3. Violet
three
Violet
Chord Davenport smells so good I can’t think straight. Clean like powder. Fresh like mint. Earthy like cedar with mouthwatering base notes of man. Tall, intimidating, devastating man . The fragrance goes straight to the pleasure center in my brain, but it’s his eyes that freeze every muscle in my body. He’s got thick, dark brows—the one on the right sliced with a single scar—over cold cobalt blues that pin me to my chair and suck the air from my lungs. And I can’t look away.
We’re in a room full of people, yet Chord stares at me like there’s nobody here but us. He’s waiting for me to say something, but there’s no chance I can string a coherent sentence together.
Tell him you can’t be his assistant. Tell him you can’t spend a whole summer on his ranch. Tell him he terrifies you. That you have responsibilities. That you’re the wrong person for this job!
My lips part, and Chord’s gaze drops to my mouth. His eyes trace the shape of it, sweeping from one corner to the other and back again and triggering a warm flush across my chest. The small hope I had of stopping his plan before it goes too far is lost in the silence between us.
“You’ve changed your mind,” Courtney says. I didn’t even notice her approach, and I should probably acknowledge her, but Chord’s eyes remain fixed on mine, and until he lets go, I’m at his mercy.
“Good,” Courtney goes on. “I offer my—”
“No.”
The change in Chord is swift, and even though I’m almost positive his problem is with Courtney, it’s terrifying to be on this end of his icy glare. My fingertips press into the leather of the boardroom chair as I remind myself breathing isn’t optional, and I should probably start again if I want to live long enough to tell my dad about this.
Chord clenches his jaw as a frustrated sigh puffs from his flared nostrils. “Be at Silver Leaf Ranch & Vineyard at ten a.m. tomorrow,” he orders. “Don’t be late.”
He walks out, leaving the doors open behind him, and I watch him walk away. Smooth bronzed neck and a tousled mop of dark hair. Broad shoulders that strain against his navy suit jacket. Narrow waist and pants that are just snug enough to hint at what’s underneath—thick muscle and a tight ass. And the way he walks . Like he owns the world. Like he’s never heard the word no .
It’s not until Chord rounds a corner that I remember where I am. The first thing I see is Courtney, and it’s clear that I’m in big trouble.
She crosses her arms over her chest, red nails tapping her upper arms. People collect their notebooks and laptops in awkward silence, and as they shuffle around us to get the heck out of here, I stare at my hands. Not even Courtney can blame me for what just happened, right?
I shoot her a darting glance.
Oh, yeah. She can, and she does.
Courtney throws up her hands. “How could you let this happen? Your instructions were perfectly clear. Sit in the corner, take notes, and”—she bites back a mocking smile as she gestures at my outfit, eyes dancing at the picture of my pristine white sneakers peeking out from underneath my wide-leg tapered beige pants and the matching oversized blazer swamping my frame—“ blend in .”
I wish I had the nerve to put this woman in her place. Just once.
I majored in fashion design in college, I know how to dress myself, and I’m quietly proud of my look. All I ever wanted was for Violet James to be the name people gave when someone asked about jaw-dropping wedding dresses and stunning haute couture, but my dreams didn’t pan out. My personal style and a bedroom covered in sketches are all I’ve got left.
Fortunately, I’d double-majored in business marketing, which is how I landed this job with the San Francisco Fury. And though it’s not to Courtney’s taste, I always wear beige. Or tan. Or gray or white or black. A monochromatic color palette makes it possible to mix and match a smaller wardrobe, plus it’s much easier for me to…
I sigh inside my head. Blend in.
“You won’t last a week,” she continues. “You know that, don’t you?”
I do know that.
“I… That is, I mean…”
Trepidation bursts in hot prickles across my collarbone, but then Coach Campbell steps between us. He offers me a business card and I take it with confusion.
“Call me later in the week, and we’ll talk about setting up those summer training sessions.” He plucks the card from my fingers, flips it over, and returns it. There’s another number scrawled on the back. His personal line, I realize, and when I glance up at him with a small, questioning smile, he gives me a comforting wink. “If you need anything, I’m happy to help. And no need to look so worried, Violet. Chord’s a good guy at heart. His bark is worse than his bite.”
I wish I could tell him how grateful I am for his kindness, but instead, I tuck the card away to hide it from Courtney’s suspicious glare.
“Have a good day, Courtney,” Coach says before he leaves.
She ignores him, and I get to my feet, hoping that this is the day my extra height equals confidence. It isn’t.
I hate the way this woman makes me feel: stupid and small—figuratively speaking. I’m five foot nine, and she barely clears my chin. And I hate that, on some level, I envy her. She’s smart. Attractive. All confidence and power, self-assurance and sex. Courtney wears her crimson nails and ruby-red lips as if she paid for them in blood. Come to think of it, maybe she had.
Courtney purses her lips. “I expect you to be online during work hours in case anything comes up here that requires your attention.”
She’s letting me do it?
My heart thunders so fast that blood roars in my ears, and I realize that part of me was holding onto hope that Courtney would find a way to shut this wild plan down. For a few moments there, it was kind of exhilarating to imagine being claimed by Chord Davenport and whisked away from the monotony that is my life, but only because I never dreamed it would happen. I don’t want to go. I can’t go. I have too many responsibilities here.
“Oh, no.” The words come out dry and cracked, so I clear my throat and try again. “I can’t—”
“You absolutely can.” Courtney sweeps through the doors, and I scoop up my notebook and satchel before chasing her down the hallway. “You’ll just have to make time for your actual job while you’re sunning yourself by the pool and organizing his mail and facilitating the team’s training sessions.”
“That’s not what I meant. I can’t—”
“Find a way.” She pulls up short, and I stumble to avoid crashing into her. Her eyes sweep up and down my body before she shakes her head with a sigh of resignation. “For reasons I cannot fathom, Chord Davenport wants you.”
My entire body flushes red-hot, and I wonder if I can reach the nearest bathroom before I throw up. Maybe. If I run.
“And it’s our job,” Courtney adds bitterly as she walks away, “to give that man what he wants.”