Page 117 of Hit the Road, Cowboy

His throat bobs. There’s a crease between his brows.

“First night I showed up.”

I lean forward, turning to look him in the face. “I better not hear a fucking word about what I do with Sabrina then.”

He lifts his palms. “I know, I know. I’m eating my words.”

“You gonna talk to her again?”

He shrugs. Up above, the seatbelt light comes on, and the pilot’s voice sounds, letting us know we’ll be landing soon. The flight attendant sweeps through to get our empty cups, and we both let the conversation drop for now.

The Nashville airport is bustling. It takes forever just to get off the plane and get out the door to our Uber. At least, I think it’s our Uber, until it pulls up and the huge black SUV and dark windows gives it away. Sighing, I sling my bag over my shoulder. Jamie reaches for the door handle.

“I know you don’t want to talk to Orsen right away, but we got deadlines on deadlines,” he says. “Let’s rip the Band-Aid off.”

I put my sunglasses on. “I get it,” I say. “Let’s get it done.”

We slide into the expansive black leather back seat. Across from us sits Orsen Roy, executive and the main contact for me at West Creek. At first, we had regular contacts, through acquisitions and Jamie’s office. Then, the bigger I got, the closer Orsen kept us. He’s second to the CEO, but I am their principal cash cow, which means I have a little leverage over here too.

Orsen takes off his glasses, shoving them in his pocket. He’s a tall, lanky man with a buzzcut, and he always wears a tan or pale brown suit. When people first meet him, he comes across as distracted and out of his depth. That’s all a front to keep people back and away. I know he’s the sharpest knife in the drawer at West Creek.

“Thanks for taking on Mason’s project,” he says.

“No problem,” I say, leaning across to shake his hand. “We’ll get that wrapped up this week.”

The SUV starts up, heading onto the highway. Jamie stretches his legs out and starts texting. I wonder if he’s doing something useful, or it’s a certain someone back in Wyoming. Strange bedfellows, but somehow not unexpected.

“What about you?” Orsen asks.

I shrug. “What about us?”

His eyes narrow. “We have a ten year contract, Coen.”

“I know, and I’d like to have our lawyers talk about that and see if we can’t add in a few years’ buffer. So I can take a little time off.”

He sighs, running a hand over his face. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

My mind goes back to the day I sat in the diner with Jamie, and he said something was really wrong with me this time. No two day vacation or shuffling around my workload could fix it. My usual solution of adding more coffee or energy drinks into my routine, or hitting the gym at two in the morning when the stress kept me awake, could prop this up. My body was breaking down, and it was dragging my head along with it. I think about all these things, forcing them to the forefront of my mind, because I can’t cave this time.