens of emails, I wouldn’t have had to come at all. But hey. Guess he’s too busy scowling at trees to check his inbox.
“Mr McRae.” I pour every last ounce of my professionalism into my next words, forcing my shoulders down and a polite smile onto my face. “I understand that failed matches can be a very painful experience for our clients, but I’m here to ensure that next time—”
“No.” He starts to close the door. He’s closing the freaking door in my face!
“Maybe it’s you!” I yell without thinking, my temper finally surging up my throat, because this has been the longest day of my existence, and it’s ending with a door slammed in my face. Asshole. “Maybe it’s your bad attitude, Mr McRae. Maybe that’s what scares your matches off.”
Slowly, so slowly, the door swings open again. Past his shoulder, in the warm glow of his cabin, I catch a glimpse of a bookcase and sofa; a table and the corner of a bed.
I wrench my gaze back to his, cheeks flaming.
Aiden McRae doesn’t call me out on my rudeness. He doesn’t threaten to get me fired. He stares at me for a long, long time, his eyes cold and jaw hard, and all the while I strangle my clipboard between us.
Then he jerks his chin at the rental car parked behind me on the dirt path.
Guess I’m not worth words anymore. That’s fair. It sounds pretty painful when he speaks.
“Think about what I said.” I turn with a huff and clomp down the cabin steps, my ballet flats sliding on the damp wood. It really ruins my dramatic exit when I nearly slip on the last step, grabbing for the handrail with a squeak.
Aiden McRae is silent as ever, watching me go.
This day. This freakingday.And it’s still only half over for me. I still need to drive back down the mountainside and return the hire car to the airport; need to wait for my flight then finally,finallygo home.
I’m going to eat a whole tub of salted caramel ice cream before bed. Don’t care about nutrients, not tonight.
Then I’m going to burrow under my covers and never think about Aiden McRae again. Asshole.
* * *
“Come on. Oh, comeon.”
I turn the key in the ignition, mentally praying to any deities that might be listening. The world can’t be this cruel, right? My hire car can’t have broken down ten feet from Aiden McRae’s cabin. It’s not possible.
“I will be a better person,” I mutter under my breath. “I’ll, um, I’ll feed the birds at the park. And I’ll floss every night before bed. I’ll even do that stupid charity 5K, the one where everyone dresses up like a bumblebee—”
The car engine sputters, then falls silent.
I yank the key out, squeezing it until it jabs into my sweaty palm, and meet my own crazed eyes in the rear view mirror, brown strands of hair escaping my bun. My chest heaves with each deep breath.
“Not. Happening.”
I can’t break downhere.Not where there’s no phone signal; not where a man who clearly hates me can see everything. Not on a freaking mountain, with towering, snow-capped peaks high above and a moaning wind that keeps shoving the car until it rocks.
My panicked breaths are fogging the mirror. “Grace,” I command myself. “Fix this.”
