Chapter 8
MADDIE
Monday morning has come around faster than I would have liked. The wedding was a huge success, and although I breathed a sigh of relief on Sunday as I watched the bride and groom leave, I couldn’t shake the tension skating down my spine.
I’ve been preparing for this pitch with Jim Evergreen all week, but it doesn’t stop the nerves from fluttering around in my stomach like they do when we have an unruly horse. Now that there isn’t a wedding to distract myself with—until the next one—all I can focus on is the here and now.
You’ve got this.
I know my presentation like the back of my hand.
In fact, I could recite it in my sleep, along with the fine details of the six weddings we’re hosting this summer.
I just need to shut out that voice in my head.
It doesn’t matter who else is pitching today, or if they’ll be better than me and able to offer more money.
The only thing I have an ounce of control over is how my pitch goes.
There’s nothing I can do about anybody else.
I recite the words back to myself repeatedly as I walk down the sidewalk toward the building where Jim insisted on meeting. The closer I get, the more I believe myself. Until I’m standing in front of the glass door of a nondescript office building one town over from Coldwater.
Inhaling, I push through the door, unsure of what to expect on the other side. The foyer is plain, with a staircase straight ahead and a list of business names on the wall between them and a small elevator. In one corner is a large fake plant, adding the only bit of color to the space.
I step up to the signage, searching for the Palisades meeting room. Third floor.
With the ball of uncertainty swirling in my gut, I opt for the stairs, needing to do something, even if that means exercise, to take my mind off what I’m heading into.
All weekend I’ve been telling myself that Wyatt wouldn’t be here, but this morning, I stopped lying to myself.
Of course he’s going to be putting in a pitch.
I just have to hope that I won’t have to see him or his smarmy face.
It doesn’t take long to reach the third floor.
My pulse races as the quiet of the building settles over me.
I exit the stairwell, spotting a desk with an older woman seated behind it.
She looks up at me from over the top of her magazine before sliding it out of sight and pasting a smile I know all too well onto her face.
“Good morning, are you here for the Evergreen pitches?”
I offer her a matching smile, clutching my binder a little tighter. “I am.”
She makes a note before asking, “And your name?”
“Maddie Hart.”
She types something into her computer before turning her attention back to me and saying, “Perfect, just head down the hall, you can wait in the third room on the left.”
I look in the direction she points. “Thank you.” I bite my tongue, refraining from asking if anyone else has arrived or is currently in with Jim.
Her cheery “good luck” follows me down the corridor, doing nothing to ease the whirlwind of emotions inside of me.
My mind is on my pitch when I walk into the room. I expect it to be empty, but my gaze locks with none other than Wyatt Wilde. Fuck. I knew he’d be here. But it doesn’t stop my stomach from dropping.
I’m not quick enough to hide my surprise; my eyes are still wide and my mouth slightly agape as he smirks at me from where he’s seated.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Maddie Hart. Did they let you out to play with the big dogs today?” he sneers, crossing his legs at his ankles as he stares at me.
I snap my mouth shut, grinding my back molars as I cross the room and take a seat in the corner, ignoring him.
If I give him the chance, he’ll try to worm his way into my head and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
He’s already been there when he shouldn’t be, and I’ll be damned if he ever finds that out.
Wyatt leans forward, and although I’m not looking at him, I can feel his gaze on me. “You know it’s rude to ignore people when you’re asked a question. Or did your parents not teach you that?”
I narrow my eyes at him and bite back, “Did yours not teach you not to be such an ass?”
Wyatt stands, crossing the room before relaxing in the seat one chair away from me.
This close to him, I can smell his woodsy cologne and feel the heat emanating from his body.
It throws me back to that night at the rodeo.
I didn’t notice his scent then, but I felt his heat and how it traveled from him to me.
His minty breath skates across my face when he leans closer and asks, “How come it’s you here and not your dad?”
He’s closer than I expect when I turn in my seat. My eyes flick to his mouth before I force them back to his blue eyes and snap, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
The words are a chant in my mind, a reminder of who he is and how I should be feeling about him.
Wyatt shrugs, leaning back in his chair as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I dunno, just wouldn’t have thought they’d hang you out like this.”
“Like what?” I ask, before biting the inside of my cheek and turning back to face the room. I shouldn’t engage with him. It’s what he wants.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him fold his arms across his chest and cock a brow before he replies, “I mean, you don’t exactly have a wealth of negotiating skills, Hart.”
“And you do?” This time, I look at him, lifting a brow and daring him to argue with me because we all know that Grayson used to be the one out doing all their business negotiations. It’s common knowledge in town that after Avery left and their father died, Grayson threw himself into his work.
“Touché. But I’ve got more experience than you, in more ways than one, darlin’.”
The endearment—though I’m not sure he meant it that way—sends a rush of heat to my core, and I’m annoyed with myself for my body’s reaction. Whipping toward him, I ignore the dig that I’m sure he was going for and bite, “Don’t call me that.”
I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. The glee on Wyatt’s face lights up his features brighter than the arena.
He really is handsome. The thought catches me off guard and annoyance, more with myself than anyone else, flares in my chest.
God, why am I entertaining him?
Huffing out a breath, I turn away from him and open my proposal to read over it one more time. Within seconds, I slam it shut when I catch Wyatt leaning closer.
“Do you mind?” I huff.
He picks up his Stetson, resting it on his face as he relaxes back in his chair. “Don’t mind me, darlin’. I’m gonna catch some shuteye; I had a late night.”
He’s so infuriating.
There’s only one thing for me to do now.
Go in there, pitch my ass off and show him that I’m not someone to mess with.
So what if I haven’t ever had to pitch for something this big by myself before?
I’ve attended meetings with Daddy and know all his secrets when it comes to this side of the ranch’s business.
Hell, I pitch to brides all the time; this should be a walk in the park.
With the sound of Wyatt’s soft breathing filling the room, I run over my pitch one last time, certain that I’m going to walk into that room and win Jim Evergreen over.