12. Christian
CHRISTIAN
C assandra looked at me, wide-eyed and blinking. She looked baffled.
I didn’t know why, either.
But the way her lips parted with a soft exhale of shock made my dick wake up and press against the towel.
I hid it behind my hand as I stood there, dripping from the shower.
I cleared my throat. “I know it’s after your working hours. But if you’ll give me a second, I’ll throw on some clothes and we can talk.”
Cassandra stammered for a moment. “Right. Talk. Okay.”
I hid my laugh until I made it back to my room. I liked seeing her flustered.
There were so many sides to Cassandra Parker. She was a consummate professional. A dedicated publicist. A savvy businesswoman.
But she was so much more than her job, and maybe that’s where I had gotten it wrong when we first met.
She was fiercely protective. She didn’t pick her battles; she fought every damn one.
Cassandra wasn’t necessarily flexible, but she was willing to storm a castle, plop down on the throne, and stake her claim.
She didn’t mind sticking out like a sore thumb. She was who she was, and I respected that.
Hell—I liked it.
A lot.
Not that I would do anything about it.
She was prickly when it came to kids. I understood that some people weren’t “kid people,” but I didn’t put up with unwarranted attitudes aimed at my girls.
My mind wandered back to Cassandra’s inquisition when she rode along with me to take the girls to school. I had bristled at the way she pressed Gracie for answers, but Gracie wasn’t bothered by it.
In fact, she came back from school a whole new kid.
Parenting was fucking hard. Bree and Gracie had gone through the full spectrum of pain and grief when we lost Gretchen. I wanted to protect them as much as I could. I wanted to shield them from being hurt.
But Cassandra… Her little speech hadn’t shielded Gracie. It armed her .
I finished throwing on a pair of sweatpants and a clean shirt, grabbed a couple beers from the fridge, and found Cassandra on the porch.
She had changed too, wearing cream colored yoga pants and a loose matching sweater that slumped off her shoulder.
Her skin peeked out, a warm ivory that looked smooth as silk.
God, I wanted to run my hands over it.
I lifted the beers, offering her one. “Sorry I don’t have anything nicer. I drink the cheap stuff.”
Her smile was seductive and dangerous as she took the bottle. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t usually drink beer and won’t know the difference.”
She had perched herself on one side of the porch swing, tucking her legs beneath her, so I took the other half.
“Everything get taken care of today?”
“Yeah,” I grunted. “They were having trouble moving the herd and needed another body.”
Cassandra hummed as she wrapped her lips around the mouth of the bottle and took a drink. “Gentle pressure, right?”
“That’s right.” I kept one foot planted on the porch, gently rocking us back and forth as the crickets sang. “You ready to show me what you’ve got in there?” I asked, using the bottom of my beer to tap the manila folder in her lap.
Freshly manicured nails slid between the pages and opened them up to a budget breakdown. She pilfered through the stack until she found the page she was looking for.
Her countenance went from soft to shrewd in the blink of an eye.
“When Becks connected me with your father, the goals he expressed were for me to create additional revenue streams that utilize the resources at hand. He told me a little bit about the last few years. Between the drought, a disease outbreak in the herd, and the economy being trash, he wanted to expand beyond cattle as a failsafe if it happens again.”
Guilt dropped into my stomach like an anvil.
I had done everything I could to keep the ranch afloat. I knew my dad was right, but that didn’t mean it didn’t suck balls.
No matter how much I tried to keep the bad stuff from happening—how much I tried to protect my family from it—dust storms happened.
“My goal is to bring ideas to the table that don’t affect the day-to-day of the ranch.”
I covered my discomfort with a laugh as I took a swig and stretched my arm across the back of the porch swing. “Just hit me with it, Cass.”
“Working within the available budget, my recommendation is that the ranch builds an equine program. I’m thinking boarding, riding lessons, track-out camps and summer camps.
An equine therapy program would be a great draw as well.
There’s a void in the community for programs that support kids with special needs.
Copious amounts of evidence supports the idea that equine therapy greatly benefits children with autism spectrum disorders.
You could coordinate with adult rehab programs for substance abuse or domestic abuse recovery.
If Nathan is involved in any support groups for veterans, that would be a good connection.
You could block out sessions to donate and use it as a tax write-off.
Your biggest costs would be more horses, obviously.
The barn could use an upgrade. Some cosmetic updates around the property—but just where customers would see.
An indoor arena would be great, but it’s not necessary for the first few years.
You’d only need to bring on one staff member to run it.
You or the ranch hands could pitch in if necessary. ”
I reached over and took the file from her, perusing the pages as she finished weighing the pros and cons of the equine program.
I had to admit, it was a good idea.
“No,” I said as I closed the file and handed it back.
Cassandra paled. “What do you mean, no?”
“It’s good, but it’s not right.”
Her face hardened, and her eyebrow twitched with frustration. “What is causing you concern the most? Let’s start there.” Her tone was unsettlingly frosty, like she wanted to rage and bitch me out, but she was holding it together for professionalism’s sake.
“All of it.”
Her fingers flexed, trembling before she balled them into a fist. “Be a problem solver, not a problem.”
I chuckled. “I’m going to start using that with the girls.”
Cassandra huffed and pressed her fingers into her temples. “Work with me here. I need to know what your concerns are so I can mitigate or eliminate them.”
“It’s not big enough.”
She looked stunned. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, Griffith,” she muttered with manic disbelief as she pushed out of the swing and started pacing the porch.
“Listen, it’s good. It’s just?—”
“Not enough.” Cassandra looked gutted.
Shit. She thought this was about her.
My heart sank. “Cass, listen to me,” I said as I hunched forward and rested my elbows on my knees. I tapped the folder. “This is good. It is. Any other client would probably give you a bonus for doing something reasonable and staying within the budget.”
“Let me guess,” she spouted off. “You’re going to hit me with some vague cowboy fortune cookie saying that will give me an epiphany in the middle of the night, two months from now.”
“Do you think I’m Mr. Miyagi or something?” I sifted my fingers through my hair. It had mostly dried and was starting to curl. “No, sweetheart. I just think if we’re gonna do it, we’ve gotta make it worth our time.”
Her long string of curses ended with “fucking cowboys.”
I caught her hand when her pacing path came close enough. “Cass, listen to me. You did a good job. I want more because I want to see what happens when you don’t hold yourself back.”
Her jaw ticked, but she didn’t pull away.
“The more you ask of me, the longer I’m here.”
I leaned back on the swing seat and took another sip. “Do you have somewhere else to be?”
“Time is money.”
“You’re being paid well. I authorize the checks myself.”
Her gaze darted away like she was avoiding the topic.
“Why’d you take this job?” I pressed.
“Becks—”
“I know Becks made the connection. But why did you say yes?”
Cassandra swallowed. “I either had to take my lumps and go on the assignment no one wanted, or be out of a job.”
“What are you talking about?”
Her beer nearly slipped from her fingers. I caught the bottle before it shattered on the porch and set it by my foot. “Hey?—”
But Cassandra just waved me off as she blinked away the glossy coating that blurred her pretty eyes. “I’ll circle back when I have a more concrete plan that aligns with your goals.”
“Will you cut the corporate shit and just sit with me for two goddamn minutes?”
She looked stunned that I had snapped at her.
Frankly, so was I.
Not much fazed me. But she did.
I dropped the folder on the ground and patted the spot she had vacated. Cassandra’s jaw flexed as she gritted her teeth, debating whether or not she would be compliant.
I waited her out and kept slowly rocking on the swing.
Finally, Cassandra plopped back down onto the swing. “Look, I’ve signed NDAs out the ass. So if I tell you this, you have to swear to me that you’ll never say a word about it. Not to your brothers. Definitely not to your kids. Not even to the fucking cows.”
I lifted my eyebrows, but didn’t say anything.
Cassandra amused me. Her spunk was entertaining.
“Well?” she pressed.
“You told me not to say anything.”
Cassandra huffed and rolled her eyes.
I took a swig of my beer and snickered. “I promise.”
She took a deep breath. “Do you know who Lillian Monroe is?”
“Sounds vaguely familiar.”
“She’s an actress.”
“Can’t remember the last time I watched a movie.”
Cassandra smirked as she leaned down and snagged her beer. “You’re not missing much.”
I reclined on the swing, kicking my feet out and resting my arm across the back of it. Her hair danced across my arm like a whisper. “Tell me.”
Her spine stiffened when I grazed her shoulder with my fingers. “Lillian was my client. She had a very public meltdown at an awards show, threw me under the bus, and is now sunning herself in Spain while I got exiled to a cattle ranch that doesn’t have WiFi.”
“We have WiFi.”