“Excuse me?”
It came out of his sexy mouth in a clipped tone.
“That route. It won’t work.” I leaned over slightly, careful not to spill my coffee. “A shipment of those chips? No. They won’t get past the posts that El Carmen has that close to the Gulf.” I shook my head.
He lowered the paper in his hand. It rested on top of another sheet as he folded his hands in his laps. “It won’t?”
I shook my head.
“And you presume to form this opinion because…”
“It’s not anopinion,” I retorted.
“Is this another version of your not liking instructions or orders but being open to ‘suggestions’?”
Damn him for teasing me. But what else should I expect? No man would ever take me seriously.
“It’s afact,” I replied tightly. “El Carmen’s turf is supposed to extend from here”—I pointed on the map—“to there. But he’s been negotiating with the other Cartel agents at the border to unofficially have leeway through here.” Another point on the map. “They’ve had that set up for years.”
When he didn’t speak, I glanced up and raised my brows.
He sat there, watching me. Not amused like he wanted to mock me for what I said. Not bored like he was getting sick of me talking at all. A blank, perhaps curious, stare.
“If you needed to get something here, you could probably do something like this.” I took his pen and drew an arrow, explaining as I went why this route would take longer but would be more secure with obstacles and interventions along the way.
“And if you avoid the road closures up here,” I said, drawing another bold line to point out the traffic issue that would mean more adjustments, “to end up here where there are already independent distributors you could sell to, if you’re looking for new buyers, then you’d save millions with one less step in the middle.”
I couldn’t have talked for more than twenty minutes, but it was long enough for my coffee to go cold. Sipping it brought a slight wince to my face, but I swallowed it down and wondered when he’d react. When he’d say something.
“What about this route?” He took the pen from me, charging me with a stupid bolt of awareness when his fingers brushed against mine. Drawing another line on the map, he gave me a show of his tatted arm flexing with his shirt sleeve rolled up. Distracted, I zoned out on the sight of his power and the intoxicating memory of when he’d had those arms aroundmelast night.
Feeling his attention on me, I cleared my throat and blinked away the desire clouding my mind.
“No. That wouldn’t be any better.” I took the pen and pointed out the obstacles like checkpoints and law enforcement spots along that way.
For another half hour, he proposed alternatives to ideas. All throughout it, he heard me out. Patiently. Without criticism. He sat there and listened to everything I showed and explained in succinct detail.
“I never considered that,” he muttered later, rubbing his chin as he studied the papers and maps.
Pride lit up like fireworks inside me.
Joy and a deep and real sense of accomplishment had me biting my lip to hide a smile.
It was startling how much I could enjoy the basic thing of being respected rather than subjected to inferiority. He wasn’t tolerating me. He was actively listening and engaging with me about ideas and facts I laid out plainly.
Warmed by the thought that he could appreciate the logical advice I was providing him, I pulled my lips in and waited for him to say something.
Sure, he’d be curious how I’d claim to know this.
And yeah, he’d be nervous whether I was making this up to throw him off, based on his warning about my being here to spy for my brother.
Instead, while I sat here and knew that what I’d shown him on paper was accurate, I felt like I was giving away too much rather than trying to get intel to share.
This glee of being seen and heard and respected was something that I’dneverfelt when I told Arturo how a plan would fail or potentially succeed.
My brother had taken me for granted.
But my husband…
