Chapter 7
Devyn
D evyn,” Molly starts on me as soon as the door closes, “I am not your enemy. Stop treating me like your rival in there. You do know I’m married, right?”
My arms unfold themselves from across my body as I put meaning to her words. She isn’t hitting on Hunter, then?
“I’m trying to help you by playing devil’s advocate in there. Your ex—”
“He’s not my ex!”
Molly raises a brow. Even to a total stranger, it’s an obvious lie.
“Okay, he’s my ex. We literally dated my whole youth.”
Molly smirks and leans against the doorjamb, as if to settle in for a bedtime story. “I mean, we didn’t date as kids, but we did…in a way. I don’t know. It’s never clear to me whether the years before fifth grade really count when you calculate that sort of thing, ya know?”
“Mm-hmm.” Molly grins.
“Why is Hunter even an issue, anyway? You realize this is a fashion empire, right? He cleans his fingernails with his hunting knife.”
“Well, for one, you’re still into him.”
“I’m not into him.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“Well,” she says, pressing her body away from the wall, “let’s just say, for the sake of this conversation, that you are still into him. And you want to land this job and shove it in his cocky little belly dancing face.”
Belly dancing? I narrow my brows, but her version of this ends with me getting hired. That’s the goal, after all.
“I really like you. In fact, you were my recruit. We each got one, and I chose you. James, on the other hand, is a very loyal follower of your man’s—”
“Not my man.”
“Sorry.” She smirks. “James is a huge fan of Not-Your-Man’s TikToks.”
“What do you mean, his TikToks?”
I’m not on social media much, but when I am, it’s on Instagram where most of my followers live. TikTok is a mystery to me.
“Oh, my gosh, you don’t even know, do you?”
I don’t love the entertained look Molly has in her eyes. She’s far too excited to show me whatever has her tapping and swiping like a madwoman across her phone screen.
But a few heartbeats later, I understand.
Hunter’s eight-pack abs are rolling up and down while he grinds himself against the air. Each and every ripple of his muscles is highlighted for the camera as he bends down so low the hollow of his tight backside is peeking from the top of his skin-tight work jeans, covered in filth and absolute sin as he raises his body and lifts a hay bale. Before the clip ends, he pokes his head around the side of his tractor and winks at the camera, looking the viewer up and down in a way that makes me feel like stabbing the eyes out of anyone who’s watched it.
“Sixty-four thousand views?”
Too many eyes to stab.
Molly snaps her fingers in front of the phone screen. “You okay, hon?”
She slowly retrieves her phone and slips it back into her pocket, biting her lip.
“You didn’t know he filmed those, huh?”
But I can’t respond.
“Well,” she finally says, “now you see who you’re competing against. He has the credentials, he has the followers, and he bought James a Dunkin’ Donuts gift card, so you’ve got some work to do. Now, we’re going back in there, and you’re giving Claudette reasons you should be the top choice, so I can beat James, got it?”
Molly might be as big a bitch and a fake as me. But that doesn’t mean everyone will be. Land the job. Start your new life.
We enter the room again, and I can faintly hear the end of a conversation between Hunter, James, and Claudette, which is awkward, even if I’m not still thinking about those videos of him half-naked on the Internet. Or why he’s doing that. Who he’s doing that for .
Does he spend time with any of the women who watch them?
My stomach feels queasy.
“And they say it never hurts to show up for the community, so that’s my life’s work,” Hunter says, and I almost cackle. Show up for the community? By filming videos for the Internet to ogle? Sure, bro, sure.
I’ve been thinking my new bitch program needs steps. Step one is not to say everything I’m thinking. Especially not that. So, naturally, I roll my eyes at Hunter instead.
He narrows his in response, because apparently my judging his half-naked extra-curricular is offensive to him.
Whatever .
“I know what you are now, Hunter. And I won’t be fooled by your buttery smoothness.” I cringe.
Shit. Why did I say that?
“My buttery smoothness?” He grins, making me grind my teeth and shoot him a death glare. “By all means, tell the interview panel how smooth my butter is, Dev.”
Molly chokes on her drink, sharing an inquisitive look with Claudette. But my eyes never leave Hunter’s as I find my seat. “I’m going to win this job,” I whisper to him as I lower into my chair.
He seems surprised by that. “Oh, yeah? What am I, then, Miss Winner, in addition to buttery smooth? Isn’t that how you put it?”
“A player,” I deadpan. “Not much has changed, I guess. Has it?” I don’t mean to sound saddened by this revelation, but I’m a shit actress when it comes to hiding things from Hunter, and he probably would have felt it even if I pretended.
He looks like I just shot his dog. Which I didn’t think would make me feel like I just shot my dog too. And now I feel like an asshole, and everyone’s dog is dead.
See what I mean about not saying what I’m thinking? Yeah.
“Ehem,” Molly clears her throat and laser beams her eyes at me, “I was just telling Claudette about your charity idea, Devyn.”
“You were?” I say, turning my body decidedly away from Hunter’s.
He scoots his chair away from mine too, and while I thought that wouldn’t affect me, my heart crumbles a little, like a road that can only take a few more bad storms. And maybe that’s exactly what my heart is.
“The Charity!” Molly repeats, abrasively enough that I stop letting what Hunter’s thinking distract me and slap my news anchor face back in place. It might be the fake me, but at least it’s a me who isn’t totally affected by Hunter Isaac and… hay bales.
“Oh, yes,” I say, “the charity. We were thinking about doing one…” I look at Molly for more guidance, but she looks like she’s about to pop a gasket if she loses to James, so I just wing it. “Whoever gets more money for their charity…gets the job?”
Molly’s eyes are wide now, but she’s smiling and nodding with a twinkle that says she likes this idea a whole lot more than whatever her original plan was. James isn’t concerned, go figure. But he has moved on to bigger and better things, such as his Sargento cheese stick. Who knows how long that will keep him occupied.
“I like this idea,” Claudette finally says. “But we need some rules.”
Hunter isn’t smiling anymore. He’s kept the same stone cold, neutral face since I called him a player, and even though I think it was justified—I mean, just look at the evidence all over the Internet—I also think I feel bad.
“Rule Number One,” Claudette begins, “you must use your existing social media platforms to promote your charity so we can follow along and track your progress.”
“Shouldn’t be hard for Playboy over there,” I mumble. I expect Hunter to tousle my hair or elbow me. To say something snarky. Anything. But he doesn’t, and I feel uncomfortable with that.
Regardless, he’s my competition. I must think of him that way, and only that way.
“Rule Number Two, you will have exactly three months to promote and conduct your event. Rule Number Three, you must hold your events in the same area on the same day for us to get accurate results where marketing and audience statistics are concerned. You are from the same hometown, so that should be easy enough.”
My eyes widen, but Molly shoots me a glare that says to keep my lips sealed, so I do. I don’t know why I keep trusting her, but so far, I’m failing on my own, and I need to learn to trust someone if I’m going to get where I want at this company.
“At the end of the three months, we will all fly out to Forest Prairie—”
“Pine Forest,” Hunter and I reply in tandem. The whole room falls silent while Molly, James, and Claudette exchange glances. I shift my gaze to Hunter, but he averts his eyes, and suddenly I feel like someone stole the wind from within me. Deflated my lifeboat. I’m sinking.
But no! This is my interview. My life.
We had our chance. And he proved that when life got tough, he could move on from me however easily he wanted to. However much it broke my heart. Now this? This is my chance.
I turn to Claudette and clear my throat, outstretching my hand and giving hers a quick, firm shake. “It sounds perfect. I can’t wait to show you just how much money I can raise with the Classy Country image in mind. You won’t regret it.”
“I bet I won’t.”
Hunter, who’s been dead silent since I called him a player, finally perks up and pastes on the most fake smile I’ve seen since my own damn face on last week’s news. I’m almost charmed myself, but only momentarily because when he speaks, I remember how much I hate him.
How cocky and full of falsities he is. How easily he lies, and how pretty it sounds when he does it. I want to clobber Hunter Isaac.
“Miss Claudette, thank you for the opportunity to put my little program on the map. I’m honored. I’m already working with the youth rodeo team, and Classy Country’s designs can be featured on our competition wear and merchandise.” He leans in and pulls a handkerchief out of his stupid T-shirt pocket and wipes at the non-existent sweat on his brow before lifting the hem of his shirt, waving it in and out and showing more skin than I feel was legitimately necessary for the temperature.
“It’s hot in here, don’t you think?” He winks at Molly and James and then turns to me, licking those lips like he seems to fancy doing.
I can play, too, Isaac.
“That’s awesome, Hunty,” I say, my words dripping in sugar. He tries not to show it, but I get the satisfaction of seeing the cringe sweep across his features. He hates when girls call him Hunty, so Hunty it is. “I’ll be at the fair working on my charity, too. Guess we can see once and for all which of us is better.”
“Oh, Little Devy Campbell,” he twists his lips, eyes glinting in mirth, “you said that once upon a time at a lemonade stand, and I’ll be the first to remind you, I won that day.” He twists his chair to face me head-on and places his hands in front of him on the table. “Bet I’ll win this time, too. It just feels like tradition, ya know?”
At that, I place my hands on the table to mirror his body. Everyone is still present in the room, but I’m not paying attention to everyone . I’m only paying attention to the cocky-ass cowboy in front of me. “You won’t beat me with a bunch of stupid horses and ropes.”
He grunts. “And I suppose you’ll be winning with the Little Miss Rodeo pageant, then?”
I hate him so freaking much right now, I don’t even think twice about my answer. Sure, why not? I’m a national pageant queen. I won the Little Miss competition for three years running. I headed the charity council for years before I moved away. It’s not like they would turn me away if I asked to help this year. Especially if I come bearing exclusive Classy Country patterns to use. What better way to show Claudette what I can do than by dominating at what I know best?
“You better believe it,” I say. “And my multi-talented girls are going to put your little pony riding babies to shame.”
We both just stay like that for a minute, breathing the fire that has been scorching between us for a decade, waiting to consume its other half.
I hate Hunter Isaac.
No. That’s a lie.
I hate how he makes me feel.
“Sounds like you’re up for playing dirty, Dev,” Hunter finally says so low that only I can hear him. “Lucky me. I like you better that way.”
He sounds angry and wanton at the same time. Like he isn’t sure whether he wants to hate me or date me, and I breathe in his scent on a gasp. Seems we aren’t so different, then.
I don’t respond, though. I have better things to do than let Dustin’s stupid friend—the same boy who rubbed his body in sugar water and let the hummingbirds feast from his abs for homecoming king votes—weasel his way into my thoughts and intimidate me. I need to keep my guard up and get to work if I want to beat him. And I cannot and will not entertain being with him.
Ever. Again.
After we nail down the details of the competition, we all stand and make our way out of the suite. Molly grabs my hand before I leave and squeezes it. “It really was great to meet you in person, Devyn. I’ll text you later.”
I smile, but I’m suddenly not so sure how I feel about Molly. Or any of this.
Hunter walks a few paces ahead of me. It’s weird now because lots of emotions and feelings and words happened back there. Buckets of unspoken things were splashed about, and before I can process them, I need space from Hunter. I can’t be three feet behind him walking to the parking deck.
We enter the elevator together, which is even more unnerving because now it isn’t just the two of us and our thoughts. It’s the two of us, our thoughts, and his cologne permeating the only air I can breathe until we reach the lower deck.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says, leaning against the elevator wall with his arms crossed.
Jerk .
“I do.”
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around town, then. You gonna stay with Dusty?”
“Shana, probably, not that it’s any of your business.”
“Oh?” He wrinkles his brow in confusion, but I’m not sure why. Shana is my best friend for all of time. Of course, I’d stay with her. I mean, I haven’t asked her yet. Hell, I didn’t know about going home until two seconds ago when Molly concocted the plan, but of course it’d be Shana’s.
“You can stay with me. If you need to.”
“Why would I do that?” I say before I can stop myself, true to Devyn fashion. “Sorry. I mean, no. I think Shana’s would be most appropriate.”
“Most appropriate? Who are you, Mary Poppins?”
“Shut up. You know what I mean.”
This elevator is taking forever, I think, as I avoid eye contact with him . Jesus, take the wheel. Or the pulley system…or whatever makes this thing move and move it faster, please!
“Look, I just think it’s a horrible idea, okay?”
He scoffs. “You can’t just deny me when I offer you a place to stay and tell me it’s a horrible idea, Devyn.”
“But it is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it very much is.”
“Why?”
I heave a most annoyed sigh. At least I hope it sounds as annoyed as I am, so he gets the message. I am not going into this with him. We can’t be together. He knows why . He knows what we’ve both been through. We can’t return to the past. There’s too much pain between us…pain that quite frankly took enough out of me the first go-around, and I won’t stand here explaining this to him because fate stuck us in this strange vortex of chaos together!
“Stop it, Hunter. We’re competitors now. And honestly? I just want this job. So, stop flirting with me, and start competing if you want it, too.”
He whistles and rubs the back of his neck. Then I notice he’s been holding the elevator stop button this whole time. We haven’t been moving. I step closer to him and box him into the wall, raising my chin and looking him square in the eyes. I’m not falling for him this time. I’m not getting myself hurt again. We can’t be. Just when I’m inches from his face and his eyes shift to my lips, I shove his arm away from the wall and release his hold on the stop button.
When the doors open, I rush out, but he stops me, grabbing my hand and turning me around. The wrinkle in his forehead says plenty. He’s hurt. I hurt him. I can see it on his face plain as can be that he thought I was going to kiss him.
And even though I’m the one who knew it wasn’t going to be a kiss, it still hurts me, too. Hunter stiffens and stands taller. He puts his hat and glasses back on like we didn’t just share the most awkward last hour together and nods.
More pieces of my heart crumble away, knowing he’d have kissed me back. He’d have taken my hair in his hands and threaded his fingers through like it was some sort of handle he’d placed there himself just for moments like this. But we both know very well how that ends, and I’m sure he’s realizing it too since I’m watching his face the moment he shifts. He goes from heartbroken to heartbreaker in a matter of seconds when he, like I do, puts his fake-self back in place. He gives me a onceover and releases a breathy laugh before he shakes his head like he’s realizing the same things I’ve been thinking. Then he gives me that cocky sideways smirk that apparently over sixty-four thousand women get to admire daily via their social media subscriptions… still too many to stab.
I fiddle with my key fob as he throws a Pine Forest Rodeo Team hoodie over his upper half, which is good because it distracts me from his lower half. It’s a new sweatshirt, crisp and green with bright white lettering, and it makes me smile because it means he bought it recently to support the kids. That’s very…grown up of him.
“Devyn? Good luck with the pageant.” He winks. “I look forward to seeing how you pull it off.”