Chapter Four

Whitney was definitely drinking the mountain Kool-Aid. She’d always thought living in the mountains made you more relaxed and open to possibilities and now, not even forty-eight hours later, she was doing the exact opposite of what she’d decided. Of course, the nice little discussion with her cousin had also helped nudge her in this direction. Nothing made Whitney more prone to rash decisions than being ordered to do something.

“You cannot speak to an Ellis again. I mean, what were you thinking? Doesn’t family mean anything? Do you like him?”

She hadn’t touched that question with a ten-foot pole. Instead she had hugged Micah, thanked him for the support, and told him she could not live under his roof any longer. He took it about as well as he’d taken her talking to Sam on Saturday night.

Whitney had checked into the local motel off the strip Saturday night. She could make it work about a month—tops—before things would get dicey. As she lay tossing and turning, listening to the quiet hum of the traffic, she replayed the offer Sam Ellis had laid down. Before she knew it, she was up and working on her résumé and portfolio.

Now she was headed toward a new future or a disastrous reunion.

I have a proposition for you.

She couldn’t get the tenor of his voice, or the way his crooked smile lit up his whole face, out of her mind. Neither were valid arguments for continuing up the curvy mountain road. Plus the whole feud thing. She didn’t care, and Sam didn’t seem to be bothered, but Micah and her extended family…would this really cause an unhealable rift?

She shook her head and gripped the wheel tighter. Pushing the negatives from her mind, she recited all the ways this could go well for her.

No turning back. She was as committed as she was going to get.

The cabin apparently known as The Lodge came into view.

Could one call a three story, multi-tiered, twelve thousand square foot home a cabin? Sure, it was technically made of logs and had a chimney, several in fact, but a cabin conjured up images of coziness and warmth. Not the behemoth in front of her.

Pulling to the side of a six-car garage made to look like a carriage barn, she rolled her shoulders and practiced some deep breathing. This was it. She was going to interview for a job. A job offered as part of a bizarre fifteen minute conversation with a man who might be her boss, if hired. A man who may have starred in her dreams last night and bossed her around in a different manner.

Dammit, she needed this job. Well a job, this just happened to be the one standing in front of her at the moment. A man was definitely not part of any plan to get her back on her feet.

Be professional.

Maybe if she kept repeating that she would be fine.

Lord, what was he going to think when she walked in? She’d called the number on the card and a female voice had answered and enthusiastically taken her information. She ignored the hairs standing up on the back of her neck and the empty feeling in her stomach.

At least it would not be a total surprise to Sam, or rather Mr. Ellis.

My favorite Ellis.

This was crazy. She could not go in and face this man. She put her foot on the brake, and her finger hovered over the start button.

“Whitney Carroll. You need a job. You do not need a man. You can totally compartmentalize the attraction and focus on the opportunity being offered. He did not offer himself. He offered an interview. That is it.”

Stepping out of her car, a chuff had her glancing down the long lane to see a stunning Percheron being led out of a barn—the to-the-ground tail done up in an elaborate braid while the mane fluttered in the light breeze. Whitney had read up on the stud portion of the business but had focused most of her efforts on the amusement park side. It seemed that was what Samuel dealt primarily in, and what he’d mentioned the first project would involve. The stud was run by the two younger brothers she’d seen at the bar. She wished she could be on the back of such a beauty, but Whitney turned and headed toward the massive double doors set far back on a porch she could curl up on and live happily for the rest of her life.

A chime had her glancing at her phone.

Sorry about Saturday night. You do not have to move out. I’m trying to protect you. We’re family. The Ellises are trouble and that’s the last thing you need.

She ignored the mea culpa from Micah and dropped her phone in her tote. Straightening her spine, she raised a hand to knock, only to watch the hand-carved door swing open and one of the two brothers from Saturday night step right into her space.

He met her startled gaze and nodded. “Sorry about that.”

His voice slid across the threshold like water on a rock. Calm, cool, and collected, despite that he was probably as startled as she was. Yet with a quick glance she detected nothing. His calm exuded from him.

“Can I help you with something?”

Whitney brought her gaze back to green eyes that welcomed her to spill all her secrets. Shaking free from whatever damn spell this particular Ellis wove, she moistened her lips and said, “I have an appointment with Mr. Ellis at one.” A quick glance at her watch and she shrugged. “I’m afraid punctuality is a huge pet peeve of mine.”

“No one respects an efficient and timely manner more than me. Welcome to The Lodge, Miss?”

“Carroll. Whitney Carroll.”

“Lucas.” He shook her hand. “Lucas Ellis.”

Lucas motioned her into the interior of the cabin, and Whitney knew she was catching flies. It was monstrous yet homey. Decorative yet simple. Everything about the foyer and all that she could glimpse beyond seemed a lesson in contradictory statements.

“This way.”

Whitney followed her escort down a long hall framed by windows on one side and craft artwork on the other.

“Did you used to live around here?” Lucas asked when he caught her taking in a quilt done in a circular pattern.

“Yes. Before the fires.”

When he didn’t respond, Whitney risked a glance to see him thoroughly examining her. Not in a sexual way. In fact, she hadn’t detected one ounce of interest in that direction. More like she was a puzzle and he sniffed a challenging solution.

“Were you in Monsoon’s Saturday night?”

“Yes,” she answered, catching up with him. “Nice whiskey selection.”

A smile broke across Lucas’s face. “You must have had a Brodie. Their family and ours are very close.” Sadness crept into his face, and Whitney forced herself not to react. She’d read up on the deaths. Knew from the articles what both families had faced. Lucas continued. “They’re good people and damn fine distillers.”

Whitney smiled. “I don’t know about the people part, but you don’t have to convince me of the magic they have in the distilling arena.”

The rest of the walk was silent. Lucas brought her through an archway and into a small sitting area outside another set of double doors. He pointed to a striped sofa and Whitney lowered herself onto it while Lucas knocked on the door and entered. He popped back out a moment later. “Sam will be with you in a moment. He’s finishing up a meeting.”

She nodded and pulled a notebook out of her tote.

“Can I get you a drink? Tea, water, soda?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you again for your assistance.” She glanced down and then back up. “Although you probably saved yourself some trouble. I was eyeing up a horse before you ran into me at the door.”

Lucas glanced at his watch. “That would have been Conqueror, Sam’s horse. He’s studly all right, but one hell of a challenge to ride. Not your typical Percheron.”

Not your typical Ellis.

“Doubly lucky you opened the door.”

Lucas grinned and left her only after she reassured him two more times that she was fine.

The silence was a relief to her whirling brain and churning stomach. The uneasiness had intensified when she crossed into The Lodge. This was a massive compound, part headquarters for a multi-billion-dollar corporation, and nothing was as she assumed it to be. Even Lucas had genuine-good-guy oozing out of his pores. Something she’d noticed Saturday night.

No. She shook her head. This was a fluke.

Voices grew louder and Whitney steeled her glance the moment before the double doors opened. A gorgeous woman stepped out in a pantsuit Whitney knew for a fact cost more than most people’s monthly income. She threw a thousand-watt smile over her shoulder and laughed. Pulling the door shut, she faced Whitney and froze. The hesitation was only a second, but it was enough to send Whitney’s eyebrows upward.

“I’m sorry. Mr. Ellis will be with you in one moment.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

The lady smiled and moved down the hallway, already on her phone. No doubt sending news of her interview and 200 percent chance of being hired.

Well, she would be severely disappointed, because nothing was standing in Whitney’s way. Including acting the perfect part to ensure Samuel Ellis desired her for the position above all else.

…

Sam leaned back in his chair and groaned. All those interviews, all perfectly qualified and yet none were right. They all could do the job, but spending hours with any of them was not going to happen. His gut screamed no on all counts, and listening to his gut was all he had these days.

He needed someone he could not only trust, but who wanted the job done right, not someone who was out to please him. They’d all been people-pleasers and, while good, he didn’t want to be catered to. Did that make him shallow? Probably. Honest? Definitely.

Add to that the disappointment that Whitney had not shown up. A small part of him had hoped all day he would get a message that she’d been added to the list, but nothing came. Even when Lucas popped his head in a few minutes ago, he hoped it was to tell him he had a guest. Lucas had said he laid some artwork out on the chair for him to look at. It had been delivered to the stud by mistake.

His fascination with the woman couldn’t be explained, except that he’d connected with her. He had laughed with her. He had forgotten for a few moments with her.

And she’s not here, so I need to suck it up.

He checked his email one last time and headed to grab the artwork. He yanked opened his door and there, sitting in a perfect shade of red, was Whitney.

“What are you doing here?”

Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard. “I thought…I called and spoke to a woman. She was supposed to…” Her shoulders slumped and her gaze dropped to the floor. “I’ll go.”

She stood and he crossed to her, placing a hand on her arm. “No, please come in. I’m sorry. I wasn’t told, and I’ll be having a nice chat with my sister.”

He dropped his hand and met her gaze. She smiled. “You might want to have a chat with Lucas, too. He escorted me here. I thought he told you when he went in.”

Sam swore and closed his eyes. What the hell game were his siblings playing? “Don’t worry, I will be having a chat with all my siblings.”

He turned and went back into his office, aware that Whitney followed. Sitting down, he fired off a text to Becky and found one from his PR lady.

Are you seriously interviewing a Winston? Your parents are rolling over in their graves.

He ignored it and the return emoji his sister sent and settled into his chair. The feud didn’t bother him in regard to Whitney. Sure, Micah was an ass, but he didn’t think people were automatically bad because of who their family was.

Whitney settled across from him and handed him her résumé. He took an extended time going through her experience, which had ended five years ago. He read slower than he’d ever read anything in his life, as his emotions needed time to figure out what the hell they were thinking. He’d been so happy to see her he hadn’t realized that he was now faced with a huge dilemma. His desire to see and speak with her again versus hiring her and essentially becoming her temporary boss.

There was only one way to solve it. For all he knew, she could fail the interview miserably.

“I’m sure you’re wondering about the gap.”

“The gap?”

She stared at him, tilting her head as if trying to figure out his tone.

“We, my husband and I, moved away about five years ago. He accepted a position at a university, and I took some time off work.”

“Oh my God, Whitney. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you say you were married the minute I sat down Saturday night?”

“I’m divorced.”

“Oh.”

“Oh does about sum it up. Anyway, my personal life has no bearing other than it’s the reason I need a job and why I’m here. But to be clear, only if I am the best candidate.”

Sam sat back and looked at the list of questions he’d asked all the other interviewees. On paper, despite the gap in employment, Whitney was more than qualified to do the job, over-qualified even. But she would probably feel rusty, so easing back in would be great, but he needed to treat this like any other interview. His conscience wouldn’t allow his desire to spend more time with her to override anything.

Question after question he launched at her and she nailed every one of them. Even suggesting a marketing angle they hadn’t thought of. She was bright and engaging, easy to joke with and bounce ideas off. She would slide into the role perfectly, and they would work well together. He just wished he didn’t like her so much. He didn’t want it mixed up in what he predicted would be a fabulous working relationship.

“Sam, Mr. Ellis, I need to say this again. I want to be considered only if I am the best person for the job. I realize…” She swallowed hard and sat on her hands. “I realize this offer came out of a unique situation.” She speared him with a serious, confident gaze. “But I am not a charity case.”

He held up his hand. “Yes, my learning of your employment need came about in a unique way, but honestly, isn’t that how networking is supposed to work? We just happened to network under threat of a feudal war.”

She smiled and it knocked his nerves into a tizzy, like the tilt-a-whirl over in Eagles Grove. He wanted to make her do it again and again.

“I gave you information, you chose to act on it, and I’m grateful you showed up for this interview. You’re perfect for the position, and I would like to offer it to you.” He slid across the offer sheet he’d worked up for the job. His gut screamed she was perfect.

Her fingers hovered over the paper and she looked up at him, once again desire and caution battling among her features. “I think you and I will work really well together on this project,” he reaffirmed.

Whitney sat back in the chair, a frown on her face. She slid her hand underneath her again, a tic he’d noticed the other night.

“Is something wrong with the offer? Some parts of it are negotiable.”

“What? No. I mean it’s probably more than I’m worth at the moment, quite frankly, and yes, I accept.”

Relief slid along his limbs, and he mirrored her stance, collapsing back in his chair. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted her to accept until she had.

She picked up the paper and read it through. Careful not to stare, Sam glanced at the folders on his desk, and the handwritten list caught his eye. He pulled it free and stared.

It was the list of women he had generated to co-conspire with to win the bet. Any one of them would probably help him and keep his secret and yet the thought of even fake spending ten minutes a day with them was unappealing. They were all friends, just…if he was really going to take time away from his work, even faking it, he wanted it to be with someone who engaged him. Someone who spoke to him.

Someone like Whitney.

Could he?

He dropped the list on the desk. No he couldn’t. It was wrong. Only…

If he asked her, was it wrong? After all, they would be spending plenty of time together on this project anyway. Pretending to be in a relationship couldn’t be that bad if she was in on it. It was just a bet.

“Excuse me?”

Sam’s face flushed with heat. Had he said something? “What?”

“You said bet.”

He closed his eyes and groaned.

“Is this a bet? This job offer?”

“What? No. Of course not. I didn’t even know you were coming; how could it be a bet?”

She crossed her arms, not convinced. If he didn’t want her to walk now, and he most certainly didn’t, then he needed to come clean.

“I’m sorry. This”—he motioned between them—“is not a bet. This is me hiring you because you are the best person for the job.”

“Why do I feel there’s a rather large but coming?”

“But there is a bet.”

“About me?”

“No. I mean. Lord, I am screwing this three sides to Sunday. My siblings have made a bet with me. A bet I really want to win. A bet I need to win and well…”

She stared, her eyes the size of saucers. He really did not want to say the words that were about to come out of his mouth, but if he didn’t, she would leave. He could practically see her sensible flats headed in that direction.

“What’s the bet, Sam?”

He closed his eyes, unable to look at her when he confessed. “To keep a relationship going for thirty days. A good, solid, spend-time-with-a-person relationship.”

The silence spoke volumes. He peeked to find her mouth open and her gaze darting about the room.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Really she could be asking numerous questions with that one word.

“Why did they come up with the bet?”

“Ahh…my siblings think I’m overworked and underplayed.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“And how do I figure in?”

“You don’t.”

“Oh?”

“I mean you are not part of it, but I was thinking you might want to be—all fake of course—and then I realized that was stupid. None of that thought process was meant to leave my mind.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Yeah. Here we are.”

“A bet to have a relationship for thirty days that you want to win, so you’re looking for someone to fake it with you.”

“Ummm, yeah…that sounds really bad, but the alternative is not good.”

“It clearly must not be, since you’re making an utter fool of yourself.”

“Yes. Yes, I am and for that I am sorry. Let’s forget I ever mentioned it. Now how about the contract? Have any questions?”