Ever Mine (Billionaire Cowboys #1)

Chapter 1

chapter

one

Addison

If first impressions are everything, then I am in big trouble.

I tug on my blazer, pretending I’m not sweating under the weight of my own “new job” enthusiasm. This outfit says, Professional woman who knows what ROI means. My armpits, on the other hand, are wondering if we really put on deodorant this morning.

Everything about Limestone Brewery feels old-world meets modern chic.

Exposed brick and high wooden beams give the spacious lobby an almost atrium feel.

The receptionist told me to “head straight through the tasting room,” but she failed to mention that “straight through” would mean walking past a dozen tables full of people, bottles clinking, and the low hum of laughter that makes me feel like I’ve crashed the cool kids’ lunch table.

Are they actually drinking beer before noon?

Okay, I’m gonna be honest with you… I don’t like beer. I think it tastes and smells pretty gross. Obviously, I won’t be advertising that fact to my new employer and co-workers because I’m here to help them improve their online presence.

Which I can do whether I’m a beer drinker or not. It’s probably just because I’m of that generation or whatever. I understand social media and how to attract the right kind of attention there. Thus, my new position as the social media marketing guru here at the brewery.

I’m not even sure the job was an official position before I was hired. It was a moment of kismet, I guess, between me and the CEO’s fiancée and some pastries. My sister, Kelsie, co-owns the local bakery, Sugar Bakers, and I ran into Mia Morales there, and well, now I have this job.

“Are you lost, dove?” The voice comes from behind me. Warm, smooth, and with the kind of British accent that could make grocery lists sound like a sonnet.

I turn and immediately forget every word in the English language.

Standing there, holding a stack of legal folders like they personally offended him, is a man who looks like he was designed by a committee of women who appreciate well-tailored suits, ginger hair, and all things James Bond.

He’s tall—of course he’s tall—with a ginger beard, rolled-up sleeves, and forearms that make my brain buffer. This man oozes charm, and he’s only spoken four words to me.

“Yes. Hi. Addison. Uh, I mean, I am Addison. I’m new.” Why, for once, can I not be

His mouth curves slightly, polite but amused. “Hawthorne Cumberland. Call me Thorne, please; otherwise, all the syllables tend to get tangled in people’s mouths. I handle legal for Limestone.”

Oh, he’s the lawyer. Which means I probably won’t have to talk to him very often.

I stick out my hand. “Addison Blankenship. Social—”

“Butterfly,” he says smoothly, shaking my hand.

My brain stutters, then I process what he said. And then I snort. Awesome. “Uh, not exactly. Social Media,” I correct. “Social Media Specialist.”

He clicks his tongue. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard of that. Dangerous profession. All those thumbs, scrolling unsupervised.”

A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. “I’ll make sure to wear proper thumb safety gear.”

He looks at me for a beat too long—enough for my stomach to swoop and my pulse to do a double-time drum solo—then nods toward the office hallway. “I’ll show you to the conference room. The rest of the team’s waiting.”

“Perfect,” I say, pretending I’m not already tripping over my own confidence.

As I follow him, the scent of cedar and clean soap trails behind him, and I give myself a silent pep talk.

You are a professional.

You are capable.

You will not develop a crush on the British lawyer with biceps and dimples. And freckles!

Thankfully, it doesn’t take us too long to reach our destination.

Except, when he glances back and holds the door open for me, his smile flickers—half polite, half intrigued—and I know I’m in trouble. He’s way too attractive. It’s obnoxious.

The Limestone Brewery conference room looks exactly like the kind of space where important people say phrases like “brand synergy” and “leveraging content verticals.”

Which would be fine—if I didn’t immediately drop my water bottle as soon as I walk in.

It hits the floor, rolls away, and comes to a stop at the very expensive shoes of one Hawthorne Cumberland, Esq.

Because, of course, it does.

“Hydration is important,” he says, leaning to retrieve it.

“Yup. I’m big on water. Huge water fan.”

One of his eyebrows arches. “Glad to hear it.”

I pluck my water bottle from his hand and turn to face the table full of people. Excellent. Perfectly normal words. I mean, who doesn’t like water?

Why am I being like this? Normally, I can at least pretend to be competent.

“Addison Blankenship, our new social media specialist.” This comes from the CEO himself, Ford McCall. “She’s going to get our online presence looking as good as our beer tastes.”

I nod, opting not to speak anymore. Perhaps ever. At least, around the hot ginger.

The man himself pushes a tray of pastries in my direction, though he doesn’t seem to be looking at me. Instead, he’s rifling through his files.

“Load your plates, y’all,” Mia says as she breezes into the room.

Ford’s gaze locks on the woman and doesn’t stray.

“Yes,” Ford echoes. “Eat and then we can start on the presentations.”

Shit monkeys!

I will not only have to speak around Thorne, but also I have an actual presentation. I grab a random pastry from the tray, then a napkin, and set them down in front of me.

Ford starts telling us about a recent acquisition the company has made, and will soon have a new flavor in the lineup.

While he’s talking, my mind wanders. I’ll have to get the information from him later to figure out ways to promote the flavor.

For now, I’m just trying to concentrate on not falling out of my chair.

Not because I normally struggle to sit upright, but just because it’s been that kind of day. I pull off a piece of the pastry and pop it in my mouth, then lick the sticky frosting off my fingertips.

I glance up and find the hot ginger watching me. His eyes are dark from across the table, and he’s staring at my mouth. Slowly, his gaze raises to mine, and I swear I feel a warmth spread through me.

I’m still in my twenties, surely that’s too young to get a hot flash. I know some women start perimenopause early, but this seems a little extreme.

I grab my water bottle and guzzle some to cool myself off. I hope I’m not getting sick.

“Addison, you can run through your presentation.”

Right. My slideshow. My moment of redemption. The culmination of three all-nighters, three iced coffees, and one meltdown in the Target parking lot.

I queue up the deck, praying to every deity of Wi-Fi connection, and launch into my pitch. “So, our social media strategy is going to focus on storytelling—humanizing the brewery, highlighting our people, our process, our—”

The screen flashes. Then freezes. Then—

My desktop appears.

Along with my browser from last night’s search: “How to fake it till you make it?”

A few chuckles scatter through the room.

I force a laugh. “Glad I wasn’t looking at porn.”

WHAT?

WHY did I say that?

I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

But it does make the entire room laugh. And it feels like a lot of them are even genuine.

I clear my throat, kill the screen, and start again. “Anyway… our social strategy.”

When the meeting finally ends, everyone files out with friendly smiles. I’m collecting my things when Thorne pauses at the doorway.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, tone softer now, “I think you handled that remarkably well.”

“That was your version of ‘good job,’ wasn’t it?”

“Something like that.” His eyes glint with amusement. “You’ll fit in fine here, Miss Blankenship.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me in a swirl of cedar and charm and the terrifying realization that I’m absolutely, unquestionably in trouble.