Page 102 of Power

Axel: Blake’s officially checking Instagram? The apocalypse must be near.

Blake: I like seeing Tessa’s business page, but your posts keep interrupting my feed, jackass.

Axel: Please, seeing me on your feed is the best part of your day. Which woman was I with in the last photo you saw?

Blake: You’re disturbing.

Axel: Red dress?

Blake: Have you nothing better to do with your time than grow your conquests?

Axel: You’re just jealous because you made the mistake of settling down with one woman. Some of us haven’t surrendered to domestic “bliss.” *devil emoji* My condolences to your manhood. May it rest in peace.

Me: HELLO? Can we circle back to MY problem? How long?

Blake: Maybe Tessa could encourage Scarlett to open up to you?

Me: Maybe. But that will take time to get those two together. I want to know tonight. Tomorrow morning at the latest.

Ryker: Give her space, but make it clear you’re there when she’s ready. And for the love of God, when she does talk, don’t make more threats that I’ll have to explain away in court while wearing my “please don’t convict my idiot friend” tie.

Me: Fine. I’ll TRY to wait. For now.

Axel: Our boy’s growing up. Next thing you know, he’ll be asking about proper dinner date etiquette. *tear emoji*

Blake: Miracles do happen. Should we start planning the intervention now or wait until he starts using words like “feelings” without breaking out in hives?

Ryker: I’ll clear my calendar for the inevitable bail hearing either way.

Great. It would seem I was going to have to find another way to get the guy’s name tonight. Luckily, I had an idea …

53

SCARLETT

“The hell is wrong with this horse?” Jace snarled as Snickerdoodle came to a complete stop, huffed dramatically, and then trotted forward just enough to make him grip the reins like they were the last parachute on a plummeting plane.

I bit back a laugh. Seeing Mr. Fortune 500 out of his element was better than front-row tickets to my favorite concert. With backstage passes. And an open bar.

“This one is defective,” he muttered, adjusting himself in the saddle for the fifteenth time in ten minutes. At this rate, his designer pants would be worn through by sunset.

Thank God the sun didn’t set until nearly eight thirty this time of year. If today’s after-hours drama had happened in winter, the sky would already be pitch black. Instead, it was cotton-candy pastel, the sun dipping toward the horizon.

“She’s perfect.”

“If I had an employee with this kind of performance, they’d be fired before lunch.”

“She’s not an employee. She’s a soul with four legs, and you need to treat her like that.”

“She’s plotting to buck me off.” He narrowed those green eyes at the horse’s innocent ears. “I can’t very well run a companywith a broken neck. I knew it was a bad idea to let you talk me into riding again.”

In his defense, the last time, he rode a different horse. Snickerdoodle was more spirited.

“If it makes any difference, you look super handsome, doing it.” And he did. Unfairly so. Like someone had Photoshopped aGQmodel onto a horse calendar.December, featuringBillionaire Who Can’t Ride But Looks Damn Good Trying.

Jace glared at me, which only emphasized his chiseled jawline. Still wearing his suit pants and button-down, he’d abandoned his tie and jacket back at the stable. So, at least half of his “seven-thousand-dollar Brioni suit”—his words, not mine—was safe from Snickerdoodle’s shenanigans. But still, it wasn’t every day I saw a man in tailored pants riding a horse. Let alone riding one so … spectacularly badly.

Me? I was comfortable and riding well, thank you very much. It didn’t hurt that I was wearing the change of clothes I kept at the barn. My body knew these trails like my fingers knew a keyboard: effortlessly, instinctively.