Off to the Races: A Small Town Enemies to Lovers Romance (Gold Rush Ranch Book 1)
Off to the Races: Chapter 5

Reaching out for comment…

Would you be willing to talk about…

Looking for confirmation that Dermot Harding was no longer involved at Gold Rush Resources…

Istare at the press release I’m attempting to draft in response to the endless requests from reporters until my right eye twitches with the strain. I don’t know why I even continue to open the emails, to subject myself to this drivel. I have no intention of talking to anyone. The minute we present anything other than a united front is when these leeches will latch on and suck more out of us for a story than they already have. As it stands, the businesses have a good chance to recover, provided nothing else goes wrong.

“Like the loose cannon you hired today,” I mumble, shaking my head while shuffling papers to clear off my desk.

Billie Black. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Probably not my most business savvy hire to date. Unpredictable. Fiery. Inappropriate.

Not at all what I imagined for a nice, reliable trainer who could get us back on track. But I also know I had to find someone who has no connection to the questionable side of this industry, and Billie certainly fits that bill. Not only geographically, but I am almost positive that if anyone ever tried to solicit her in any way, she would tell them exactly where to stick it.

One side of my mouth quirks up at that thought. I can already imagine how that encounter would play out.

Pulling up the browser on my laptop, I do something I probably should have done several days ago. I Google her. I know Cole will do a thorough background check when I hand all her paperwork over to him, but I’m still curious.

The first page of web results consists of news articles and racing results where she’s mentioned or interviewed. I swap the top tab to only show photos and am met with a large picture of a bright chestnut horse wearing purple and white silk blinders over its face, with its head and neck tilted affectionately towards Billie’s stomach. She’s holding the reins in one hand, resting across its nose. Her face is barely visible, nuzzled in towards the horse’s ear.

It’s a sweet picture. Almost looks like they’re giving each other a hug. The headline accompanying the photo reads The Future is Female: Young Trainer Taking the Track by Storm.

I look for more photos, but that’s the only one. “Huh,” I mumble to myself.

“Huh, what?”

I jump a couple of inches out of my seat and slam my laptop shut like a guilty kid who just got caught doing something he shouldn’t be.

Billie stands in my office doorway, shoulder propped up against the door frame. She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts up towards the neckline of her white shirt.

I slowly drag my eyes up her delicate neck, outlined by loose wisps of hair that have fallen from the mess twisted atop her head. A light shimmer of perspiration glistens over her collarbones and a faint frown touches her full, pouty lips. She’s sporting a big black smudge of dirt across her forehead. She looks fucking edible.

I work to maintain a blank expression, trying to keep my eyes from straying back down over her body as she crosses into my office uninvited.

“Talk to yourself often?”

“Why do you look like you’ve been playing in the mud?”

My shot must land because what was already a pouty face darkens into an angry one. Precious as it is, if I keeled over every time someone frowned at me, well, I wouldn’t be where I am today—running a multi-national company that makes money hand over fist.

“Well, Vaughn,” she muses, “that’s because you provided me a pigsty to live in.” What? “I probably would have preferred to sleep in a stall with the horses than with the ants and piss splatters at the cottage.”

I wish I could say I know what she’s talking about, but I don’t. And I’m not in the habit of apologizing to people for things I had no hand in. I haven’t stepped foot in the place since I took over. Maintenance was low on my list of pressing things.

Shrugging, I say, “I have no objections to you doing that.”

Now she’s gone from glowering to gaping at me, mouth open like a fish out of water. I lean back and steeple my fingers, watching her lips move like she’s saying something but can’t get any noise to come out. I’ll concede that I’m probably being too hard on her, but her level of insubordination and boldness irritates me. Nobody talks to me like this. And, bad as it sounds, women are usually especially accommodating of my moods and opinions. I’m not sure what’s wrong with this one, but it feels like she’s intentionally trying to set me off.

“You are something else,” she continues, “I spent all night on a plane to come help you, all morning dealing with your games, and now I’ve spent all afternoon playing maid and cleaning your house.” Images of Billie in a skimpy maid costume dance through my sex-starved mind. “I am exhausted, and I am starving. Can you please just point me towards a knife so I can leave before I do something I’ll regret?”

Short lace trimmed skirt. Garters wrapped tight enough around each thigh that they create a slight swell at the top of the elastic. A feather duster in one hand. I imagine her quietly going about her job without disrupting and provoking me, and realize that might be the real dream.

Her hostile attitude is a real boner-killer. I lean back and take in her full form, standing here looking all sassy with both hands gripping her slender hips. Upon closer inspection, I realize she looks exhausted. Smudges of light blue are painted beneath her golden eyes and where she carried herself tall and proud earlier today, her shoulders now sag with exhaustion.

No one informed me she came straight from the airport. You haven’t been informed of much where she’s concerned. Maybe I can throw her a bone, attribute a bit of her poor behavior to jet lag. I’m not a completely unreasonable man.

“Are there not any knives at your house?”

She sighs, shoulders slumping even further. “I walked back with a picnic to have out there and forgot to bring the one utensil I need.”

I make my way around the desk in silence, striding towards the cabinet beside the door that is home to piles of Gold Rush Ranch promotional gear. I’m certain I saw a box of monogrammed Swiss Army knives in there when I tore the place apart looking for clues.

They don’t jump out at me immediately, so I crouch down to rifle through the lower shelves. Still coming up empty-handed, I end up kneeling, trying to reach the very back of one of the lowest shelves. Leave it to this woman to come up with something colossally inconvenient for me to do.

In my annoyance, I chance a look up and see that Billie has switched back to leaning against the doorway and is watching me intently. Even though I’ve caught her staring, she doesn’t drop eye contact. It’s almost as though she’s refusing to blink. I pause and stare back at her. Her throat moves up and down as she takes a big swallow. But unlike most people, she still doesn’t look away.

Nah, Billie Black is a bit nuts and more than a little bold.

Two can play that game. “Enjoying the view, Miss Black?”

She tilts her head to the side and rests it against the door frame. An almost imperceptible smirk touches her mouth. She lightly taps her pointer finger against the indent along her top lip. “Yeah, Boss Man. You look good on your knees.”

I thought my comment would embarrass her, throw her off, wipe that obnoxious smug look off her face. But she comes back swinging. She was reaming me out not two minutes ago, and now she’s back to spouting off inappropriate comments.

Absolutely nuts.

Dropping my chin and shaking my head, I grab the small box I can feel against my fingertips. Lifting one foot and pushing to standing, I roll my shoulders back. Billie is taller than most women, but I’m taller than most men and tower over her.

I hold one knife out towards her. She reaches for it, and her dainty fingers rasp lightly over mine as they wrap around the hilt. But instead of letting go, I yank it towards myself, causing her to stumble a couple of steps closer.

Uncertain eyes shoot up to meet mine, and I puff up a little at seeing her so off-balance. I much prefer this look on her face.

Acting quickly, I run the pad of my thumb across my tongue, and then reach forward to swipe it across the smudge of dirt on her forehead. Her golden eyes grow wide, like two glowing moons staring back at me. But not for long. No, if I hadn’t been watching, I’d have missed that one uncertain moment before she reverts to shooting daggers at me.

She jerks the knife from my hand, spins on her heel, and storms out of my office into the darkened hallway. But not before muttering, “Fucking gross!” Just loud enough for me to hear.

“You’re welcome!” I call back as she propels herself out of my view.

I roll my lips together and swallow the chuckle bubbling up in my throat. God, I haven’t laughed in weeks—maybe longer. Toying with Billie Black is fun.

I have to put up with her antics for three months before she’ll be hitting the dusty trail, so I might as well enjoy it. If she thinks she’s going to waltz in here, all alluring and sharp-tongued, and play this game unchallenged, she’s in for a wild ride.

I don’t roll over for anyone.

Fucking my employee is off the table. The farm is in too much trouble. But fucking with my employee… now that’s another story altogether.

Off to the races, honey.

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