“If you weren’t technically my boss and the guy who writes my checks, I’d have something terribly smart to say,” Clay tells me before busying himself with work.
I send him a blank stare. “I don’t write checks, and you’re overpaid.”
“I retract my statement, then,” Clay dismisses.
I don’t get to utilize the Challenger jet often, but when I do, I appreciate the luxury more and more. As much as I love my ranch, it’s nice to disconnect. As we wait for our drinks—and Clay’s hummus—I enjoy the view from the sky, my eyes catching curious glances at the woman preparing them.
“What happened to Alyssa?” I ask Clay, quietly enough so Cove can’t hear me.
“Got sick. Seascape almost canceled the flight, but evidently, Cove is on the backup call list. Worked out for us.”
I nod, silence stretching between us again as I examineCove’s steps. There’s no doubt she’s likely half my age, but fuck, she’s pretty.
Tall and slender with legs for days. A navy blue pleated skirt and stockings to match. Black curls falling effortlessly down her back.
The flight attendant’s presence reminds me of the woman currently warming my bed. The same one I’m finding it really fucking difficult to tell I’m no longer interested in doing whatever it is she thinks we’re doing.
I’ve been dodging her calls all week, actually.
Clay and I are in the middle of discussing plans moving forward with Waylon and his team when Cove appears, drinks in hand. “Local IPA for you,” she tells Clay, handing him his beer and turning toward me. “And Johnny Walker scotch for the boss.”
“Oooo, she called you boss, Stetson. Must mean business.”
I lift my head to Cove, curious about her reaction. A playful smirk greets me and only me, drawing my eyes to the dusting of freckles across her cheeks.
“He is the boss, is he not?” Cove counters to Clay, but her eyes pin to mine. Clay is nothing but an outcast in this moment, and frankly, he put himself there all on his own.
Clay makes a tsking sound with his mouth. “Ah. She’s witty, I see. I know women like you.”
“Clay,” I bite out, refusing to let him start something with her.
That’s when Cove turns toward him, giving him her undivided attention. “You did ask for pita and hummus, correct?” Her tone is calm and collected, like she knows men like him.
He really is a good guy, just puts his foot in his mouth far too often.
“I did.” Clay nods, and I can see the panic settling in.He knows he spewed word vomit, and he’s about to be put in his place. “Still waiting on you to get on that, actually.” He smiles, and I know his sarcasm is not something that will be translated to her.
Again, foot, meet mouth.
With her arms crossed, drink tray dangling at her fingertips, Cove tells him confidently, “Then how about you worry less about what kind of woman I am, and more about being the respectful gentleman I’m sure you lead women to believe. After all, I am the one preparing your food. I would hate to see something terrible happen to it.”
And she spins on her heels, leaving Clay to eat his own words, and a new interest stirring inside of me.
CHAPTER TWO
cove
“Keep your face always toward the sunshine and shadows will fall behind you.”
Walt Whitman
“The usual, Ms. Davenport?”
I nod to the bartender and watch, fascinated, as he crafts my dirty martini. It’s nothing fancy. Just a healthy pour of vodka, a bit of dry vermouth, and three blue cheese olives with a spritz of brine.
It’s my go-to order, yet for some reason, tonight, I’m suddenly interested in tracing the steps; the way Monty knows the exact amount to mix without having to measure the ingredients.
I wish I could relate. That there was a thing in my life that I excelled so well at that I was never questioned about my qualifications.
