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He’s flirting with me.
Trying to charmme.
My skin feels clammy and tacky and it’s hard to swallow.
I’m going to be sick.
Finally, though his ego must weigh more than he does, he picks up on the fact that I’m not talking back.
He frowns at me.
Somehow, that’s worse.
It feels as if there’s a band around my ribs and it’s constricting my lungs.
Inwardly pleading with any deity that’ll listen for Tee to burst into the store, I manage to choke out, “What are you doing here?”
It sounds more like, ‘What doin’ ‘ere?’
Inside, I’m wailing.
I’m going to faint—I know it.
“I’m leaving for Vancouver,” he chirps, apparently relieved that I can talk. “But when I heard through the grapevine you were returning to the States today, I had to delay my flight and stick around until I got to see you.”
My eyes widen.
Heorchestratedthis?
“W-Why?”
And how did he know about my travel dates?
Grand-mère.
Goddammit.
“By now, I’m sure you’re aware of the deal my son brokered with me.” His smile is pure sleaze. “That’s proof of my dedication to the future of the Seven Csandthe Bar 9. I hope you see that.”
“Why do you care if I do or don’t?”
Leaning forward, he lifts a hand.
It takes everything in my power not to projectile vomit all over him when his finger strokes the line of my jaw.
“I’m aware that you get very little capital out of this deal, Susanne.”
“The ranch’s debts are covered?—”
“The Bar 9’s safe, but what about for yourself? Every girl needs some spending money, doesn’t she?” He chuckles. It’s oily and nauseating. “I can make that happen.”
His thumb presses into the small indent on my chin and that vaguest pressure triggers another memory, but this one is so deeply entrenched that it yanks me out of this terrified stasis.
Retreating a couple steps feels like I’ve run a marathon. I know I’m panting as hard as if I made it to the finish line.
He stares at me in confusion but seems to shrug past it. “I want you to be my eyes and ears in Pigeon Creek, Susanne. My son’s never managed the ranch on his own before. As someone who understands the importance of a legacy, you’ll also comprehend that I’m worried about the Seven Cs being in his hands. It’d ease my heart to know the ins and outs of… say, the daily management.
“I had an attack last year. Arrhythmia.” He pats his chest. “The old ticker’s not what it was.”