The CEO & I

by River Laurent

  “For the record, I am not ‘freaking kidding you’. I am trying to make this month manageable for you. Maybe you should have woken up a little earlier. I was up at five and I’m now doing your job for you. If you are late one more time, I won’t help and you’ll just damned well have to work right through your break.”

  My fists ball up. I’m generally a very placid person, but this man inspires violent thoughts in me. He makes me want to smash my fist into his smug face. “I’m here under duress to learn how to ride, not to be one of your servants. Actually, you are my servant. You’re paid to teach me.”

  He laughs suddenly and I’m tempted to throw horse shit at him. Why would he be laughing at me when I’ve just called him my servant?

  “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” he chuckles.

  “Don’t you dare patronize me,” I cry, infuriated.

  “Then get your little ass over here and start shoveling,” he says. “You have to be here, I don’t.”

  “Nice try, but you work here. You don’t have a choice, I do,” I shoot back.

  “Last time I looked, it’s you who doesn’t have a choice.”

  “Whatever,” I say in the most irritating way I can, and walking toward him, try to snatch the shovel from his hand.

  “Get your own shovel,” he says, pulling it back from me.

  I, of course, do not let go. “No, you get your own shovel,” I shout at him. Acting like Tamara seems to be turning me into her, but I can’t help it. Lars is an ass and he needs to be put in his place.

  “Tamara, let go of the fucking shovel,” he says quietly, but his voice is suddenly so cold and menacing I flinch backward, lose my grip on the shovel, and start falling back.

  “Shit,” I cry as I desperately try to find my footing. I expect to crash on the floor, or into the gate behind me, but what happens is worse. Lars’ arm tangles around my waist and my entire body gets pulled tight to his chest.

  Breathless from our argument, I attempt to push away and fill my lungs with air, but he doesn’t let go and that doesn’t help my breathing whatsoever. Our faces are inches apart. His scent: clean soap, leather, and just pure man, fills my nostrils. My panicked eyes lock with his and my flimsy façade fades along with my inner strength.

  I feel like goo in his arms.

  I hear the clank of the shovel falling to the ground, but I can’t look away from his hooded, icy-gray eyes. He’s a brute. A rude, egotistical, sarcastic piece of shit, but in his arms, he morphs into a mass of strong, hard muscles, and I become a woman who wants the feel of his lips on my body. My heart races like crazy; a fire starts in my belly, and instead of pushing, my hands start pulling. I feel as if I am drunk as our faces move closer together.

  A voice inside my head screams, What the heck are you doing?

  I am not Cass Harper.

  I am Tamara Honeywell and Tamara would not be enveloped in the arms of a mere farmhand. But I can’t do a thing to stop myself. Like a leaf in a gust of wind, I have no power of my own.

  Suddenly, Thunder emits a loud neigh. That does the trick. It jolts me out of my dream state and I jump out of Lars’ arms. He stares at me with an unreadable expression as I stand there breathing hard and trying to rebuild my composure. Summoning all my strength, I square my shoulders and tilt my head to the left like I watched Tamara do in the videos whenever she was caught in uncomfortable situations.

  Then, I run my tongue over my lip and let it shape itself into a sly grin and say the words I don’t want to say, but I must. “So, you want me, cowboy? Sorry, I’m out of your league.” Even as the harsh words calculated to ruin any connection I might ever have with Lars drops out of my mouth, my heart shrinks.

  It knows I’ve made a grave mistake.

  Chapter 12

  Cass

  Shoveling horse dung for nearly four hours is not a great start to my stay. It isn’t merely shoveling the crap into a pile; I have to shovel it into a wheelbarrow until the barrow is full. Then, I have to drag the heavy wheelbarrow down the lane and across the road into a compost pile and dump it. And compost piles smell worse than shit.

  My lessons are not supposed to start until after lunch, but I’m already dead on my feet. After my rude and condescending remark, Lars stalked off and left me to finish on my own. I understand his anger. I was unforgivably ill-mannered. If I were him, I wouldn’t be happy with me either.

  Even if I was not pretending to be Tamara, I recognize that he brings out the worst in me.

  Judging by how high the sun is in the sky, it must be nearly noon. My stomach is grumbling, my arms and legs are like jelly, and my poor hands are red and sore. I need to fall into a bed and sleep for a week. I sprinkle a thick layer of hay in each of the empty horse stalls then rush up to the house, hoping to avoid Lars. If he sees me, he’ll almost certainly make me do some other disgusting job.

  I open the front door and step into the house. My boots squeak loudly on the polished floor. Screwing up my face and trying not to make a noise, I take off my boots and leave them by the door. Then, I close the door as quietly as I can and walk through the deserted living room. If he knows I’m here, I may not be able to eat my lunch in peace. I peek around the corner of the corridor into the kitchen. There is no one there either, but I see that a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil is lying on the counter. There is also a note right beside it.

  I pick up the note and read the large scrawling letters.

  Eat and be back at the horse stables by 12.00pm. Don’t be late. -L

  I glance at the clock and note that it’s 11:35. Just the thought of being back in the stables so soon makes me groan. If I had gotten up a bit earlier, I would have had more time to eat and relax. As it is, I’ll barely have half an hour. I hold the sandwich up and look at it. Ham and salad. Emma Jean must have made it a while ago judging by the fact that the meat is already at room temperature.

  I walk to my bedroom in my socks and sit on my bed, but I am so tired my body naturally falls backward. With a sigh, I unwrap the sandwich and, rolling over, take a bite. It has cheese and ranch sauce on it and is very good, but I’m too exhausted to really appreciate it. Chewing dispiritedly, I grab my new iPhone and scroll through my contacts. Other than Tamara’s and Ms. Moore’s, I’ve added only my father’s caregiver and Jesse’s numbers.

  Pulling myself up, I lean against the headboard of my bed. It’s going to be so damned hard to leave this bed. I hit the FaceTime icon and stare at myself on the screen. I don’t look anything like myself. I’m wearing a sweat-drenched V-neck shirt that cost far more than what I normally earn in a week. My hair is slicked back into a tight ponytail, but the color is not mine. My face is at least five shades darker than it usually is, which isn’t a bad thing, I suppose. Still, that was real and this is fake.

  But even worse, my eyes are not my own anymore. After just two days of being someone other than myself, my eyes are lifeless and without sparkle, not to mention they are now blue. With a big sigh, I hit Jesse’s number.

  “Cass Harper,” Jesse shouts into the phone. “Why did I not get a call from you yesterday?”

  “This is Tamara Honeywell, actually,” I correct, rolling my eyes.

  “That’s no excuse,” she says smartly.

  “I’m busy living the life of a Montana ranch hand.”

  “Girl, you look like dog poo and it’s only one o’clock. What have you been doing all morning?”

  I look at the clock on my phone, which says noon. “It’s actually noon here,” I respond tiredly. “And I probably look like crap because I’ve been shoveling it all morning.” I know I should be getting back out there, but I can’t. I’m no stranger to hard work, but four hours of continuous hard work is a different story.

  “You’ve been shoveling what?” she asks with a laugh.

  “You heard,” I say dryly.

  “Well, are there any cute cowboys over there?”

  Lars’ face pops into my head and I know Jesse will be able to see
a change in my expression. I feel a blush sneaking onto my face.

  “There is one,” she squeals excitedly.

  “Yeah, there is,” I admit with a sigh, “but he hates me.”

  “Why?” she blurts out.

  “I’m Tamara, remember? Queen bitch?”

  “It can’t be that bad.” She laughs. “Why don’t you make an exception and be nice to him?”

  “What’s the point, Jesse? It’s not like I can start a relationship with him. I’ll be gone in a month. It doesn’t matter. Let him hate me all he wants,” I reply.

  “Well, can’t you just tell him the truth and tell him to pretend too.”

  “Whoa…Jesse. Not so fast with the 1001 bright ideas of the easiest ways to get your best friend behind bars. His employer is Tamara’s father! Don’t forget I signed that NDA, and her lawyers really sounded like they meant business. One wrong move and I could end up in prison. Anyway, the last thing on my mind is a relationship. The loan sharks will be looking for another chunk of money this Friday and I don’t know how I’ll keep them going for another twenty-nine days.”

  Jesse looks sympathetic. “I can pitch in about half of what you owe,” she offers, but I know that she can’t do that without giving up something herself. She doesn’t have much to give away when it comes to money.

  “No. I’ll work it out with them somehow. I’ll tell them I’ll be able to pay it all off when I get home.”

  “Other than bad vibes from a hot cowboy, what’s it like?”

  “I hate acting like a snobby rich girl, or shoveling horse crap for four hours because I’ve made Lars so mad with me, but I really enjoy the country air. It’s so much cleaner. I like the peaceful atmosphere. God, you should have seen what the sky looked like last night. And I love being around the horses.”

  She nods and smiles. “Yeah, you’ve always liked animals. Chicago isn’t the place for you.”

  “I know it’s not. I wish staying here was an option,” I say wistfully.

  Outside my door, I hear the floorboards creak and I shoot up, sitting straighter in bed. “I’ve got to go, Jesse. Much love,” I say, looking at the door.

  She gets the hint, smiles, and kisses her camera. “Love you more. Bye, Tamara,” she says with a wink.

  I laugh and end the call.

  It doesn’t surprise me when Lars barges through my door with a scowl. “I thought I said to be back at the horse barns by noon.”

  His body fills nearly the entire doorway. I lie back on the bed and pull a tomato slice out of my sandwich. “Don’t you ever knock?”

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he glowers, his face as dark as a thundercloud and his eyes burning like twin gray fires.

  I slip the tomato into my mouth unhurriedly. “I’m eating my lunch and taking a break.”

  “Have you been in bed yapping on your phone for the last four hours?” he asks in an incredulous tone.

  I laugh harshly. “Yeah, that’s what I did. You caught me,” I spit sarcastically.

  “You’re impossible,” he snarls and looks at me as if I am some sort of flesh eating parasite.

  I guess if I were him, I wouldn’t believe me either. “Have you even been in the horse barn since this morning?”

  His eyes narrow suspiciously. “No. I’ve been working in the cattle barns.”

  “Doing what?” I challenge aggressively.

  “Not that it is any of your damned business, but we’re short-staffed so I milked six dairy heifers and cleaned out their stalls. What have you done?”

  “You called it,” I say airily. “I was on my phone for a few hours. I stopped when it needed to be charged.” I wave my hand vaguely in the direction of my phone. “Oh, and while we’re at it, let’s get something straight. You’re not the boss of me.”

  “I don’t think you get it, poor little rich girl. Let me put it in simple English for you. I am the boss of you. In fact, I have express permission from your daddy to discipline you in any way I see fit. That includes putting you over my fucking knee if necessary,” he roars furiously.

  My back goes rigid with shock. Over his knee? Nobody talks to me like that. Not even my own father has ever laid a hand on me. Enraged, I lean forward. “I’ve been out there since seven- thirty this morning working my butt off. For your information, I didn’t get back to the house until eleven thirty-five. I’ve been here for less than half an hour”

  “That’s twenty minutes too long,” he says coldly.

  I start boiling with frustration and anger. “I’m not a robot that can work all day without a break.”

  “More’s the shame.”

  I throw my hands up in a huff. “You know what? I give up. Work me until I drop dead. Then we’ll see how grateful my father is to you. What do you want me to do now?”

  “I want you to finish cleaning out the barn so I can put the horses back inside. They shouldn’t out be in the midday sun.”

  “What do we do after I finish?”

  “The plan was to start your lessons today, but since you can’t get your basic chores done, you can’t work with the horses.”

  Now we’re getting somewhere. “Okay then. If I finish, I get to ride a horse today?” I ask craftily.

  “You won’t finish quick enough. It’s a long job.”

  “But if I do?”

  “Then I’ll teach you some basics.”

  I smile and sit up on the bed. If it’s possible to be more sore from lying down, I am. “Let’s go.”

  I allow him to lead as we walk back down the hill toward the horse barn. His strides are long and I have to trot to keep up.

  “So, why did it take you so long to clean out six stalls?” I ask, for the sake of making conversation.

  “Not that you’d understand work if it bit you in the ass, but cleaning stalls properly and milking cows takes time. It isn’t as easy as yapping on the phone for a few hours.”

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t know,” I reply. My voice is so calm he glances back at me suspiciously, but I keep my face expressionless. He thinks I was lying when I claimed I worked for four solid hours.

  Once the horse barn comes into sight, I start smirking, all soreness forgotten. We come to the entrance and he stops so suddenly I almost run into his back.

  “What-” he exclaims.

  I step nimbly around him and get right in his face. He’s almost a foot taller than me, but I make my presence seem larger than it truly is by squaring my shoulder and straightening my spine. I tilt my head sideways. It used to be Tamara’s habit, but it’s now becoming mine as well. I should be careful. I definitely don’t want to pick up any more bad habits from her.

  “Looks like it’s my turn to make something clear, huh?” I say triumphantly.

  He just stares at me, and I have to admit, the man really has astonishingly beautiful eyes. They glisten like wet jewels. I take a deep breath and continue. “For some reason, you’ve had me stereotyped from the first moment you laid eyes on me. Rich, spoiled bitch. Maybe you shouldn’t listen so much to gossip. There may be more to me than meets the eye.”

  His neck flushes dark red and something shifts in those amazing eyes. It has the bizarre effect of making my stomach flutter.

  I plow on. “Here’s a novel idea. Why not treat me like a human being? It might make both our jobs a lot easier.”

  His eyebrows shoot up and he opens his mouth to say something, but I stop him by putting my palm out.

  “I’ll do the same in return. I’ll try to be nice…if you stop acting like you’re so much better than me.”

  He folds his arms over his chest. “I don’t act like I’m better than you. It’s you who acts like you’re better than me.”

  “I am better than you,” I say sweetly.

  He blinks and I laugh at his stunned expression. “Just kidding. I’ll try to be nice if you agree to do the same. Deal?”

  He nods his agreement but his face is still dark and wary.

  I hold out my hand and
he grabs it and shakes it.

  A strange thrill runs up my arm. I jerk my arm back, suddenly aware of how close he is to me. He keeps on staring at me as if he is seeing me for the first time and I realize that it is unlikely for someone like Tamara to suddenly become a pleasant person. Batting my eyelashes innocently, I say something to get his motor running. “So, tell me again about how difficult it is to clean six stalls in four hours. Because it looks like I cleaned thirteen in the same amount of time.”

  Chapter 13

  Cass

  One by one, we bring all the horses back into the barn until they are all in their stalls except Thunder, who refuses to allow Lars to put a halter on him. He runs around the pasture and comes close enough only to tease him.

  “Do you need help with him?” I ask.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” he says in a long-suffering tone.

  I make my way to him and grab the halter from his hand. He gives me a dirty look but continues shaking the bucket of grain. Thunder charges in our direction. Lars jumps in front of me and the horse immediately halts in his tracks about twenty yards away and shakes his head.

  “For God’s sake, you’re scaring him. Now move,” I say, and push at the wall of muscle. It doesn’t budge an inch.

  He gives me an irritated look and takes a step back.

  “Thank you,” I say with excessive politeness before turning toward the horse. “Here, Thunder,” I call softly.

  Keeping a close eye on Lars, he starts wandering in our direction, snorting with each step.

  “Why does the damned horse listen to you? You’re not even a trainer,” Lars mutters. Thunder stands before me and shoves his snout under my armpit.

  “Good boy,” I coo, pleased beyond measure that he seems to prefer me to Lars.

  Lars takes a step toward him and the stallion immediately lifts his head and paws the ground with his right hoof.

  “Seriously, Lars. Just stay back,” I say, barely able to keep the satisfaction out of my voice.