“She cares about you,” I point out, which I realize a second later was a redundant thing to say.Obviouslyshe cares about him, you idiot.
Henry slowly nods with a content grin taking over his face. “That she does. Now,” his tone turns more business-like, “we’ve got a lot to discuss.”
I pray he doesn’t notice how hard I swallow. In my experience, no good news ever follows words like those.
“The first of which being I had no idea that you were in a relationship with Warren Farrow.”
What? For the second time in less than ten minutes, someone I work with is under the impression that Warren is my boyfriend. I thought the impromptu kiss at the bunkhouse party was behind us, but now I feel more like killing him for it. Never underestimate small-town gossip in situations like this. It’s fast and potent. And in my case, will fuck with your job that’s already hanging by a thread.
My mouth opens halfway, but then I wonder why in the world my boss would care who my “boyfriend” is, or whether I had a boyfriend at all.
“Sensational,” he claps his hands once and leans back a bit in his office chair. “They don’t make them any better than the Farrow family. He’s a catch, you did well.”
In my six weeks of working here, Henry has never spoken to me this way. I thought maybe he’d be angry for some reason. But he’s reacting to his own assumption with such . . . joy? Comradery?
He seems genuinely pleased with me like I made some sort of incredible decision by dating Warren Farrow. For a second, I bask in the unexpected approval. It’s a hit of serotonin that I haven’t felt in a very,verylong time.
“It’s wonderful what he’s done, getting his business ready to open in such a short time. I’m great friends with his dad, you know. We should all have a get-together soon,” he says, still wearing that smile.
God, I wish I could roll my eyes right now. What is it with the people in this town being so obsessed with Warren? I get that he’s charming and good-looking and . . . well, that’s beside the point.
This is such a stark contrast to my last conversation with Henry, which reeked of disappointment. That must be why I don’t have the heart to correct him on the gossip about my romantic life. It’s ridiculous. I know. Honesty is always the best policy, but if there’s one thing I know about myself, it’s that I’m an expert at doing stupid shit. This is no exception.
“Of course. That’d be great,” I reply with a shaky voice.
What are you doing?!
I internally smack myself upside the head, but continue to go along with it anyway.
“Fantastic. Oh, and I’ve seen the extra work you’ve put in lately. You are doing well, Savannah. I have room at the table for an associate next Monday for the Sweeney hearing. Plan on being there.” He lifts a stack of papers and straightens their edges on the surface of the hardwood desk.
Hiding the blinding smile threatening to take over my entire face, I nod several times. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll be ready.”
I’m nervous about going to the hearing knowing it’ll be a multi-hour trial of my ability to prove myself. I’m going to have a daunting amount of reading to do this weekend to prepare. But I don’t think those hours of struggle will hold a candle to trying to figure out how to tell my boss that I’m not actually dating the town golden boy that he loves so much.
Either that or convince Warren to go along with it.
10
WARREN
“What if, and hear me out, you just went and cried in the shower by yourself like every other self-respecting man instead of whining to me about it?” Tripp suggests. He’s leaning back with his face toward the sun, one hand casually holding the reins and one hand on the back of the saddle.
“You’re a dick,” I huff and shake my head.
“No, I just thought it was more interesting the first hundred times you brought her up. Now it’s just pathetic, dude. She’s got you all kinds of fucked up.”
I squint toward the sky and run a hand through my hair, trying to find the part of his sentence that’s a lie. For the hundredth time today, I wish a spontaneous cluster of clouds would roll in and give us a break from the scorching summer heat.
“She doesn’t want anything to do with me,” I sigh.
“And?” Gage butts into the conversation and I turn to glare at him. “You’re awfully touchy about it for someone who has his pick of women in this town.”
“Oh,that’swhy you’re hung up on her,” Tripp teases. “Because she’s the only one that won’t give you the time of day. It all makes sense now.”
“No that’s not it. She’s . . . I don’t know.”
“Not like other girls,” Tripp says in a fake and impressively high-pitched girly voice, flipping his nonexistent long hair over his shoulder.
