23. Cassandra
CASSANDRA
“ C ass, you in the office?”
I rolled my eyes. The desk chair squeaked as a wheel caught on a loose piece of hay.
“Cass?”
I was alone, so I let a giddy smile slip at the sound of Christian’s voice. I grabbed the radio. “Right here, cowboy. Where else would I be?”
Static crackled. “Didn’t know if you decided to go get some fresh air or go on a ride or something.”
I laughed. “As if I’d get on a wild animal voluntarily.”
He snickered. “You did alright the other night.”
Was he talking about the family trail ride he forced me to join in on, or the clandestine hookup we had in the office after the girls were in bed? I certainly did alright riding him.
The radio clicked. “Stop flirting on the line,” CJ groused.
Christian came back on. “You’ve got a suit poking around at the front gates. Might wanna go see what he wants before one of the ranch hands sees fit to hogtie him and smoke him low and slow.”
I groaned. “There’s no one closer?”
“We’re out on the far side of the property. Trail cameras picked up the car. Take Dottie. She’s tacked up.”
My stomach dropped. “Can’t I take your truck?”
“Can you drive stick?”
Grumbling, I kicked off my heels and yanked open the desk drawer for a pair of socks. “Don’t be mad when I wreck your horse.”
I had stolen a thick pair of Christian’s socks to keep on hand for when he made me do outdoorsy activities against my will. The boots he got me lived under the desk for moments like this.
I stared at the target on the far wall as I pulled the boots on. Christian had mounted a piece of plywood on the wall so I could practice with his throwing knives.
The photos I found online of Tripp and Principal Beeker were sliced to ribbons.
I looked absolutely ridiculous in a blazer, high-waisted trousers, and cowboy boots, but it was better than ruining my beloved heels.
I trudged out to the barn and found Dottie hanging out in her stall.
She looked at me with those big horse eyes as if to say, “Oh. You again.”
For a brief moment, I contemplated walking, then decided better of it. I didn’t have time to trek up there or take my blouse to the dry cleaner to deal with the sweat stains.
“Alright, work with me,” I said as I hesitantly took the rope, leading her out of her stall.
She came willingly, but that didn’t make me feel any better. I was certain I could mount her, make it out of the barn, and then I would fall to my death.
Dottie stood still as I held on to the saddle and let out a breath. Placing my foot in the stirrup, I pushed up and swung my leg over her back.
Okay, I could do this.
Dottie shifted, but I kept my hips loose.
“Posture like a princess, hips like a whore,” I whispered to myself as I gave her a little squeeze with my legs.
I felt ridiculous as Dottie loped past the office building, barns, and equipment shops. Sadie spotted us as we passed the house and bolted off the porch to follow.
When had I started calling it “the house?” I had always called it Christian’s house. I liked the distance of that language.
And when had Sadie stopped trying to herd me?
Mickey was hanging out in the shade of the tree in front of Becks and Nate’s porch. She was in town at yet another doctor’s appointment.
Becks had made it another week without spontaneously combusting or being induced, which meant we had spent another Saturday in town together.
At least it had been less awkward the second time around. We spent the afternoon spitballing ideas for a groundbreaking party, then switched to talking shit about people we used to know over chips and salsa for her and a margarita for me.
I adjusted my grip on the reins, keeping my arms relaxed. A gentle breeze caressed my skin, picking up my hair and making the strands dance across my back.
Sure enough, I spotted a car bobbing down the long drive. Dottie parked herself at the post while Sadie took off like a bullet out of a gun, running after the car to herd it.
“Please don’t move, please don’t move,” I whispered to Dottie as I braced my toe in the stirrup and slid off rather ungracefully. She blew out a sharp breath from her massive nostrils, obviously annoyed but tolerant.
The car stopped and a gray-haired man in a suit got out. “Cassandra Griffith?”
“Parker,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m not a Griffith. I just work for them. And considering you know who I am, but I don’t know who you are, I’ll let you go first.”
He chuckled. “My apologies, Ms. Parker. Mayor Charles Getty.”
I shook his hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Mayor?”
Rule number one: if someone introduces themselves using their job title, they think they’re more important than they are.
“Well,” he said, hitching his thumbs in his belt loops. “Rumor has it y’all are planning on making some big changes around here.”
Nothing had been made public about the revitalization project, but Christian and I had applied for a few permits and asked around about local ordinances to grease the wheels when the money started flowing. The rumor mill must have been churning fast today.
While the mayor rambled on, prattling about the beauties of the town and the service we would be doing by bringing tax dollars to the local economy, a jacked-up truck emblazoned with brand logos blew down the drive, kicking up a tornado of dust before speeding off toward the barns.
Christian would pick up the truck on one of the cameras and send a ranch hand to deal with whoever was driving like a daredevil.
“Anyway, the Chamber of Commerce meets every Tuesday. You’re welcome to join us for a time or two to get your feet wet.” He made himself laugh. “After that you’ll have to be a paying member.”
I peered out the corner of my eye and saw the truck gunning it toward Christian’s house.
No one was coming up from the pastures.
“I appreciate the invitation, but I’ll have to discuss joining the Chamber with Mr. Griffith.”
Just saying “Mr. Griffith” instead of Christian made a strange, acrid taste coat my tongue.
The mayor hitched his pants up. “Rumor has it, Silas’s son is running things now.”
“That’s correct. Christian oversees the operations.”
A strange smile worked across his mouth. “Ain’t that something. And now he’s got a pretty thing like you working for him. I suppose those cowboys know a thing or two about picking a heifer. Nothing wrong with wanting something nice to look at.”
I should have brought one of those throwing knives with me.
I was half tempted to give him a business card with my name under the Carrington Group logo, but that didn’t mean much around here.
Instead, I steeled my face, ridding any evidence of a smile from my expression.
“Well, you’re probably a busy man, so I won’t bore you with who I am or what my job entails.
But if you’re curious—which you are, given the way you’re leering at me—you should stop by the middle school and have a chat with Principal Beeker.
Rumor has it, she announced that she’s retiring early, but I’m sure you knew that. ”
He immediately looked toward the house and cleared his throat. “I may have heard something about that.”
I lifted my chin. “And I may have had something to do with that. I imagine unseating a mayor would be just as easy. Tell me, how’s your mistress? Nadine, the lady who works at Blush & Bashful. That’s her lipstick on your collar, isn’t it?”
He paled in the midday sun, tugging at his collar like it was strangling him.
I stepped in close. “Word of advice, Mr. Mayor. If you’re going to have a side piece, don’t give her expensive perfume as a gift. It lingers.”
I wasn’t psychic. I got lucky with the lipstick print on his crisp dress shirt. The real information was thanks to Wednesday Addams’s lookalike, who was more than willing to spill a few small-town secrets while she did my makeup.
“Well,” he rasped, eyes darting to his overpriced car. “I’ll let you get on with your day.”
“I think that’s best for both of us.”
I waited until he was easing back into the driver’s seat before I spoke up again.
“One more thing, Mr. Mayor—” I grabbed the top of his door.
“When the invitations go out for the groundbreaking, you will receive one. You will RSVP. You will tell every important person in town to come. You’ll arrive on time, have exactly one drink, sing this family’s praises and be a loud supporter of our projects, and then leave early. ”
He swallowed. “Don’t tell my wife.”
“That’s your business.” I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t make it mine.” And with that, I slammed the door.
It was already my business, but I’d find a more discreet way to speed up karma’s swift and steady hand.
Dottie matched my energy on the way back, taking off at a canter. I matched my breathing to the pounding of her hooves. The fury kept me grounded.
I kept an eye out for the truck as Dottie raced back to the barn, but it was nowhere in sight.
Maybe the driver had gone out to where Christian and the boys were.
Dottie tossed her head back as we neared the barn, and I ran a hand down her mane. She slowed and loped inside like an old pro, standing still so I could hop down.
I fished around in my pocket and found a spare peppermint. Miraculously, I managed not to cringe when she nibbled it off my palm.
The office was just as I had left it—an absolute disaster. Development timelines, grant proposals, contracts, and contractor quotes littered my desk.
Christian’s desk . I self-corrected the intrusive thought. It wasn’t mine.
I changed my shoes again, sifted through the pages to find the keyboard, and did a quick internet search. I waited while the printer spat out a photo, then tacked it to the wall and dove back into the mess.
Organizing the documents Christian needed to sign was the easy part. Getting him inside long enough to sign them was the hard part. The stack he needed to address was growing by the minute.
If I kept them in the office, he would keep finding something more important to do…