CHAPTER THREE HUDSON
CHAPTER THREE
HUDSON
Normally, my office at the Carrington Ranch is my sanctuary.
I like the weight of the silence here, the way the sunlight catches the dust motes dancing over the leather-bound ledgers that track three generations of Carrington blood and sweat.
But today, the walls feel like they're closing in, and the air is thick with a frustration so localized it stings.
I pace the length of the antique rug, my boots thudding in a rhythm that matches the agitated ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
I've spent the last four nights in a state of sleep-deprived longing.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Tinsley Essen.
I see the way her aqua eyes turn into glass shards when she's annoyed, and the curve of her mouth that looks like it's designed specifically to tell me to go to hell.
It's a mouth that haunts my dreams, speaking sharp truths and silent challenges I can't ignore.
It's obsession. One look was all it took for her to steal my goddamn heart and soul.
"You're doing that thing again," Tanner interrupts my inner turmoil. I turn to find my brother leaning against the door frame with a smirk that suggests he's been watching me vibrate with nervous energy for several minutes.
"I'm not doing anything," I snap, ignoring his look of disbelief.
"Right. A meeting with a red-haired receptionist who treats you like a telemarketer." Tanner chuckles, pushing off the wall and crossing his arms. The fucking Silver Spoon Falls Grapevine has been busy.
"Fuck off, asshole." I brush past him. I don't have time to deal with his bullshit. I have a mission, one that feels more vital than any land deal I've ever brokered. I need to see her.
The drive into Silver Spoon Falls is a blur of green pastures and white fences, the Texas landscape rolling past in a smear of vibrant color.
Today, I’m changing things up, hoping my new strategy works with Tinsley.
I pull my truck into a spot near the Montoya Investments building, my fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the steering wheel.
I walk into the lobby, ready to do battle.
The air inside is cool, smelling of expensive air freshener and the faint, lingering scent of Tinsley's citrus perfume.
The second I see her, my legs feel like they've been replaced by lead.
Tinsley is sitting behind that massive marble desk; her hair is pulled back into a sleek knot that exposes the elegant line of her neck.
She's focused on the computer screen, her brow furrowed in a way that makes me want to smooth the line with my thumb.
"Good morning, Tinsley," I say, stepping up to the desk.
I place a cup of coffee in her line of sight, the steam rising between us like a white flag of surrender.
“I thought you might need a little mid-morning pick me up.” My fingers brush the cool stone of the desk, inches from her hand.
The proximity sends a jolt through me that makes the fine hairs on my arms stand up.
She doesn't look up. Not immediately. Her fingers fly across the keyboard. When she finally lifts her gaze, those aqua eyes are as cool as a mountain spring, reflecting nothing but professional detachment. "I figured you gave up when you didn’t show up at The Golden Mug this morning."
"Giving up isn’t in my vocabulary," I reply, my voice dropping an octave, honeyed with a charm I hope doesn't sound as desperate as I feel.
"We all have to learn new things." Her voice is dry enough to catch fire. She doesn't touch the cup. She doesn't even acknowledge its existence beyond that curt nod. “You need to stop showing up at my place of employment.”
Frustration cuts through me. A week worth of getting nowhere finally causes me to crack.
“I could buy this entire building just to ensure you have to see me every morning, Tinsley.” I clench my teeth so tight I’m waiting for one of them to crack.
God. I really sound like an idiot, but I can’t stop the words.
She doesn’t even look up from her computer screen. “Sounds like an expensive way to get rejected again, Hudson.” That fucking stings.
Before I can recover, she slides her monitor a fraction of an inch closer to block her view of me. It’s so subtle that most people would miss it. I don’t.
I stare at her. She won’t give me a single inch. Not even a scrap of hope. For one dumb second, I just stand there like a goddamn idiot.
She makes a show of typing. My brain short circuits. I’m not used to people ignoring me, especially not gorgeous redheads who look like they could set fire to your existence without breaking a sweat.
I clear my throat. “I want to get to know you.”
She keeps right on typing. “That’s too bad.” Tinsley finally leans back, her chair creaking slightly. Her expression shifts from boredom to something sharper, something that feels like a wall being reinforced with titanium. "Because I’m not interested in what you’re offering."
I clamp my jaw shut so tight it aches. Not another word.
It's the only move I've got left. I spin on my heel, bone-dry resolve holding me together as I stalk out of that lobby.
Outside, Texas humidity slaps me in the face like a hot, wet towel, a rude switch from the subzero, rejection-packed air behind me.
My brain just keeps looping the same insanity.
I'm obsessed. No, scratch that. I’m certifiably half-crazed over Tinsley.
I stomp across the parking lot, boots thudding a stubborn rhythm toward my truck. With every step, the air grows heavier, the urge tighter, until it’s burning in my chest. I don’t care about the rules. I don’t care about pride. I need her. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make her mine.
The Texas sun beats down across my shoulders as I stalk across the parking lot. My boots slap the hot pavement with a violence that matches the circus inside my head. Fuck me.
Tinsley’s freezing me out so hard, I swear the ice in her voice could stop traffic.
I’m half convinced I’m losing my mind. I grab the door of my truck and just stand there, fist wrapped tight enough the metal sears my hand.
My reflection glares back at me in the window.
I look like a pussy-whipped motherfucker. Great.
I drag in a breath. The air is thick and hot, and I want to punch something. Instead, I slam into the driver’s seat and rip the Stetson off, tossing it onto the dash.
I sit and stew for a minute, replaying every second of that rejection. I’m used to closing deals, not getting stonewalled by a five-foot-seven goddess with a NASA-grade security system around her heart.
God. I want her. I want her body pressed against mine, her mouth open with my name on it, her nails raking lines down my back. I want her brain, too. The sharp, scary brilliance that slices through bullshit like barbed wire.
All I get is a cold shoulder and my own blue balls for company. Looks like it’s time to up my game.