Oh god! I recoil in horror.
I have potatoes that are so old, they’re growing these giant white thingies out of them. I didn’t even know potatoes did that, but damn if the bag didn’t look like some kind of alien life form. Totally creeped out, I slam the cupboard shut and then sit back against the wood with a heavy sigh. The chances of me becoming Betty Crocker in the next five minutes are pretty minute, right?
So, why even try? Why not…?
I grin to myself. I had a much better plan for dinner than boxed potatoes—something I am guaranteed to be good at it.
I scramble off the floor and head to the bedroom.
100
Chase
Jason pulls my cell phone out of his saddle bag. “C’mon,” he coaxes me, “just take a quick look. I promise, it won’t bite.”
I shift from foot to foot, anxious to go find what Carla has cooked up for us, but dammit, I’m feeling guilty about punching the guy, so...
“Alright,” I say reluctantly.
Jason had forced me to buy a smartphone two days ago at an AT&T store, saying that no billionaire should be carrying around a flip phone. It was all I could do to keep from rolling my eyes. Like t
hat sort of thing mattered.
But, he promised that it’d do everything except rope a calf for me, so I’d reluctantly agreed to it … and then promptly ignored it for two days. Apparently, it’s reckoning time.
“Now, right here, I need you to put in your email address.” I dutifully type it in, hitting about three wrong keys for every right one, and cursing a blue streak a mile wide at the damn thing. I can already tell that I’m gonna hate the thing.
I went to hand it back to Jason and he stops me. “Tap that box, and then type in your password to your email.”
With a glare, I take the phone back and finally get through the whole password, practically turning the air black with my frustration. It damn well better not take 17 tries every time I want to do something on the thing.
“Good,” Jason says, praising me like I’m seven. The bastard thing makes me feel seven, really. “Now look at all of these emails that have stacked up while you’ve been here in New York. Like,” he says, the excitement in his voice increasing, “look at this one. They’re wanting someone to work at the Barclay’s Arena in Brooklyn. They’re wanting to do a long-term act – someone to be in the rodeo every weekend. Chase, you can lasso almost everything – you have more skill than ten other cowboys put together. I bet you’d really woo them with that trick of yours, standing bareback on Moonshine while he gallops. I don’t know of anyone else who can do that.”
I pull the phone out of his hands and start reading the ad. It’s true—I’m a billionaire. I’m set for life. I could never go to work again, and have enough money to keep my great-grandkids happy.
But…what is the fun in that? I love horses; I love performing in front of a crowd, and I love the thrill of winning. Learning to do dangerous tricks and performing them flawlessly every time in front of a roaring crowd?
What isn’t to love about that idea?
I grin up at Jason. “Alright, I guess I forgive you for forcing me to buy this damn thing,” I say. I hit the off button and slide it into my back pocket. “Now can I go eat whatever Carla’s cooking me?”
“Sure, sure,” he says with a grin, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t dare to get between you and Carla twice in one day,” and touches his eye dramatically.
“See ya,” I say, ignoring his little jab at me, and leave him to drive the truck back to the hotel. Me? I just want some of Carla's cooking.
I pay the taxi cab driver an exorbitant amount money as I slide out of the cab and head up to the apartment. I ring the bell for 2B and wait for her to buzz me in. Such a difference from Texas, I tell you what. I’m not used to so many damn locks everywhere.
The buzzer went off and I head up the stairs two at a time. I hardly even notice my surroundings; there could be paintings of naked chicks on the wall, and I wouldn’t even notice.
Okay, maybe I’d notice that.
But truly, all I want right now is…Carla.
I hear footsteps and look up to see Becca heading toward me.
“Have a good night!” Becca says with a giant grin as she passes me on the stairs.
“Thanks,” I say, tipping my hat as we pass. That huge smile had me wondering, though. It was like she knew something I didn’t...