“Mr. Whitaker,” Jesse greeted, his voice warm as he extended his hand. “Good to see you again.” He shook the lawyer’s hand with an enthusiasm that made me clench my jaw. “Sorry I’m late. You know how Betty down at the post office loves to talk.”
“Not a problem at all,” Mr. Whitaker replied, gesturing for Jesse to take a seat. “I was just telling Cole how impressed I am with what you two have accomplished in such a short time.”
Jesse shot me a quick glance, one that held a hint of that secret smugness I’d come to know so well these past weeks. The look that said, ‘I know exactly what you’ve been up to.’ It made my skin flush hot.
“Yeah, well, we’ve been working our asses off,” Jesse said, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it over the back of his chair. “That freezer was definitely worth the investment and then some.”
I noticed how he casually rolled up his sleeves, exposing the tribal tattoos that ran down his right arm. The same tattoos I’d traced with my tongue just last night while he moaned into my pillow. I cleared my throat and looked away, my jeans already too tight.
“So, what brings you by today?” Jesse asked, helping himself to coffee. “Everything okay with the will?”
“Everything’s fine,” Mr. Whitaker assured him, shuffling through his papers. “Just a monthly check-in as specified in the terms. Jack wanted me to monitor progress, make sure you two were actually working together.”
“And what’s your verdict?” Jesse asked, leaning back in his chair with that easy confidence that still drove me crazy. “Are we playing nice enough for you?”
Mr. Whitaker chuckled. “Well, neither of you has a black eye, so I’d say that’s progress from our first couple of meetings.”
I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable with how close the conversation was veering toward our relationship. “We’ve been professional,” I stated flatly. “Like I told you, we’ve come to an understanding.”
“Understanding is one word for it,” Jesse muttered into his coffee cup, his eyes meeting mine briefly over the rim.
The double meaning wasn’t lost on me, and I had to fight to keep my expression neutral. Underneath the table, I felt Jesse’s boot nudge against mine deliberately. The bastard was testing me, seeing how far he could push before I’d crack. It was a game he’d been playing since that first night after the shower. He loved to see how much he could get away with when other people were around. How much he could make mesquirm.
“Well, whatever you want to call it, it’s working,” Mr. Whitaker said, oblivious to the tension crackling between us. “Jack would be pleased.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. If my father knew what was happening between his son and his stepson, I doubted he’d be pleased at all. The thought sent a familiar wave of guilt washing over me, one that I’d never quite been able to shake.
“So what do you need from us today?” I asked, eager to get back to business.
“Just some signatures,” Mr. Whitaker replied, sliding papers across the table. “And I’ll need to take a full inventory of the ranch assets for the report. Livestock, equipment, property improvements, the works.”
Jesse’s boot nudged mine again, more insistent this time. “Sounds like a lot of paperwork. Cole hates paperwork.”
“I don’t hate paperwork,” I muttered, though we both knew that was a lie. I shot him a warning look that only made the corner of his mouth twitch upward.
“Well, I can help with the inventory,” Jesse offered, leaning forward. “I’ve been keeping pretty detailed records for the website, anyway. Tracking inventory, sales projections, that sort of thing. And I’ve reorganized all the tracking for the ranch since tax time isn’t far off. I can get you a copy of what I have.”
Mr. Whitaker nodded approvingly. “That’s exactly the kind of collaboration Jack was hoping for.”
I felt Jesse’s foot slide up my calf under the table, and I nearly choked on my coffee. The smug bastard kept a perfectly innocent expression on his face as his foot continued its journey up my leg.
“You alright there, Cole?” Mr. Whitaker asked, frowning.
“Fine,” I managed, shooting daggers at Jesse with my eyes. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”
Jesse’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he pulled his foot away. “Maybe you should be more careful about what you’re swallowing.”
I kicked him under the table, hard enough to make him wince, but he just smiled wider.
“So,” I said, desperate to change the subject, “are you and the wife throwing your annual New Year’s Eve party again this year?”
Mr. Whitaker leaned back in his chair and grinned. “As a matter of fact, we are. Caroline’s already making her lists and driving me crazy with decorations. You two should come this year.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. The thought of attending a social gathering with Jesse, surrounded by people who’d known us our whole lives, made my stomach twist into knots. What if someone noticed something? What if I looked at him the wrong way?
“I’m not much for parties,” I said quickly.
“Oh, come on,” Jesse interjected. “It could be fun. Besides, it’s good for business to socialize with the locals. Network a little, right Mr. Whitaker?”
