they wished each other good luck.
David Markham spent the afternoon watching his daughter from across the room, and when Charlotte approached him after the brunch, a thoughtful look on her face, he was in fact interested to see what she was going to say.
“David, he’d be a nightmare as an employee. Not a bad employee in general, but a bad fit for your company. He’s not nearly ruthless enough.”
“My thoughts exactly, Charlotte. Good. Your instincts are improving.”
“So this was a test?”
“Call it what you want. I guess this is about done for today. I’ll see you next Sunday, and try not to be late this time.”
He patted Charlotte’s head, much like he would a nice dog that he wasn’t familiar with, looked pleased with himself, and meandered over to the maître d’ to settle his bill.
“God, you’re an asshole,” Charlotte muttered. “Ugh.”
She did not wait for her father, nor did she tell him goodbye. She walked out of the hotel, retrieved her car from the valet, and drove directly to her favorite barbeque joint where she ordered a rib sandwich, rum baked beans, and a piece of sweet potato pie, all washed down with a sweet tea with lemon.
“Man, this beats brunch food anytime,” she murmured to herself. “Oh, so, so good.”
While she sat outside on the porch, finishing her tea, her mind wandered back to Tig. She wondered what he was doing, how he spent his Sundays.
Charlotte let out a snort, imagining him in the middle of all those assholes. She did not imagine the fighter would have much use for the stuffed shirts that populated David’s so-called “meet and greets”; he seemed much too laid back for that.
Brad: You called that little cowboy yet? ;)
Charlotte huffed a laugh when she read Brad’s text, but she did not answer him, mainly because she had not, in fact, called the little cowboy—but she did not really know why.
Was she afraid that he was just being nice? No, he did not have to take a picture or give her his phone number.
Or was there something else? Was she afraid that something would develop between the two of them, and then once Tig met her family, he would not want to see her anymore? That had happened with Jasper Fletcher, the other cowboy—and the only man that Charlotte had ever allowed herself to fall anywhere close to in love with.
She heaved a big sigh and gathered up her trash. Two days, Charlotte. If you’re still thinking about him this much in two days, call him. If not, then it’s a sign that you’re not really interested.
Two days would be Tuesday—plenty of time to make plans and not have them be “last minute,” but not too much time to obsess about all the small details.
With a smart nod of her head and the straightening of her back, Charlotte threw her trash away and marched out to her car, hoping that her confident walk would turn into actual confidence.
Tig stood at the counter in the communal kitchen of DS Fight Club, doing meal prep for the week, and thinking about Charlotte and her sweet smile and that tempting ponytail, when Dig stumbled in, looking worse for the wear.
“God, I need caffeine,” Dig groaned and grabbed a mug and the coffee carafe.
“You need a shower, too. Oof.” Tig made a face.
“Man, I never, ever remember how crazy those psychobilly chicks are.”
Tig laughed as he snapped the lids on his meals. “That good, huh?”
“Man, that chick was scary . It really wasn’t even fun.”
“Maybe you’re outgrowing easy pickups. Did you ever consider that?”
Dig squinted like he was thinking hard but then shook his head. “Nah. I gotta few years left, just not with that psychobilly chick.”
Tig laughed as he loaded his lunches in a bag. He was just getting ready to give Dig more shit when an ear-splitting whistle rang through the kitchen, and Ryan popped his head in the door.
“C wants all the fighters in the conference room in ten, guys. Before you ask, I have no idea, but he’s been pulling at
David Markham spent the afternoon watching his daughter from across the room, and when Charlotte approached him after the brunch, a thoughtful look on her face, he was in fact interested to see what she was going to say.
“David, he’d be a nightmare as an employee. Not a bad employee in general, but a bad fit for your company. He’s not nearly ruthless enough.”
“My thoughts exactly, Charlotte. Good. Your instincts are improving.”
“So this was a test?”
“Call it what you want. I guess this is about done for today. I’ll see you next Sunday, and try not to be late this time.”
He patted Charlotte’s head, much like he would a nice dog that he wasn’t familiar with, looked pleased with himself, and meandered over to the maître d’ to settle his bill.
“God, you’re an asshole,” Charlotte muttered. “Ugh.”
She did not wait for her father, nor did she tell him goodbye. She walked out of the hotel, retrieved her car from the valet, and drove directly to her favorite barbeque joint where she ordered a rib sandwich, rum baked beans, and a piece of sweet potato pie, all washed down with a sweet tea with lemon.
“Man, this beats brunch food anytime,” she murmured to herself. “Oh, so, so good.”
While she sat outside on the porch, finishing her tea, her mind wandered back to Tig. She wondered what he was doing, how he spent his Sundays.
Charlotte let out a snort, imagining him in the middle of all those assholes. She did not imagine the fighter would have much use for the stuffed shirts that populated David’s so-called “meet and greets”; he seemed much too laid back for that.
Brad: You called that little cowboy yet? ;)
Charlotte huffed a laugh when she read Brad’s text, but she did not answer him, mainly because she had not, in fact, called the little cowboy—but she did not really know why.
Was she afraid that he was just being nice? No, he did not have to take a picture or give her his phone number.
Or was there something else? Was she afraid that something would develop between the two of them, and then once Tig met her family, he would not want to see her anymore? That had happened with Jasper Fletcher, the other cowboy—and the only man that Charlotte had ever allowed herself to fall anywhere close to in love with.
She heaved a big sigh and gathered up her trash. Two days, Charlotte. If you’re still thinking about him this much in two days, call him. If not, then it’s a sign that you’re not really interested.
Two days would be Tuesday—plenty of time to make plans and not have them be “last minute,” but not too much time to obsess about all the small details.
With a smart nod of her head and the straightening of her back, Charlotte threw her trash away and marched out to her car, hoping that her confident walk would turn into actual confidence.
Tig stood at the counter in the communal kitchen of DS Fight Club, doing meal prep for the week, and thinking about Charlotte and her sweet smile and that tempting ponytail, when Dig stumbled in, looking worse for the wear.
“God, I need caffeine,” Dig groaned and grabbed a mug and the coffee carafe.
“You need a shower, too. Oof.” Tig made a face.
“Man, I never, ever remember how crazy those psychobilly chicks are.”
Tig laughed as he snapped the lids on his meals. “That good, huh?”
“Man, that chick was scary . It really wasn’t even fun.”
“Maybe you’re outgrowing easy pickups. Did you ever consider that?”
Dig squinted like he was thinking hard but then shook his head. “Nah. I gotta few years left, just not with that psychobilly chick.”
Tig laughed as he loaded his lunches in a bag. He was just getting ready to give Dig more shit when an ear-splitting whistle rang through the kitchen, and Ryan popped his head in the door.
“C wants all the fighters in the conference room in ten, guys. Before you ask, I have no idea, but he’s been pulling at