Cowboy Baby Daddy

“And don’t forget to ask them about the warehouse-to-doctor shipping,” he said.

“I won’t!”

I practically ran to my office before I shut the door behind me. What the hell was happening? My goofy stepbrother wasn’t a dimwitted little boy, but a mature businessman whom I had just told was doing a good job of running the company. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath as I tried to settle my racing pulse, but the only thing I could see were those beautiful blue eyes.

My eyes flew open before I tossed my coffee cup into the trash. I grabbed my purse and slung it onto the coffee table before I dug for my phone so I could make phone calls.

There was no way I could regard my stepbrother as anything but goofy and boyish. He could not be a man. Nowhere near it.

He could not be the attractive man my mind apparently thought he was. That was ridiculous. He was my stepbrother, and that was a boundary I was not about to breach.

I dialed the number of the first warehouse I needed to call and started asking them questions about the products they were producing. My father had developed a new type of adhesive doctors could use for suturing people who were allergic to the sterilization process used on suture string. But, this kind of glue could also be used deep within the body for things like open heart surgeries and cesarean sections. It had a powerful suction and adhesive component that wasn’t available on the market yet, and hospitals everywhere were clamoring for something like it.

Then, I had to call the warehouse that shipped us all the small things we kept in our store. They supplied us with our gauzes, tapes, small joint braces, canes, and bandages. I spoke with them about reordering a few items that were picking up in demand as well as get some quotes on what they would charge us for diabetic supplies. The warehouse currently helping us obtain those items was going out of business, and I needed to find a very quick replacement without dropping the quality of the products we kept in our store.

Then, I had to call the two warehouses that supplied us with the bulk of our other products. They would be the businesses Christian would probably want to use for this warehouse-to-doctor idea, and I needed to get a sense of how that operated, what we would need to do, what it would cost us, and what all they would be willing to ship. They were American-based warehouses, so they were a bit more expensive, but they were the two most reliable warehouses we worked with.

That, and it resonated with our customers that we used American-made products.

By the time I had all the information I needed, it was almost lunchtime. I sighed, sinking into the couch, and closed my eyes just for a second. I needed to get this information typed up and over to Christian’s office before the end of the day today, but that’s not where my focus currently was.

Even though I had spent almost four hours on the phone with different warehouses, I still couldn’t get my mind off of what it might feel like to run my hands through Christian’s hair.

And I groaned before I stood to my feet and strode out of my office.

I needed to take a fucking walk.

Chapter Thirteen

Christian

“I didn’t even know this place existed,” I said.

“Yeah, well. You probably get all your clothes at the thrift store anyway,” Stella said.

“Ouch. That hurts. Sorry if I like my T-shirts and jeans,” I said.

“Well, it’s time to move into the world of professionalism. You want to run a company? You need to look the part,” she said.

I opened the door for her, and we walked into an upscale store in the middle of downtown San Diego. It was lined wall-to-wall with suits in all different colors and styles, and I was suddenly very glad she was here with me. I had no idea there were so many differently-shaped suit coats and collars, and I found myself lost in an unfamiliar world.

However, Stella was walking down the lines of clothing and feeling the fabrics as if she knew exactly what she was looking at.

“Can I help you?” a well-dressed man with a name badge came up and asked her.

“Yes, my stepbrother over there needs a perfectly tailored suit for a meeting Friday. Is that possible here?” she asked.

“We could have it tailored and ready by tomorrow. Any particular style?” he asked.

“One that screams business owner,” she said.

“My suit’s going to be screaming at me?” I asked.

“If you rock it right, the ladies will be screaming at you, too,” she said, winking.

“She’s right. A tailored suit on a gentleman is like well-made lingerie on a woman,” the stylist said.

“I’m down for anything that’ll make me more appealing to women,” I said.