6. Lottie

My overall buckles clinked as my leg bounced against the hardwood floor of Hunter's office. I clutched my folder to my chest, anxiety swelling with every passing minute that he didn't show his face.

He was five minutes late.

I'd only brought with me what I believed was necessary—my resume, a copy of my degree, and a small portfolio I'd put together showcasing my experience and past dissertations on breeding I'd done while at university. I felt it didn't warrant going into the nitty-gritty, and I hoped he wouldn't ask about the blank spaces of time.

"That's not exactly office-appropriate attire, Charlotte."

I whipped my head in the direction of the door, braid flying back over one shoulder, and stared at the man who had been haunting my thoughts.

He stood against the door frame, a half-eaten apple in his hand, clad in a stupid fucking suit that screamed corporate. The only unprofessional part of him was the wide-as-hell, cocky ass smirk that split his face.

"I dressed for the stables," I said dryly.

"Would've preferred you in something black and satin." He took a bite of his apple, the crunch making me squirm as he stepped around my chair and crossed the room to his desk.

My cheeks heated at thoughts from that night. I wasn't going to let it get to me though, not here, not now.

"What's that?" he asked, motioning toward my file while he slowly sunk into his chair. His jaw twitched as he chewed, eyes locked on the folder I held against my stomach. Or maybe he was staring at my breasts.

"My resume, my degree, a compilation of my experience… don't you need that?"

He shrugged and tossed the core of the apple in the trash can behind him. "To be honest, I have no clue. I don't tend to handle the hiring process."

Somehow I knew exactly why he was handling it this time. "Then shouldn't I be speaking with someone else?"

"Nah, I'd prefer you all to myself," he teased, leaning forward onto his desk with one hand extended toward the folder. I glared at him as I placed it into his waiting palm.

He flipped it open, scanning over papers as if they were the least interesting thing he had ever seen. However, each one was important to me, holding a little sliver of my life, and when he finally landed on my dissertations, only thendid he look at me like I was made of gold.

"You didn't mention you'd done papers on breeding."

"It wasn't tangible experience so I didn't think it was overtly relevant during our so-called interview."

I knew damn well that the smirk that spread across his face had absolutely nothing to do with my stellar dissertation. "That was the best interview I've ever conducted," he chuckled, his eyes flitting up to meet mine occasionally between reading. "You were an incredibly enticing candidate?—"

"Can you be professional for five minutes?" I didn't have the patience to deal with this. There must have been a reason he was being so forward. Either he truly thought he had another chance of fucking me or he acted this way with all of his female employees. Both possibilities made my stomach twist.

He cleared his throat and lifted his eyes to meet mine. "Sure. Are you happy with the proposed hours and salary?"

I nodded.

"And you're happy to train under the current manager until he retires?"

I nodded.

"Perfect. Then we should discuss the direction we should be taking the breeding business," he said dryly. He shut my folder with a slap and slid it back across his desk. "For the upcoming season, I'd like to focus on thoroughbreds and quarter horses. The foals will need to go to auction well in advance of the race season the following year."

It took a moment for me to understand the drastic shift in behavior from him. "Thoroughbreds are riddled with health issues."

"True, but they're highly sought after. They're a staple and they're guaranteed to sell."

I narrowed my brows at him. I'd never liked the thoroughbreds, never wanted one myself, especially not after the sheer amount of research I'd done on them at university. "We shouldn't be breeding horses that we know will have health problems and a lower quality of life. We could potentially do a mixed breed if you're so keen on thoroughbreds, but I'd feel more comfortable with Appaloosas or maybe Friesians?—"

"Appaloosas don't bring in nearly as many customers," Hunter said. The tone was so dismissive, so irritatingly unenthusiastic that I couldn't help but wonder if he actually cared about the horses they produced under the Harris name. "If you're desperate to change the game, Lottie, then I suggest doing it in the background and we can test how well they sell?—"

"I told you back on Oahu that I'm not okay with show breeding," I snapped. Without thinking, I was on my feet, looming over him as he sat calmly in his chair. With one hand on my folder and the other flat against the polished wood of his desk, I leaned over it. "You said you weren't either. Was that just another ploy to get me to take the job?"

"This isn't show breeding." His fingers went to his temples, rubbing gently, coaxing out whatever stress I was causing him. I hoped it didn't work. "This is race breeding, Charlotte, and you should know better than anyone how important thoroughbreds are."

"There are so many different breeds that can do the job perfectly well, if not better, than thoroughbreds." I flipped open my file to one of the dissertations I'd written. Spinning it around on his desk, I shoved it toward him, my finger glued to a paragraph I'd written on this specific subject, littered with citations from top equine vets that stated exactly what the problems were.

"This is a business, Charlotte. We're not out there to make ill-performing mixed breeds?—"

"There are plenty of full-bred horses that don't have health issues."

He took a deep breath as he scanned the page, his eyes flicking from one side to the other too fast, too nonchalantly. He wasn't reading it, not really. "Let's take a break. Maybe we can go to lunch, calm down, and revisit this afterward."

"I'm not going to fucking lunch, Hunter. I'd prefer to sort this out now."

"Well, I'd prefer to take a break."

"This isn't going to work." The words fell from my lips before I could think them through. I needed a job. I needed something that would push me forward in my career. But working with the fucking asshole staring up at me with wide, shocked eyes was something I wasn't entirely sure I could handle. I turned toward the door.

"Wait."

The sigh, the subdued lilt of his voice made me stop in my tracks. I didn't give him the satisfaction of turning to look at him, though.

"I'll sweeten the deal."

Please don't let it be an offer to sleep with me again?—

"Forty-nine percent of the business."

I nearly gave myself whiplash spinning in place. "What?"

"Forty-nine percent of the business. The breeding part, specifically. Not the whole thing," he said, each word spoken slowly and directly. "It's practically chump change for me. But for you, Charlotte, it could change the direction of your life."

Forty-nine percent of anything was a lot. Almost half. But an entire section of the Harris agricultural empire? That was an insane offer. I was barely qualified. I hardly knew him. And what I did know of him, he was a burly asshole who threw tantrums when he didn't get his way. Would I be able to work closely with someone like that? Could I handle being a shareholder and seeing his face, hearing his voice, and answering to him as often as that would entail? This went way beyond just being the manager. And from the things I'd heard from Dad, Hunter Harris wasn't the type of man to go throwing around parts of his business willy-nilly.

In fact, I think my father might hang him for this.

"You're insane," I breathed, wrapping my fingers around the handle of the door. "You wouldn't do that."

He couldn't do that. He wasn't even in charge of the business. He was somewhere near the top, I knew that much, but definitely not the CEO. That was his father.

"I would."

"Not without some sort of caveat." I shook my head, struggling to wrap my mind around the idea that he would just drop this on me. There had to be something else, something he wanted. More than just another round of sex. He wouldn't give up almost half of this side of the business just for that. "What is it?"

His lips pressed into a hard line. "I'm in a sticky situation."

"Christ, Hunter."

"Hear me out," he sighed. "My father is retiring and when it comes to his replacement, it's between me and my brother, Fred. But Fred is a fucking idiot when it comes to business."

"Get to the point." I tightened my grip on the handle, turning it ever so slightly.

"My father feels safer choosing Fred because he's settled down. He's less rowdy. He's married, he's got two kids. I'm a risk," he explained. For a fleeting second, that tough facade broke long enough for him to scrub his face with his palms. "But I'm better for the business regardless. Fred will run us into the ground. So I was thinking, if I could make it appear to my family that I'm calming down and no longer sleeping around, if I could show them I was involved in something long-term and meaningful, my father might reconsider."

I tried to read whatever was coming next just from the look on his face. It didn't work though, much to my dismay.

"Forty-nine percent of the business, Charlotte, to do with what you please. But in exchange for, let's say six months, you'll pretend to be whatever I need you to be, publicly. A girlfriend, a fiancée, the works."