Page 13 of Impossible Love

I grin at her. “I am. But my friends call me Cal.”

Chapter 9

Victoria

I’m so appalled I stumble again. He catches me. Again. And to my complete and utter horror, I fall against his chest and his arms go around me. It’s like falling into a brick wall. We stay like that for a moment too long, my softness against his hard-as-iron body, until I remember that he just tricked me. Made a fool of me. And I hate him for that. I push against his chest, and he releases me.

I must be a crumpled, wind-blown, discombobulated mess. This is not exactly the first impression I wanted to give.

I shoot Cal a dirty look. I can’t believe he played me like that. I just sat there in his Jeep and basically called his family a bunch of ignorant country bumpkins. And he sat there smiling, watching me dig my own grave with my big fat mouth.

My stupid mistake could jeopardize not only the biggest deal of my career, but it could also make my father furious at me.

I’ll never make partner if he finds out how badly I’ve screwed the pooch.

Normally, I’m about as hush-hush as a person can get. I always play my cards close to the vest. But today, all I needed was a sexy smile from a hot cowboy and I forget everything I’ve ever learned. I forget myself.

I’m such an idiot.

I glare at Cal again. If it wasn’t for his gorgeous violet eyes and his six-feet-whatever of hot Alpha distraction, I never would’ve said a thing. He’s a deceiver who can never be trusted.

Good thing I’m doing the deal with his father, and not him.

Taking a deep breath, I gather my wits about me. I need to make this right, right now. I have to take back control.

I step away from Cal and toward the house. I raise my hand for James MacLaine to shake. He produces a big smile, comes down the stairs, and gives my hand a vigorous shake.

He's a silver fox. He has the same violet eyes as Cal and the same hair, although a little thinner—and a lot whiter—with age.

“Hello, Mr. MacLaine. I’m Victoria Backlund. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“I’m so happy to meet you, too. Thank you so much for coming to visit. What a wonderful surprise. I loved our conversations on the telephone. You’re a delight, little lady, and with such attention to detail!”

I take another deep breath. “That wasn’t me,” I confess, offering him a sheepish smile. “That was my assistant, Millicent.”

I hear Cal laugh behind me. I turn to see him leaning against his Jeep, arms folded, legs casually crossed at the ankles. What an asshole. Rage builds inside me. That’s the second time I humiliated myself in front of him, and I don’t like it one bit.

“Then it looks like I’ll have to disappoint two lovely young women instead of just one.”

I shake my head at Mr. MacLaine’s statement. “What?”

“Millicent was very nice, and you seem very nice too, but I’m not sure I’m ready to sell part of the ranch.”

Cal pops up from the Jeep and crunches the gravel as he moves toward his father. His eyes are wide with disbelief. “Sell part of the ranch?”

“Cool your jets, cowboy,” I snap at Cal. I’ve lost all patience at this point. “My company’s not interested in buying any part of your working ranch. We’re only interested in an area called Sulfur Springs.”

Cal narrows his eyes at me. I feel the anger come off him in waves. “We’re not selling Sulfur Springs.” His velvety, deep voice has turned into a growl, and the fierceness of it pins me to the ground.

Mr. MacLaine clears his throat. “Why don’t we all go in and talk about this? I don’t want you to think I forgot my manners, Miss Backlund. I wasn’t raised to keep a lady out in the sun, especially in those shoes. Come on now. I’ll get you some refreshments and you can put your feet up.”

“There’s nothing to talk about with this woman, Dad.”

Thankfully, Mr. MacLaine ignores his son. He gives me his hand and guides me up the steps. He places a gentle palm on my back and escorts me inside his large house.

I look around. Millicent told me that the ranch was built just after the Civil War, and I can believe it. This is probably the property’s original structure, with centuries of add-ons and updates. One interior wall is made up of rough-hewn logs, another is river rock, and another is almost all windows.

It’s a single-story home with high ceilings, rustic wood, and a huge rock fireplace. I’m sure there’s a design term for this—shabby-chic ranch?—but whatever the term, it’s the exact polar opposite of my San Diego condo.

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