The Grumpy Boss Cowboy Billionaire

Chapter 7

Emma

After a hot shower and a change of clothes, I felt almost human again. I even managed to apply some mascara and lip liner before making my way down to the kitchen, where Victor waited with another cup of coffee for me.

"I was just thinking... You should get some sleep. This trip to the craft store can wait until after a nap.” He pushed the steaming mug towards me.

“‘Good morning, Emma," I did my best to impersonate his voice. "You look so refreshed after a hot shower. You don’t look at all like you haven’t slept.’” I brought the hot liquid to my lips and drank deeply. “Good morning, Victor, thank you for the compliments.”

He frowned. “I already said good morning to you. Upstairs, in your room, before your sales pitch.”

“Clearly they don't teach sarcasm in your fancy private schools." I chuckled. "And you actually didn’t say good morning, you asked me if I was sick.” I finished the rest of my coffee.

He stepped forward, face inclined towards mine as he smiled.

“Good morning, Emma. You look lovely today.” His long lashes framed his shocking blue eyes mysteriously. “I’m looking forward to this trip to the craft store. Buying tiny felt cowboy hats is the most fun a thirty year old man can have without taking his clothes off.”

My knees briefly turned to jelly and I caught myself on the counter, his spicy scent filling my senses.

"Alright, so you do speak sarcasm... fluently." I cleared my throat, glancing down, which was a terrible idea, as they landed on the front of his slacks, and the subtle bulge that lurked there.

"Only the last part was sarcastic." He shrugged. "I'll work on that."

"Ready?” I blinked, shaking my head.

He stepped back, his keys jingling in his hand. “Ready as I'll ever be.”

As we settled in the seats of his Jaguar, I pulled out my Moleskine notebook that I had copied down all the information from the wall. “We have a meeting with a local horse trainer scheduled in two days…his animals are regularly used in comercials and movies, so they won’t be skittish around blanks, trains, and covered wagons.

“Good work.” Victor bobbed his head, glancing over at my notebook. “When did you write all that down there?”

I grinned up at him. “Somewhere between showering and scrunching my hair.”

We pulled to a stop at a red light and he shifted in his seat, capturing one of my curls in his fingers. “I like your hair. It’s unpredictable, and a little wild, kind of like you.”

I could feel the blush creeping up my cheeks. “You think you know me well enough to gauge that?”

He blinked with those insane lashes, chuckling. “I’m getting there.”

I felt a quiver in my nether region and bit my lip. We rode in silence the rest of the way to downtown Phoenix. When we pulled into the parking lot of Craft City, he buttoned the top button of his jacket, dark hair blowing lightly in the breeze. I pulled out my phone and took a quick candid video of him, glancing at the horizon before turning to walk into the store.

“So what exactly are we doing here?” He asked, oblivious to my filming.

I tapped the red circle to end the recording before meeting his eyes. “We’re getting materials for a model miniature of our new theme park! We can use it for promos, investors, and hiring staff when the time comes.”

A look of terror briefly crossed his face before melting away behind his careful mask of indifference. I noted with interest that I was beginning to recognize the shifts between real Victor and Public Victor. We headed to the woodcraft aisles first.

Locating the balsa wood, I set him on the mission of selecting various lengths and widths while I headed further down the aisle for the florist’s foam and tempera paint. A glance back at him struck me just how beautiful a specimen he really was. With his mile-long lashes, shapely lips, and stubbled cheeks, he could sell a glamorous revitalization of the Old West with just his face.

He looked over at me and I quickly shifted my gaze away, embarrassed that I’d been caught staring.

“I think the last time I touched this stuff was 7th grade shop class.” He murmured, moving toward me, hands full of varying pieces of wood.

“I used it several times during undergrad for reconstructions.” I thought about it. “But even that was four years ago.”

He leaned close to me, his chest brushing against my shoulder blades as he squeezed past a mid-aisle display, sending a little shiver through me, my nipples hardening against my lace bra. I crossed my arms over my chest and turned to him. “Would you mind locating a handbasket? I think we may end up with too much for just the two of us to carry.”

His eyes flicked down to my breasts momentarily, then back up to my eyes. “Sure.”

There was a low tingle in my belly and I shivered again, moving on to the aisle with craft clay. Victor returned, basket-in-hand, and stood behind me.

“Found you.” His words growled on the end, sending another tremble through my abdomen.

We finally settled on a three-pound gray brick of air dry clay. Heading towards the checkout, Victor found western-theme chocolate molds, so we grabbed those and added them to the basket. As we entered the queue, he ushered me ahead of him, brushing his fingers against the small of my back, sending heat pouring to my core.

By the time we had returned to the Cactus Creek mansion, I was a horny, jittery mess. Victor made his way into the kitchen with our purchases while I ran upstairs to get my notes. I took several deep breaths in my room, considering how much time I had before it was suspiciously long, and thought better of it. I would stick it out with my ruffled self.

Victor had spread out all of our art supplies on the massive island countertop as I entered the kitchen. He had removed his suit jacket and dress shirt, wearing just the plain white t-shirt and his dress slacks. I swallowed thickly, trying not to think too deeply about how hard his shirt was hugging his shoulders and arms—and what those arms would feel like wrapped around me.

“How is your clay work?” I started, trying desperately to grab onto something to distract myself.

“I’m not sure?” He genuinely looked concerned. “What is my other option?”

“Painting.” I tickled the back of his hand with a brush.

“Hey!” He turned quickly, knocking into me, and I lost my balance, falling backward toward the floor.

He grabbed me around the middle, pulling my body tight against his chest, our lips just inches from each other. I glanced up at him and swallowed hard.

“I, uh…” He murmured, cheeks reddening as I felt his hardness stirring against the apex of my thighs.

“I think we should, uh…” I gave a shuddering breath.

“Yeah.” He agreed, equally breathless.

Gently, he released me to my feet and we took a step apart, eyeing one another. I licked my lip, pulling in a breathbetween my teeth, his stare fixed upon my mouth before he met my gaze.

“I’ll take clay.” I scooted the clay and the molds to the far side of the island and perched on a stool

“What should I do?” Victor’s eyes were still dilated wide.

I pointed at the sheet of plywood. “If you want to start painting the board, and by the time that’s done, I should have the first round of miniatures for you.”

He nodded, grabbing the ⒈／⒉-inch bristle brush and natural sponge, pouring out a portion of several browns on the palette. He leaned himself down onto his forearms, dabbing the sponge onto the board, creating sands. I continued to watch him for several minutes before focusing on my molds.

When the first set of molded figures were dried and ready, I walked them across the counter. He had completed the ground for the diorama and had been measuring out the proportions of the buildings in balsa wood. His eyes lit up when he saw the figures. I unloaded them onto the counter beside the board.

“What does this park mean to you?” I said, curiosity piqued.

He glanced at me over his shoulder. “For me? Respect from my father. The opportunity to prove that once and for all, I am not the family failure.”

“I can respect that.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “How about you?”

I leaned back, thinking about it. “I’ve always been obsessed with history, ever since I was a little girl. My twin and I are the youngest of four, and we were supposed to go to Machu Picchu when I was sixteen.”

He smiled. “Machu Picchu is nice. I was there two or three years ago.”

Tears bit the corners of my eyes. “I’ve never been.”

He looked taken aback. “But I thought you said…”

I nodded. “They changed their minds at the last minute, and decided to take my brother and I on a Bahamas cruise for our sweet sixteens. I was so upset they changed their minds, I refused to go.”

He made a sympathetic noise. I took a shuddering breath, fidgeting with the clay figures on the counter. I weighed my next words, wondering if it was too personal. But if we were going to be spending a lot of time working together, it might be good to know a little more than just my resume.

“They died on the cruise. Got swept up in a riptide when scuba diving and were washed out to sea.”

Victor froze, halting all movement. “I am so sorry for your loss, Emma.”

I nodded. "Thanks."

I'd talked about it in therapy for years and I thought I'd finally reached a point where I could talk about it without getting emotional, but, against my will, tears welled up, brimming as I wiped them away.

"Hey." Victor pivoted, wrapping me in a hug. I was so shocked by the swiftness of the movement that I stiffened against him before melting into the embrace. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

He released me and I dashed away a stray tear. “It’s been almost ten years, so…” I shrugged.

He looked at me in earnest. “So they’re the reason why you do it?”

“They’re the reason I want to travel." I smiled. "Go all the places they wanted to but could never afford to bring four kids.”

Victor nodded and his eyes lightened slightly. “My brother just had his first kid…he and his wife are discovering the joys of traveling with a baby.”

“I’m sure life on the road is extra hard with a kiddo.”

He furrowed his brows. “I think generally the kid stays home with his wife, Sydney, while he’s on tour, but sometimes they like to go places all together.”

“That makes sense.” I shrugged. “I don’t think I’d ever get married, and wouldn’t ever have kids, even if I found the right person.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Feminist?”

I shook my head. “Not as such. I mean, I’m all for equal rights. But as far as kids go? Just never really been a kid person. I like them once they reach, like, 13 years old. When they’re pretty self-sufficient, and can carry on a conversation.”

He laughed. “I can respect that.”

We chatted as we worked, and eventually lapsed into companionable silence, working in tandem to get the model put together. It was near midnight when we placed the final pieces.

"Nice." I nodded, looking over our work.

"We did it." He let out a satisfied sigh. "And you basically pulled an all-nighter. You must be beat."

"Nah..." I yawned then we both chuckled. "Okay, maybe a little."

“Goodnight.” His eyes flicked to my lips but he didn't lean in, no matter how much my sleepy mind hoped he would.

"Night, Victor." I blushed and stepped away, turning to retreat up the stairs.

Morning came far too quickly, and before I knew it, my eight-thirty alarm was screaming next to my head. I managed to tame my hair into a hair tie and sweep on some makeup before making an appearance downstairs. The scent of bacon and sausage hit me full force when my ballet flats hit the tile. Despite my protests, Victor had hired a personal chef for the mansion for the duration of our stay, and much to my chagrin, made things exponentially easier to focus on the renovation plans.

I stepped into the kitchen and took a deep sniff, savoring the mixing of the aromas. Victor rose from where he was seated at the breakfast bar, grinning wide.

“Good morning. Load up a plate—I’ve got something to show you.”

I grabbed a bit of everything, finishing it out with a giant mug of black coffee, and slid over to the chair beside him, yawning loudly. He sank into the stool and logged back into the computer. “I used some of the footage you took yesterday, as well as some shots I took this morning, and made them into a promotional video.”

He hit play on the screen, and I munched my toast, watching the video as it played epic cinematic background music, transitioning artfully between shots. It showed the park in its entirety, before cutting away to various parts. It featured the new attractions and a new placeholder logo, ending with a shot of the model before rolling to a black screen conclusion and I applauded. “You made that yourself?”

He looked cornered, eyes wide. “Er, well, I paid someone to make it.”

“Victor!” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “The budget!”

He shrank back. “It wasn’t much…I found a talented, freelance designer in Zimbabwe who was willing to do it for a nominal fee.”

“What’s nominal?”

He tipped his head toward me. “Fifty bucks?”

My temper cooled slightly. “That’s relatively affordable.”

"He did the logo too." He grinned at me and clicked over to his email, typing while I ate. I scrolled through my feed, checking the views on the video's I'd posted so far while he responded to a few emails. Finally, he looked up and met my gaze. “What’s on the books for today?”

I swallowed my last bite, touching the napkin to my lip, before answering. “Today… We’re headed to the University Film School, Mr. Sullivan. Hopefully, you’re ready to learn all about movie magic.”