10. Olivia
OLIVIA
My gown sweeps against the floor, flowing and elegant, just this side of flamboyant, clinging at the waist then flaring to drape perfectly over my cowboy boots.
Long wavy hair frames my face, balancing the designer look with a touch that earned me the “bougie cowgirl” name in the first place.
I move like I’ve been doing it all my life, stepping between clusters of socialites and business magnates.
It has its share of the usual suspects: old ranching families that believe the land should stay as it’s always been, newly arrived entrepreneurs convinced they can remake the whole town in their own image.
I’ve got something different in mind, a vision that might just require a little more subtlety, and maybe a bit more finesse, than most of them expect from a cowgirl.
A pair of diamond earrings flashes as a woman turns to stare, curious about the boots and the breezy confidence.
It’s a big night, the kind that demands my very best, and I’m delivering it in spades.
The future of my wedding business relies on winning our ranch back at auction, however, it’ll take more than that to get it up to par. There are lots of investors here tonight, and it can’t hurt to mingle and see if any might be interested in partnering with me.
A well-dressed investor lifts a glass in my direction, acknowledging my approach with a reserved nod.
I’m at his side in a moment, extending a hand with businesslike charm.
“Good evening,” I say, confident and sure.
My handshake is firm, the kind men don’t expect from a woman who smells like horses half the time, and it disarms him for a second, long enough for me to spot the curiosity that lights up behind his otherwise well-controlled eyes.
The curiosity’s good, it’s what I’m counting on, and I file away the moment to dissect later when I can afford the luxury of uncertainty.
“I’m impressed, Olivia,” he says, turning just enough so I can lean into the conversation without looking desperate. “You’re making quite the splash in this town. The girl with big dreams, they say.”
“You know me,” I reply, smooth as silk, “always got a new trick up my sleeve.”
His laughter is measured, part genuine interest and part calculated.
It’s exactly what I expected, but the stakes are high enough tonight that I’m willing to take what I can get.
The plan’s still open to scrutiny, and every nod is another step toward locking it down.
It’s not just business; it’s my life, laid bare and vulnerable beneath a thick coat of spin.
“Maybe we can speak on it more after the auction.”
Investors want to know about the land, about profit and yield, about whether I’ve got the grit to pull off what I’ve promised.
Locals want to know if I’ve forgotten where I come from, if the woman in the evening gown is still the same girl who rode bareback and skipped school to muck out stalls.
In truth, they’re all asking the same thing, and the answer is yes and no and maybe.
I’ve learned to leave just enough mystery to keep them coming back, hungry for more. And that’s the way I want to leave it.
They might call it modernizing, but to me it’s more like coming home.
The family, the ranch, all of it means more than I can let on.
If I look too closely, if I think too much about what it means to have a legacy like that in my hands, I might flinch, might blink.
And blinking is a luxury I don’t have, not now, not here.
So I smile wider, throw in a gentle laugh, and use my own determination to keep it all at a safe, professional distance.
I’m just finishing the thought and turning to break away when a presence catches my attention from across the room, steady and familiar.
There’s a pause, a subtle moment when the world draws its breath, and everything else fades.
I hold it a heartbeat longer, savor the anticipation, and let it go.
I’ve got a crowd to impress and a point to prove.
Ace enters the gala with deliberate strides, like he’s got a direct line to every exit and plan for each one.
The side door swings shut behind him, wood against wood, punctuating his arrival in the crowded room.
There’s a rugged touch to his otherwise pressed appearance, and I spot the glint of worn leather before his gaze finds mine.
He moves on, disappearing into the social buzz of suits and sequins.
Ace slips through the crowd with a confidence that’s natural.
A cluster of high-society locals eyes him as he passes, recognizing the name or the face or the attitude that sets him apart.
It irks me just how much people look up to his family name.
He’s no stranger to the dynamics at play here, to the unspoken games and shifting allegiances.
Coming tonight means more than it should.
The suit’s dark, neatly pressed, but it’s not enough to hide the ranch-bred ruggedness beneath, not when the boots give it all away.
And boy does he look good in it. A muscled figure made for work more than fashion, a face lined with intention and too much stubbornness to let go of old habits.
It marks him as different in this polished setting, as someone who carries his identity with him no matter how much he’d rather leave it behind.
He threads his way to the edge of the gala’s center, finding a position where he can watch and be watched.
It’s the tug-of-war between tradition and independence, between what he’s been handed and what he wants to earn, and tonight feels like another battle in that long-fought war.
I know him all too well. We might just be casual, but I’ve known him since high school, and he has always wanted out of his father’s shadow.
He breaks toward me and I turn just as he reaches my side. “Wanna join me outside?”
The air is cooler on the balcony, and the murmurs fade to the kind of quiet that lets me hear his breath, feel the touch of his hand as Ace leans in. I part mine to speak, but the nearness of him makes me pause, makes me wait just a little longer, savor the promise that hangs between us.
“Quite a party,” he finally whispers, the drawl of his voice low and rich, a sound I could wrap around myself on nights that get too cold.
“Glad you could make it,” I reply, softer than I mean to. My hand brushes against his again, a feather-light touch that’s almost enough to unravel me. “Not sure you got the dress code right, though.”
He grins, and there’s a boyish charm in it that takes me off guard every time, like it’s meant just for me. “You’re one to talk,” he says, and his eyes flick down to my boots, back up to my eyes.
It was never supposed to get this far, never supposed to matter this much. But we’re here, and it’s harder than either of us imagined to say what needs to be said, to let the walls come down.
He shifts slightly, his hand still a whisper’s width from mine, and I see the vulnerability he hides behind ambition and stubborn pride. “You’re doing well for yourself,” he says, almost reluctantly. “You’ve got everyone eating out of the palm on your hand.”
It sounds like a compliment, almost like jealousy, but I know better. “Except you,” I say, holding his gaze. There’s a challenge in my words, but it’s one I don’t expect him to take. Not tonight.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he replies, and the words are a lifeline tossed between us, just waiting for one of us to grab hold and hold on. The truth is, neither of us is as strong as we pretend, and maybe that’s what draws us together and pushes us apart at the same time.
He takes a small step back like he wants to run, like we both do, but there’s nowhere left to go. Not without each other. His head tilts in a way that’s almost apologetic, almost defiant. “I didn’t come to fight.”
“Good,” I tell him. “Because I’d probably win.”
The distance dissolves as quickly as it came, and he’s close again, closer than before, like we’re magnets and he can’t fight the pull.
His eyes hold a seriousness that borders on fear, a want that’s bigger than anything we know how to handle.
Maybe we’re both too stubborn, maybe we’re both too scared.
Our lips meet in a rush of heat. His hand finds mine, strong and sure, the calluses of his work a familiar comfort as they press into my skin.
My body arcs into his, a response that’s as much instinct as desire, and I lose myself in the feel of him, the taste of the moment, the reckless passion of it all.
His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer still, and we kiss like the rest of the world has disappeared.
“We shouldn’t do this here. What if someone sees?”
He arms pull me unbelievably closer. “I don’t give a fuck right now.” He turns me around, his lips to my ear, and pulls up my dress. “You look gorgeous tonight and right now inside you is the only place I wanna be.”
I gasp as he finds out I’m not wearing underwear and his fingers play with me. “You said you didn’t want anyone to know.”
“If anyone looks up here, all they see is you… so just don’t make it obvious. Think you can be quiet?”
He bends me over just slightly, unzips his pants and inches inside me. “Fuck, you’re already wet. You are wanting this as much as I do, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” When he is around, it’s all I think about anymore. How good he feels inside me, his touch, his kiss.
I moan and try to keep my composure for anyone who might happen to look up at the balcony while he’s ramming me from behind. I like it quick and dirty. Ace has proven he can get me off in a matter of a couple of minutes, and I’m not sure I’ll ever find someone who knows my body like him.
His hands grip my waist harder, and I lean forward a little more for him to go deeper. “Holy shit. Don’t stop.”
“Eyes forward. Remember I’m not here.”
Easy for him to say. My lower body is trembling and the rush takes over… he groans and we both let go. Not giving a fuck who sees me orgasm. One of his hands comes around to stroke my clit as I ride his hand to finish my orgasm.
This fucking man is off-limits, but so fucking perfect. I’m screwed.
We pull apart, breathless and startled, the spell undone. It’s not hesitation I see in his eyes now, not fear, but something like resolve. I step back with reluctance, mirroring his own, and we both know this isn’t over. I fix my dress and lick my lips.
“We should get back,” I say, a shaky laugh in my voice, but the look he gives me is full of more than I can say, more than either of us can hold. It’s the promise that we’re not done, not even close, not even after tonight.
“Yeah,” he agrees, watching me like I’m something he wants to remember, like he’s memorizing every detail.
Something has changed and with the auction coming up, I can’t think too much about it. My first priority has to be winning the ranch. Ace will have to wait until after. That is, if he still wants to continue after I take the ranch.
And after tonight, I hope he wants to because my body reacts to him in ways it never has with anyone else.