The Grumpy Boss Cowboy Billionaire

Chapter 17

Emma

My back hurt. My knees hurt. My head hurt. My heart hurt. After doubling the number of client meetings I took today—mine AND Victor’s—I also installed all of the vinyl plank flooring in the dining hall, which Victor was supposed to help me with, so it took twice as long to get done by myself. I got back to the mansion after midnight, feeling dejected and heartsick. All day long, my head had been filled with flashes of the images from the envelope. How did Victor really feel about me? Was I getting played?

I unlocked the door and swung it inward, dragging my laptop bag, my lunchbag, and my tired self inside. I slammed it shut behind me and glanced up, suddenly noticing how dark the usually well lit mansion was. Victor must have gone to bed before me. That stung, but I accepted it as I had done the same to him yesterday.

The thought of having relationship woes this early in exhausted me, and again, I second-guessed my decision to decline the job with Hastings. I set my stuff down on the floor and put my hands out to stumble into the light switch. When I found it, I flicked it on, only to find Victor, seated on the couch in the receiving area, watching me. I yelped in surprise, recoiling backward into the wall.

"Jeez, Victor." I huffed. "You gave me a heart attack."

“Emma.” His voice was a little gravelly, as though he hadn’t used it in some time, and his eyes were bloodshot.

His left hand clutched a now-empty lowball glass, and a bottle of bourbon sat empty on the table in front of him. His blue eyes studied me, sharp, dangerous—it made me simultaneously angry and terrified. I scarcely trusted my voice as I spoke.

“Victor—what are you doing? Where’s Claire? I haven't seen either of you all day.”

He continued to watch me, unblinking, as he grabbed a large brown envelope and tossed it on the ground in front of me. My stomach dropped as I recognized it, then fury burned my ears as I looked back up to meet his gaze.

“Where did you get that?”

“In your room, where you hid it.”

My face burned with anger and I took a step forward.

“You had no right.”

"“I had every right." He stood up. "This is my house, this is my park. I have a right to know what my employees are plotting against me behind my back, especially under my roof.”

I faltered. “Is that what you think of me?”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded to the envelope, still lying on the ground at my feet. “Seems like a pretty sweet gig. Blackmail me, go head up a dig. Sounds like something much more up your alley than what we're doing here.”

I bit my lip, cocking my head. “And you’re upset that he exposed your dirty laundry? Like your assistant, who you slept with?”

He turned his head as though absorbing a strike from a hand. I could feel my control over my words slipping, the head of steam building inside me.

“He showed me this stuff to try and drive me off the project, not to blackmail you. He offered me the dig as an incentive to pull me from you and collapse your renovation.” I swallowed, tears of rage filling my eyes. “Is that what you think of me? That I would cut and run like that? That I would sell out to someone like Hastings? That I would abandon everything we’ve done here for money? For a job?”

He stared at me, his eyes, two hard pieces of sea glass. I could feel myself growing brittle, ready to break. I held his glare, returning it, refusing to back down. I asked again. “Is that where we are, Victor? After everything?”

His brow dropped low. “Are you the mole, Emma?”

Something in my chest broke at his question and I snapped, dropped my hold on my bags and storming up the stairs. I yanked my suitcase out and threw all my belongings into it, haphazard and messy. I tossed all my makeup from the bathroom, hair products, and design books. I paused next to my wall of design, then took a shuddering breath and zipped the suitcase.

I had already managed to order an uber back home to Sedona by the time I reached the foot of the stairs, where Victor was once again seated, motionless. He didn’t even look at me as I came down the stairs, but I felt his head turn as I collected the envelope, opened it, withdrawing the contract, and throwing the rest on the table in front of him.

I retrieved my bags by the door and yanked it open. My ride hadn’t been far from the house and had pulled up in front of the mansion. He saw my bags and hopped out, popping the trunk. I heard footfalls approaching on the walkway behind me and chose to ignore them.

“Emma,” Victor called out, jogging down the paved walk toward me, slowing to a walk about twenty yards from me. I ignored him and loaded my laptop bag into the back passenger seat while my driver finished loading up my suitcase.

“Emma,” Victor called again, closer this time.

I spun and faced him. “What, Victor?”

Gone was his mask of dominance, the stony boss face. In its place was raw hurt and confusion. “You can’t just leave, it’s the middle of the night.”

I almost faltered, until I thought of his disregard for my feelings, his disrespect for my rights, and his assumptions about me. I pulled the keys for his Land Rover out of my pocket and tossed them to the ground at his feet, then yanked open the car door.

“Watch me.” I sank into the seat and slammed the door shut, my driver speeding off into the darkness, leaving Victor Sullivan behind in a cloud of red dust.

To say I slept that night would be a vast overstatement. I alternated between screaming, crying, and wrestling with night terrors about how the renovation was going to be ruined. And in those dreams, all the people in Cactus Creek blamed me for its failure. I stood in my kitchen, looming protectively over the coffee maker when my sister came in.

“You’re home.”

I closed my eyes and nodded my head. “I am.”

She continued to stare at me. “Did something happen?”

I sighed and poured the coffee into my mug. She grabbed the mug from my hand and set it on the counter, coming around the island and pulling me into a tight hug. I resisted briefly, holding my shoulders stiff against her embrace, before allowing her to pull me close, and I sobbed. Grace continued to hold me tight, not asking questions, not bugging me for answers. After several long moments, I released her and she stepped back, leaning her hip against the counter. She lifted my mug of coffee and took a sip.

I protested and she glared.

“You don’t get any more coffee until you tell me what’s wrong.” She took another sip from my drink.

I scowled at her, annoyed and touched by her supportiveness.

“Fine. I let him get too close to me and then realized that he was a womanizing asshole who was only using me to get his renovation done.”

She swallowed hard and lowered her brows. “He said all that?”

I quirked my mouth. “Well, no.”

“What did he say?”

I huffed and gave her a pout. “Can I please have my coffee back?”

She shook her head, black curls bouncing off her cheeks. “Not until you tell me.”

I gave an irritated grumble and crossed my arms. “He accused me of being a mole.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “A mole?”

“Yes.”

I could practically see the wheels turning in her mind as she was trying to process what I was saying. “Like, the furry brown creatures that burrow?”

I gestured, trying to demonstrate what I meant. “That is a mole, but that’s not the mole that I’m talking about. Think like spy stuff…a mole is a plant for the enemy inside your operation.”

“Oh.” She bobbed her head. “As in, corporate espionage.”

“Yes! Exactly.” I pointed, and she handed me the mug.

As I took an appreciative sip, she shook her head. “I don’t know why you don’t just say he accused you of being a spy. It would have saved you so much time.”

I rolled my eyes. “The term is not the point. The point is that he accused me...me, of being a spy.”

She frowned again. “So is there a spy?”

“Well, yes.”

She nodded encouragingly, and I explained everything that led up to my leaving.

“So you took a day off of work and show back up with a giant envelope full of photos and documents from a guy who clearly has it out for him. You can't keep a secret to save your life so I'm sure you were acting weird. How could he not suspect you as the spy?”

“Whose side are you on?" I snapped.

She shook her finger at me, looking incredibly like our mom when she did it.

“It’s not about sides. It’s about what’s true and right.”

“I…” I opened my mouth to object and my phone started ringing in my hand.

She glanced over my shoulder at the caller ID. “His ears must have been burning.”

Grace touched a kiss to my cheek and mouthed good luck as I clicked to answer.

“Hello Victor.”

“You’ve made your point.”

My stomach clenched. “What?”

He cleared his throat and repeated himself. “You can leave anytime you want. I get it. You’ve made your point. When are you coming back?”

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my temper in check. “This isn’t a bluff. I'm done.”

"Can't we at least talk about this?" He sighed. "I'm sorry for how I approached this, but I'd prefer to be up front with you and all I ask in return is the same courtesy."

I paused, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as I folded my arms. "Fine."

"Good." He exhaled. “Where are we meeting up to talk?”

I shrugged. “You could come up to Sedona.”

“That’s two-and-a-half hours away, I can’t afford to be away from the park that long.”

My temper began rising in the back of my throat and I struggled to keep my voice even. “Well, that’s where I’ll be.”

He blew out an annoyed breath. “If you won’t come back and I can’t come to you, does that mean you might still be willing to work with me on this?”

"I don't think so, Victor." I shook my head, pressing my fingers to my temple. "It's not like you need me anymore anyway. The renovation plan is all mapped out for you, and all your contractors and vendors are scheduled. Just read the plans that I left for you. My role as your Project Manager is done.” My voice quivered. “And since you think I am a spy for Hastings, I’m bowing out of the rest. I’ll send Claire my bank information for the rest of my pay.”

There was a long silence, and I wondered if the call had disconnected. When he spoke again, his voice sounded weird and quiet. “What about us?”

My voice tremored. “There is no ‘us’, Victor. Knowing what I know about you and how you operate, I don't think there ever was an us.”

Victor’s voice was soft as he responded. “You can’t really believe that.”

Tears burned the backs of my eyes at his tone. “I might have thought differently. Until you didn’t trust me enough to have your back and defend me against your father when he accused you of being the mole.”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

I cracked, temper overflowing. “That’s not the point. You should have trusted me, and known that I would never do anything to betray you or the project! But you didn't.” I took a shuddering breath. “If you’d had any private doubts about my loyalty, you should have brought them to me in that way —privately. Not throwing me under the bus in front of your father.”

He said nothing.

I licked my lips, closing my eyes against the torrent of angry tears. “I wish you all the best, and all the success, Victor Sullivan. You deserve a great life.” I took another deep breath. “Please don’t contact me again.”

I hung up, bracing myself against the counter, tears streaming down my face as my chest heaved and my heart raced. Finally, I pulled the business card from my pocket and dialed the number.

Fred’s voice sounded even more smarmy on the phone. “I’m so pleased you decided to accept my offer.”

I accepted the job and disconnected the call with minimal words, heartsick and head full of doubt.