The Cowboy's City Girl - An Enemies To Lovers Romance Page 4

  “No, uh, he told me he was going to catch up on some work and eat in his room tonight.” My face must show disappointment because Ash stands up and takes a step toward me. “Allison, can I ask you something personal?”

  “I, uh, I guess so.”

  “You’re attracted to Ridge, aren’t you?”

  I can feel the heat of a blush beginning at the base of my neck, and I look down at my yellow fuzzy feet.

  “I don’t mean to embarrass you. I swear I don’t. But I see how you look at him when his back is turned, and I… well, I worry about him.”

  I cross my arms and look up into his eyes. “Worry about him how?”

  “He works very hard, and he’s been alone for a long time. I’d just like to see him, you know, date somebody. You seem like a kind woman with her shit together, and let me tell you women like that are hard to find. Maybe I could steer you two in the same direction while you’re here and see if there’s any chemistry?”

  I cock my head and grimace, “Ah, I don’t know, Ash. I appreciate the thought, but Ridge doesn’t seem interested, and I’m not into being pushy or forward.”

  “You wouldn’t be. I’ll be discrete.”

  His eyes are so full of hope I can hardly say no. Well, I could have, but I don’t want to.

  “Okay, as long as he doesn’t suspect, and you don’t think he will be upset by it.”

  “Why would he be upset about spending time with a beautiful woman?”

  “Ash, you’re good at making me blush, you know that?”

  “Sorry, Stella says that, too. I don’t even know I’m doing it. But it’s true. You two would make a great couple. Let’s see what happens.”

  “All right, I’m game.”

  He claps his hands together, and I jump. “Great, so what do you think about delivering Ridge his dinner tonight to his room? Perfect ice breaker, huh?”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little much for the first shove? How about we try baby steps first?”

  “Okay, but you only have a couple of days. We have to move fast.”

  “I’ll think about it, no promises.”

  “Fair enough.” He smiles like he knows something I don’t.

  What in the hell have I gotten myself into?

  Seven

  Ridge

  You Scramble My Everything

  One of the things I love most about my job is the commute—there isn’t one. My office is connected to my living quarters on the third floor where nothing else is located. I have the entire floor to myself. It’s like a penthouse suite.

  So when I’m done with work, I’m home, although I’m never truly done working. I am always monitoring every room in the mansion, the barns, and the perimeter of the land. It isn’t that Ash is worried about a personal attack or getting robbed, himself—he just wants to be sure his employees and his family are always safe.

  I turn off the monitors in the surveillance room and transfer the feed to my computer in the living room so I can relax and eat dinner. An hour later, my phone chimes that I have a text at the same time there is a knock at my door. I read the text first while I walk through the house to get the door.

  Ash: Don’t be mad, smile, be nice, she’s not what you think.

  I read the message twice. What the hell is he talking about? I don’t have time to figure it out before I open the door and find Allison Green standing before me holding a dinner tray.

  “Surprise,” she says in a shy voice.

  “What’s this?”

  “Dinner. Stella was busy with Cannon, and she couldn’t bring it, so she asked me. And there were so many people in the kitchen preparing to feed my crew I figured yours would be cold before you got it if I didn’t. So, here I am, are you going to let me in? This thing’s heavy.”

  “Oh, yes, let me take it,” I say removing the tray from her shaky hands. It’s very heavy. I’m surprised she carried it all the way up here by herself. I move it to the dining room table and set it down while I begin to understand the text, Stella’s involvement, and Ash’s cupid-like meddling.

  When I turn around, I expect to see her still at the door, but she’s right behind me looking around my home.

  “Nice place, you must have a great decorator.” She’s still dressed down and wearing those adorable fuzzy socks, but now her hair is thrown up into a messy bun on top of her head making her look even more youthful and natural than earlier.

  “I don’t know who decorated. It was like this when I came to work for Ash.”

  Her forehead wrinkles in a frown, “Yeah? Well, it looks like it was done with a man in mind.”

  I don’t mean to be an ass, but I can’t help but state the obvious. “Ash is a man.”

  Her eyes narrow when she thinks about this. “I guess you’re right about that. How long have you two known each other?”

  I don’t like questions. Questions feel like prying to me, but I’ll give her this one. “We knew each other in high school. I was a year ahead of him, but we were good friends.”

  “Ah, must be nice working and living here. I’ve never been in a house like this before.”

  She’s not what you think. Ash’s words come back to me. “Surely living in New York, you’ve been in some luxurious homes.” I glance at the open door on the other side of the apartment and wonder if I should go and shut it, which would be a silent invitation for her to stay. Or, should I leave it open and see where this is going? I leave it open because now I’m curious about Ash’s text message.

  “No, I grew up in Brooklyn. I’m crossing my fingers we can afford a place in Queens someday soon.”

  “We?” I ask before thinking. I swore to myself I wouldn’t get involved with this woman no matter how beautiful she is. They’re all beautiful until their perfectly red painted claws come out.

  “My brother and I. I’ve been raising him since I graduated college. There was nobody else when Dad was gone, and I couldn’t let him go into foster care, so it’s just him and me now making our way.”

  “What happened to your mother, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Her bottom lip slips between her teeth and looks away from me for the first time since she’s arrived. “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “I don’t like to talk about it. So, are you going to invite me to dinner or are you going to let it sit there and get cold after I lugged it all the way up here?” she says, the smile returning to her face.

  Hell, I can’t believe I’m doing this. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

  “I’d love to, thank you.”

  Now it’s time to shut the door. She’s been properly invited to stay so leaving the door open now is a mute point. “Have a seat while I close the door.”

  She pulls out a chair and sits down. When I return, I lift the covers off four plates—two have stuffed pork chops with twice-baked potatoes, and two others have salads. “Looks like someone was planning on staying all along,” I say accusingly sitting down across from her. I expect her to act shy or embarrassed, but she surprises me with her answer.

  “Yep, well, I felt like you didn’t eat with the group because of me, so I wanted to show you I don’t bite. Unless you want me to, of course.”

  My mind scatters everywhere like an exploding firecracker. She admits she came up here on purpose, she knows I wasn’t eating downstairs because of her, and she’s a kinky flirt.

  “I’d be careful who you admit that to. Someone might surprise you and take you up on it.”

  “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” I remove the plates from the tray while I talk. “So what makes you think I was eating up here because of you?”

  “Promise not to be angry?”

  “No, I never promise not to be angry. Being angry is my prerogative.”

  She shrugs. “Ever since I met you this morning, something’s been nagging at me. You looked so familiar, but I never forget a face. I knew I’d never met you in pers
on before so I looked you up. You were Livi Fox’s bodyguard.”

  I snap my napkin and lay it on my lap without looking at her.

  “Yes, I was.”

  “And you’re hiding out here because the media made such a mess of your life.”

  “Yes, that’s true, too. It’s also why I don’t want any photographs of me to be in that article. I don’t want anyone knowing where I’m at. I like my life now.”

  She reaches out to touch my hand. “I understand. I won’t tell anybody, that’s not what I’m here for.”

  I look at her small, warm hand on mine. “Forgive me if I don’t trust you. You work for one of the magazines that helped destroy me. I had to come back home and live with my mother when I was thirty-three years old. I was broke, and people were calling me with death threats at least ten times a day. It was the worst part of my life, and I’d like to forget it ever happened and live my life in peace.”

  “Then that’s what you’ll do,” she says like it’s the easiest thing to do. “I’m not the kind of person who stirs up trouble where there is none. I just want to do my job and go home with some awesome photographs so I can get my long-overdue raise and move David and me into a better neighborhood.”

  “David’s his name?”

  “Yes, he’s handsome, smart, and he’s going to be on the football team this fall.” She removes her hand, and I miss her warmth.

  “Football, huh? I played when I was in high school, too, loved it.” I pass her a wrapped bundle of silverware, and she unrolls it placing the napkin on her lap.

  “Yes, he’s into all kinds of sports, and he plays the piano. I want him to experience as many things as he can over the next few years. I had to grow up fast. I don’t want him to have to.”

  Growing up fast without a father, that’s something we have in common and so is raising younger siblings.

  “I’m sorry about your father. My dad died when I was young, too, and I helped raise my two younger sisters. It’s rough taking on that role at such a young age.”

  “It was, but I’ve never regretted a moment of it. You have two sisters?”

  “Yes, they live in Northern California. We don’t see each other much anymore since they moved away. And the scandal was hard on them listening to everyone bashing their brother. I don’t blame them for keeping their distance.”

  “That’s sad. Families should bond together in times of trouble and not split up.”

  “They have families. I didn’t want their kids to get picked on. And I worried about their jobs. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if one of them lost their job because they were related to me.”

  “And you still don’t stay in touch after all this time?”

  “Time passes, people grow apart, it’s okay, Allison.” She pouts disagreeing with my assessment but unable to change what it is.

  “Would you like some wine?” I ask to steer the conversation in another direction.

  “Sure, as long as it’s no trouble.” Her eyes are so full of genuine concern that it takes me by surprise. She doesn’t want to put me out by agreeing to a simple glass of wine. That’s not the sign of a high-maintenance woman at all. Neither is the selfless way she took her little brother in to raise by herself. I’m starting to see what Ash meant. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she’s not a blood-sucking city girl looking for a meal ticket or a sugar daddy.

  “No, no trouble at all. I have a few bottles in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

  I can feel her eyes on me watching me walk away, and I wonder if she thinks I’m strange for wanting to keep a low profile after all these years. I also wonder if Ash is right, does she like me? I’m starting to hope she does. She’s been more than forthcoming with my questions, and hers have all been benign everyday inquiries. Could I have been wrong about her? Or am I just lonely and willing to put all of my suspicions aside for an evening with a beautiful woman?

  It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone. The last few months of work have left little time to socialize, and my dates have been few and far between. Molly, one of Ash’s ranch hands, was the last woman between my sheets, and as much as I prefer a simple country woman, she was a little too rough around the edges for me.

  Back at the table, I stand next to her and uncork the bottle pouring her a large glass while she watches me with eagle eyes. “What are you thinking about?” I ask when I catch her staring.

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes, honestly. I don’t like being lied to about anything.”

  “I was thinking how can such an incredibly handsome man come off like such an ass earlier today and such a gentleman right now.”

  I laugh at her brutal honesty. “I see why you asked about the honesty.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile. It looks good on you. You should do it more often.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Why is that? The lack of smiling, I mean.”

  I set the bottle down and round the table to my chair. “I don’t know. I suppose I don’t have a lot of things in my life that bring me real joy.”

  “I thought you were happy with your life now.”

  “I am. I love my job and living here with Ash and Stella and Cannon. I’m talking about the things outside of work, and there are not many of those with a job like this. It’s hard to explain.”

  “No, I think I get it. You’d like more time for yourself, but the opportunity hasn’t presented itself, so you continue to work and find fulfillment in that.”

  I stop and stare at her with my fork in my hand half way to my mouth. I place it back down on my plate. “That’s exactly it.”

  She raises her eyebrows and smiles a satisfied smile right before she pops a bite of asparagus into her mouth. She’s so smug it should irritate me, but it has quite the opposite effect. I’m sitting here with this woman whom I fully intended on disliking, hell, more like hating, and instead, I feel like we’ve known one another for years.

  “Surprised?”

  “At what?”

  “My uncanny ability to understand you.”

  I am surprised. I’m not usually so transparent, but I’m not admitting that to her.

  “You’re intuitive, yes.”

  “Well, you’re evasive.”

  I watch her cut bites off of her pork chop. Her hands are pretty and delicate—the hands of a woman who works in an office. My imagination takes over, and those hands are sliding up my thighs as she kneels between my legs to… No, I have to stop thinking like that.

  “See, you don’t even comment about being evasive.”

  “Sorry, my mind drifted. I’m not evasive as much as I am careful of what I tell people, especially people who work for magazines.”

  “You’re hung up on that, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I am, very.”

  “How about I don’t ask you any questions then?”

  “Is that even possible?”

  “I don’t know, I’ve never tried to talk to someone new without using questions. Let’s try it out.”

  “All right, I’ll start. This pork chop is delicious.”

  “I concur, and the twice-baked potato is to die for. You have a great chef.”

  “They aren’t my chefs, but I can pass along the compliment.”

  “Thank you, I would appreciate it.” She’s speaking in a proper voice carefully choosing her words as not to ask a question.

  We chew in silence for a while, and I try to think of something to say that isn’t a question. “It’s impossible to get to know someone without asking questions,” I finally say.

  “No, it isn’t. I’ll just tell you things about myself.” She leans back in her chair and tips her head back while she thinks. “Hmm, well, you know I have a brother, and my father died in a car accident, and my mother’s gone, so we don’t have to go over that again. I went to New York University on a full scholarship for photojournalism and communications. I was an A student with a 4.0 GPA, not into sports,
but I run on a treadmill to stay in shape. I like to dress up occasionally but prefer dressing down most of the time. I love going to the movies, action movies in particular. I listen to pop and classical music. My favorite color is violet, and my favorite number is eleven. I prefer tea to coffee.”

  “I’m impressed and well informed now, thank you.” I refill her glass of wine without asking since we aren’t asking questions.

  “Thanks. Your turn, tell me things about you.”

  “I am thirty-nine years old, which reminds me you did not disclose your age.”

  “Twenty-eight,” she says with her mouth full.

  “Thank you. That’s an eleven-year age gap, interesting.”

  I watch her as she takes a drink of wine and swallows her food before answering my non-question. “Age is just a number.”

  “Good to know. My favorite color is blue, astrology interests me, I listen to country music, and I was a Marine until I was thirty. I was married once, and I graduated from the University of Montana, but not with a 4.0 GPA but more like a 3.7 GPA. My mother lives in Montana, my father died of a heart attack when he was sixty-eight, and I have two younger sisters who live in California.”

  “Very interesting. I can see you as a Marine.”

  “Thank you, I think.”

  “It was a compliment. I have nothing but the utmost respect for our military men and women.”

  I’m done eating, and so is she, but if I’m going to keep our no-question game going, I can’t ask her to sit in the living room, so I grab the bottle of wine and our glasses and stand up. “Come on. We are going into the living room.”

  “I like when you don’t ask questions… you sound very commanding.”

  “More people should try communicating this way. It leaves out all the wishy washiness.”

  She laughs and settles in one corner of the couch with her legs folded under her. “Wishy washiness is a new term for me. I like it.”

  “It’s new for me, too. I just made it up.”

  I sit opposite her on the couch and hold out my glass. “To not asking questions,” I say.