To be fair, it’d only been two days and two coffees since our encounter on Wednesday, so it very well could’ve been a coincidence. At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself. However, the panty-soaking smile and wink he gave me always obliterated that train of thought.
What got under my skin the most was how perfect it was.
A hazelnut roast with oat milk and brown sugar wasn’t exactly something they kept in the bunkhouses. I knew I only stocked the ranch hands with the run-of-the-mill roast. One time, I’d gotten something different by accident. Bishop had spit it across the barn on his first sip and told me off about trying to make his coffeefancy.
Had it been anyone else, I’d have told them to shut up and drink the free coffee, but an uncaffeinated Bishop was one angry bear I didn’t want to poke.
And he even brought it to me in a pink mug—my favorite color.
So, that begged the question… Where the hell was Lincoln getting his stash from? And was it horrible that I didn’t want him to stop?
Thankfully, today was Friday, which meant I had two days of being Lincoln-free to look forward to. There were no classes or trainings on the weekends, which meant I was officially off the clock and could busy myself by doing anything other than crossing his path.
“Josephine! Oh, I’m so glad I caught you.” I saw Ellis striding through the front door with two coffee cups.
I hated it when he called me Josephine.
Sometimes, I wondered if he realized where he lived. I understood the concept of dressing professionally, especially with his job. Still, more often than not, he looked like he had just stepped off Wall Street. He was wearing a tight button-down shirt tucked into his slacks, and his hair was perfectly combed to the side.
Even the most well-respected individuals I knew, including the mayor, considered starched jeans, boots, and a clean shirt their formal attire.
“I brought you a coffee. I’m sure that’s cold by now,” Ellis said, plucking the travel mug from my hand and trading it for the one he held.
I chuckled. “Well, the mug’s insulated, so…”
“At least this is fresh,” he said, tapping his cup against mine.
“Well, thank you,” I said. His eyes bore into mine, glancing between my mouth and the cup. I brought it to my lips, taking a generous sip.
Oh god. It was horrible.
“Is this plain?” I asked, trying to school my face.
Ellis smiled. “Sure is. I know how much you love those sugary energy drinks, but honestly, babe… This is so much better for you. It’s a quality roast from Ecuador, you don’t even need sugar. Might as well save the calories, right?”
I raised my brows. “Why would I be worried about calories?”
“Your jeans always get a little tight after some time at the ranch,” he chuckled. “I’m sure Cleo’s cooking is more Paula Deen than Alton Brown. Don’t worry, when you get home maybe you can join me for a run in the morning?” He looked genuinely hopeful and I couldn’t tell if he even realized what he’d just said. Ellis was Ellis, I bet he thought a morning run would seem romantic.”
“Miss Hayes?”
I pulled my gaze toward the blonde receptionist standing before me with a forced smile. “Yes?”
“Mr. Martin will see you now,” she said, pointing a manicured finger at the mahogany door to her right. “His office is just through there.”
I gave her a small smile, grateful for the interruption. “Thank you,” I said, trading the cup Ellis had gotten me with the mug I’d brought. “Honestly, I’ve probably had too much coffee anyway.”
My meeting with Ellis’ dad was supposed to start at eight so that I could get back to the ranch, but I was stopped the moment I stepped into the ridiculously over-decorated reception area. A young woman told me I needed to wait, and mumbled something about international affairs and conference calls. I sipped my perfect coffee and passed the hour by trying to convince myself I wasn’t attracted to the hot cowboy back home.
One who barely knew me, and yet knew exactly what I liked.
“Miss Hayes?” she called, looking at me over the top of her computer. “Mr. Martin will see you now.”
I mumbled my thanks, awkwardly grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder before walking inside.
I’d only gone by the Martins’ office once before to drop off some documents for Dad. Still, I didn’t remember it being soostentatious. Honestly, this looked more like Ellis’ decor style than the homely rustic chic I remembered from before.
The walls had gone from soft beige to blood red, complete with wainscot molding that reminded me of an old English manor. Behind the receptionist’s desk was an oil painting of a fox hunt, flanked by strange landscape portraits that looked like they came from the mind of someone freshly off an acid trip.
