Page 84 of Never Bargain with the Boss
Dinner with the Harringtons was better than I imagined, and I’d built up the expectations in my mind to be pretty spectacular. Still, they overshot by being welcoming, friendly, funny, and did I mention… welcoming? That sense of belonging had only grown while I was there.
And Cameron and I made full—and I do mean,full—use of the empty house, fucking here and there and everywhere until, so worn out from multiple O’s, we fell into his bed, where he fed me leftover turkey and mac and cheese before we passed out. I victoriously declared ‘carbs, orgasms, and Egyptian cotton’ three of my favorite things and pointed around the room Oprah-style, chanting, “You get a bite, and you get fucked, and you get sheets.” Okay, in hindsight, the sheets might not be the best of those three, because orgasms obviously win, but Grandmom Beth’s infamous mac and cheese is a close second. Luckily, Cameron laughed at my antics and simply feasted on me, which meant both more mac and cheese and orgasms for me!
After sleeping in, we woke up for two more rounds—one in bed and one in the shower. I swear, whoever said older men aren’t as ready to roll as younger ones must not have beentalking about Cameron Harrington. Despite the age difference, I’m the one fighting to keep up with him. That might have to do with the way he takes control of my body, showing me things I never knew it could do and working me until I’m boneless and breathless, but whatever it is, I’m enjoying every second of it.
Later that day, Miranda brought a very-caffeinated and boisterous Grace home. Miranda gave us knowing glances, making a very educated guess about why we look tired despite the late hour, while Grace filled us in about their shopping trip around the mall, which of course wouldn’t be complete without a stop at Grace’s favorite store—Starbucks. She had a peppermint mocha Frappuccino—which explains the caffeine high—and swears it’s the absolute must-do of the season.
I predict we’ll go for another one this week so I can try it too.
Miranda had left with an airy wave, telling us good luck getting Grace to sleep. She’d been right and we’d ended up having a holiday movie marathon. Grace choseElf, I choseNightmare Before Christmas, and Cameron choseDie Hard, which had led to a spirited discussion between Cameron and Grace on whether it qualifies as a Christmas movie. They’d wanted me to be the tie-breaking vote, but I’d declined by stuffing popcorn in my mouth and hitting play on the remote, which made them both laugh.
And now, we’re back to the normal swing of things. Mostly.
Cameron was up early for his workout, but when he stopped in the kitchen for his smoothie, he’d planted a quick kiss on my lips and given my ass a firm squeeze before disappearing to get ready for work. I took Grace to school this morning, listening to her grumble about the long weeks until Christmas. To be clear, she has a completely reasonable three weeks of school before she gets a two-week break, but to her that’s nearly an eternity. I dropped off a load of packages at the post office, happy with myBlack Friday sales and glad to see cool pieces find new homes where they’ll be appreciated. And now, I’m shopping for more.
I find a sweater I think would be a good seller, with lots of vibrant colors and wild patterns, and begin searching it for any pulled threads or stains. Not finding any, I tell it, “Into the cart, you go.” It doesn’t answer, considering it’s a sweater, but I don’t let that stop me.
Singing and humming to myself, I look for more treasures and luckily, I find several. It’s already a great day, and when I see my favorite cashier, Patricia, is manning the register, I’m even happier. “Hey, girl, you have a good Thanksgiving?”
She smiles, looking tired but happy. “It was okay. Lots of work, especially since I made the turkey again this year. But I’ll take that option every year over John doing it again. He nearly caught the carport on fire last year. Whoever heard of frying a turkey, anyway?” Her shrug says she might not be so against her husband cooking again if—and that’s a bigif—he could do it safely. “How about you?”
“Best one I’ve ever had,” I answer honestly.
“Good for you,” she says with a nod. “Oh! Hang on, I put something in the back for you. Let me grab it.”
This is one of the many reasons Patricia is my favorite cashier. Not only is she friendly and chatty, but she also understands that I’m just trying to make a buck like everyone else. She’s adjusted pricing when someone got a little spin-happy with the pricing gun—I mean, seriously, is anyone going to pay $80 for a used Gunne Sax dress with stains and a missing button, even if it is designer? No, which is why she lowered it to a reasonable forty, allowing me to clean and rework it, then sell it as a custom piece.
And now, she’s saving the good stuff for me too? I’m gonna owe her a finder’s fee at this rate.
She returns with a chocolate brown, calf-length leather coat, with fringe hanging from a yoke outlined in conchos. It’s my western-wear dream and a sure-fire big seller. Depending on what it’s marked, I could probably profit more on this one piece than I have from everything else I’ve sold this month.
Eyes wide, I gasp and move to slam my hands over my mouth, thankfully stopping right before I make contact because I haven’t sanitized the hell out of my hands yet. “It’s gorgeous,” I tell her in shock, as if she can’t see that for herself, and she nods excitedly.
“I knew you’d love it.” She hands it over to me, and I grasp it to my chest, my jaw dropping open.
“I do! Thank you so much!”
She makes a few clicks on the register and tells me the total, which is only fifty dollars higher than before she added the coat. I tilt my head, giving her a questioning look, and she waves a hand, acting like it’s no big deal when it most definitely is. I swipe my card and tell her thank you again, vowing to see her later this week.
The day’s getting better by the moment, and I virtually dance my way out to my car. By the time I pick Grace up from school, I’m buzzing with joy. Or maybe it’s caffeine, because it’s been such a great day that I preemptively stopped and got us both peppermint mocha Frappuccinos. Mine’s half gone already and I feel like I could take on the world.
When Grace hops in my car and sees the whipped cream-filled, domed cup, she screeches so loud that I swear my eardrum considers rupturing. A second later, she’s sucking down the minty-chocolatey goodness like it’s the oxygen she needs to breathe.
“Thank you, Riley!”
I don’t even second-guess the caffeine choice at her riding lesson. Her canter with Pegasus has gotten so good that even Ican see the difference. She stays centered and rides smoothly, like she’s with Pegasus, not merely hanging on for dear life while the horse does its thing beneath her.
“Looking good, Grace,” Miller calls out to her, and I can’t help but clap proudly.
Miller turns his head, peering back at me on the bleachers from where he’s standing ringside. “You don’t have to sit out here for every lesson, you know?” he reminds me. “It’s cold as balls and it’s not like she gives a shit if the nanny’s watching.”
We’ve been in the ring barn for Grace’s lessons for several weeks now, and though it’s technically heated, it’s still chilly. I’ve learned to dress in layers, wearing a coat and beanie, plus bringing a heavy blanket to wrap around me, because if there’s one thing I’m gonna do, it’s watch Grace’s lessons. Every one, every time, from warm-up to cool-down, and then stay out of the way while she does her chores.
“She absolutely cares. And so do I,” I counter. As if proving my point, Grace glances over to me and smiles as she goes by. She doesn’t wave, which shows how focused she is on her balance and keeping her reins held properly. “I love watching her ride.”
I can feel his eyes still on me, but I keep my attention on Grace.
“You’re still here,” he says, as though he’s surprised I’m sitting here despite having stood next to me for the last thirty minutes and being mid-conversation with me.