Chapter Thirteen
It’s after ten o’clock when my tires hit the ranch’s gravel drive.
The porch light is glowing, welcoming me home, and it feels good to see it after the long day.
And the very unexpected dinner.
I cut the engine and sit there for a second, staring at the house.
I shouldn’t be thinking about Porter Garrison.
I especially shouldn’t be sitting here, analyzing the way he looked at me across the table. But my brain refuses to cooperate because it’s all I’ve thought about since I left the hotel parking lot.
I shake my head and grab my bag from the passenger seat.
Good grief, Harleigh. It was just dinner with your boss. A business dinner.
That’s it.
Even though very little business was discussed.
I snort under my breath and climb out of the truck.
The gravel crunches under my boots as I walk toward the porch. The cool night breeze cuts through the thin fabric of my satin blouse.
The inside of the house is dark and quiet. I kick off my boots as soon as I step in the door and carry them upstairs so I don’t wake up Daddy or my grandparents. And I’m startled when I make it to my bedroom door because soft light is shining at the bottom and I hear muffled voices.
I swing it open to find Charli and Shelby lying across my bed in their pajamas, eating brownies and watching a movie.
I freeze.
“It’s about time you made it home, young lady,” Shelby chirps.
I narrow my eyes. “What are you two doing here?”
Charli dramatically checks the clock on my nightstand. “Well, we’ve been waiting for you,” she says, “for over two hours.”
Shelby nods. “And you ignored every single one of our texts.”
I kick the door shut behind me and drop my boots and bag on the chair in the corner.
“First of all,” I say, “my phone died, and the Chevy doesn’t have a USB port. Secondly, I texted Grandma before it died and told her I would be home late. And thirdly, I’m a big girl, and I haven’t had a curfew since I was seventeen.”
I plop down on the edge of the bed.
“What are you guys doing in my bed—in pajamas—anyway?”
“We’re having a sleepover,” Charli states.
I blink. “A what?”
“A sleepover,” Shelby repeats.
“With snacks,” Charli says.
“And wine,” Shelby adds.
“And gossip,” Charli finishes.
I cross my arms. “Where are your men?”
“Bryce is in San Bernardino for a rodeo,” Charli says. “So, I decided to stay in my old room tonight.” Then she jerks her thumb at Shelby. “And I convinced this one to stay, too, because we haven’t had a proper sister sleepover since you got home.”
Shelby nods. “You’re welcome.”
I look between them slowly.
“Now, put your PJs on,” Charli says, patting the space between them. “And come up here and tell us where you’ve been.”
I groan and stand. “You two are ridiculous.”
Shelby gasps dramatically.
I fetch my sleep set from my bathroom where I left it this morning and quickly change. I pull my hair into a messy bun and join them in my bed.
Charli passes me a glass. “Spill.”
“Okay, fine,” I huff.
Shelby mutes the television, and I lean back against the headboard and begin telling them all about my strange evening.
Charli practically vibrates. “So, you went on a date with your boss?”
“God, no. It was dinner.”
They both blink.
“Isn’t dinner considered a date?” Shelby asks.
I hesitate. “No. Dinner is just dinner.”
Charli’s eyes widen. “Just dinner with Porter Garrison?!”
“Shh!” I hiss, waving my hands. “Do you want the entire ranch to hear you?!”
Charli claps her hands over her mouth.
“Okay. So, it was dinner. There was food,” Shelby says slowly. “What else?”
I shrug. “There was nothing else. That’s the end of the story. There was food. We ate the food. The end.”
Charli scoffs. “You had dinner with the broody son of a senator-slash-billionaire hotel owner, and there’s nothing to tell? Boring.”
“I told you it was just dinner,” I mutter. “And he’s not broody.”
They both stare at me.
I sigh.
“Alright,” I admit. “He might be a little broody.”
Charli sits up and squints at me. “First question,” she says, holding up one finger. “Is he hot?”
I choke on my wine. “Charli,” I sputter.
“Answer the question,” she insists.
I wave my hand dismissively. “He’s okay-looking, I guess.”
Shelby tilts her head. “You guess? You know what hot is.”
Charli leans closer. “Describe him.”
I glare at them. “No.”
Charli crosses her arms. “Describe him, or I’ll be forced to hold you down while Shelby tickles you.”
Grrrr. They used to do that to me all the time when I was little. Just to torture me.
I groan. “Fine.”
Charli smiles sweetly. “Thank you.”
“He’s tall,” I say reluctantly.
“How tall?” Shelby asks.
“I don’t know. Tall, tall. About Cabe’s height, I’d guess. Broad shoulders,” I say.
Charli raises an eyebrow. “Broad shoulders,” she repeats slowly. “Nice. Shoulders are important.”
“Dark hair,” I continue. “Sharp jaw.”
“Beard?” Charli asks.
I shake my head. “No. He’s usually clean-shaven, but I did notice a bit of a five-o’clock shadow tonight.”
“Hmm. Stubble can be hot,” she mutters. “What else?”
“Blue eyes,” I say. “Although they sometimes look gray depending on what suit he wears. Tonight, they were definitely blue, blue.”
Charli smirks. “Tall, tall and blue, blue. He sounds hideous.”
I glare at her.
“Ignore her,” Shelby says. “Go on.”
“There’s not much else to tell.”
“What about his chest? Hairy or smooth? Abs? Back muscular or lean?” Charli asks.
“I don’t know. The man is always in a suit.”
“Then get him out of the suit,” she whisper-yells.
My face heats. “Oh my God, Charli.”
“What?” she says innocently.
“You’re the one describing him like a GQ model.”
“I am not!”
Shelby points at me. “You totally are.”
I cross my arms defensively. “He’s just … well put together. And even if he wasn’t my boss, well put together is so not my type.”
Charli snorts. “You think he’s hot.”
“I do not.”
“Do too.”
Shelby nods in agreement. “Definitely hot.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
Charli leans back smugly. “So, what else happened?”
I hesitate.
Which is a mistake.
Because both their heads snap toward me like bloodhounds catching a scent.
“What?” Shelby demands.
“Nothing.”
“Harleigh,” Charli warns.
I sigh. “He asked about my tattoo.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” Charli asks.
I nod.
“And?”
I cringe.
“And I might have”—I bring my hand up and cover my eyes—“unbuttoned my blouse.”
They both gasp.
“In the middle of the restaurant?!” Shelby squeaks.
“Well, not all the way!”
Charli smacks me with the pillow that’s still in her hand. “You flashed your boss?!”
“No.”
Shelby clutches her chest dramatically. “Oh my God, I love this story.”
“I showed him the tattoo,” I insist. “That’s all. No flashing anything else.”
Charli grins. “I bet that got his attention though.”
My face is on fire.
“Okay. So, you had dinner with your boss, and you … stripped?” Shelby says.
“I did not strip!”
Charli wipes fake tears from her eyes. “Please tell me you leaned across the table and at least gave him a little peek.”
“I did not lean!”
Shelby collapses into a fit of laughter. “I can’t breathe.”
I glare at them both. “You’re terrible sisters.”
Charli points at me accusingly. “You’re the one half undressing for your boss. In public.”
I groan and bury my face in my hands. “This was a mistake.”
Shelby sits up suddenly. “Wait.” Her eyes narrow. “You said he asked about your tattoo.” She tilts her head. “Why?”
I shrug. “He noticed it on my first day and was curious about it.”
Charli smirks. “Your first day? That means he’s been thinking about your chest—your skin—for weeks now.”
Shelby fans herself. “Wow.”
“No,” I say, glancing between the two of them. “No.”
Charli smirks. “Oh, he so has.”
I slump back. “This conversation has gone off the rails.”
Charli taps her chin thoughtfully. “So, what did he do when you showed it to him?”
“He said it fit me.”
She grins. “Oh, he did?”
I wince. “Yes.”
Shelby leans forward eagerly. “How would he know that?”
I hesitate. Which is, again, a mistake.
“Harleigh Storm,” Charli says slowly, “how would he know that?”
I throw my arm in the air. “I don’t know. He guessed it fit me.”
Charli grins wickedly. “Or he’s been paying attention.”
“Close attention,” Shelby agrees.
“Oh my God,” I cry. “You two need help.”
Charli points at me. “No, sounds to me like you need help.”
Shelby nods. “You’re clearly attracted to him.”
“I am not!”
Charli snorts. “You’re lying.”
“I am not!”
“You totally are,” Shelby says.
I cross my arms stubbornly. “Even if I did think he was attractive—”
“Aha!” Charli shouts.
“It wouldn’t matter.”
Shelby tilts her head. “Why?”
“Because,” I say firmly, “he has rules about employees dating.”
Charli waves a hand dismissively. “Rules are made to be broken.”
“And,” I continue, ignoring her, “he’s older than Matty.”
Shelby blinks. “How old are we talkin’?”
“Thirty-three.”
“So?” Charli asks.
“So, that’s weird!”
Shelby shrugs. “I think having an affair with your grumpy older boss sounds like fun.”
I stare at her. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
“And I can’t believe you’re denying obvious chemistry,” Charli accuses.
“There is no chemistry!”
Shelby scoffs. “You stripped for him in public.”
“That was about the tattoo!”
Charli leans forward. “Harleigh”—her voice softens slightly—“you like him.”
I sigh.
They both grin.
“Even if I did,” I reply calmly, “I’m concentrating on my career.”
Charli snorts. “Sure.”
“I am. I want to prove to Matty that I’m taking this job seriously.”
Shelby raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t mean you can’t have a relationship.”
“What relationship? There’s no relationship. And if I were interested in Porter, trust me, I wouldn’t need any help from you two.”
“Seriously?” Charli says accusingly. “You’ve spent years meddling in our love lives.”
“You schemed to get Matty and Caison together,” Shelby points out. “And the two of us helped push Charli and Bryce together.”
“And you and Waylon too,” Charli adds.
“That was because you guys were hopeless,” I say primly.
Charli laughs. “Hopeless?”
“You needed my help,” I insist.
Shelby grins. “And now, you don’t need ours?”
“Nope.”
Charli smirks. “You sure about that?”
“A hundred percent.” I lean back confidently. “I’m perfectly capable of catching a man’s attention if I want it. But I don’t.”
Charli nods slowly. “If you say so.”
I relax. “I say so. I don’t need a man.”
“No, you don’t,” Charli agrees. “But they sure are fun when you get your hands on one who makes your toes curl.”
Shelby bursts out laughing.
The truth is, I wouldn’t mind a little toe-curling, I admit to myself. But not from my ornery boss.