Page 8 of The Forbidden Mountain Man Lumberjack
The simple facts of her life, delivered without self-pity, make me want to know more. "What brought you to business consulting?"
She smiles slightly. "Would you believe a love of systems and organization? There's something satisfying about taking chaos and finding the patterns, making everything work better."
"And what makes you think my operation needs that?"
Her eyes meet mine. "Every business does, Wyatt. Even successful ones. Especially when they're growing."
I slide the steaks onto a hot cast iron pan, the sizzle filling the kitchen. "I'm not interested in growing. I'm interested in sustainability. Doing things right."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive goals." She finishes the last of the vegetables and rinses her hands. "The right systems can protect what matters while eliminating inefficiencies."
"And make my investors happy."
"Yes," she admits. "That too."
At least she's honest.
We eat at the kitchen island, the storm providing a wild soundtrack to our meal. The conversation flows more easily than I expected, touching on the day's operations, the history of Grizzly Ridge, her previous consulting jobs. She's smart—I already knew that—but she's also funny in a dry, understated way that catches me off guard.
"You lived in cities your whole life?" I ask as we clean up after dinner.
She nods. "Chicago originally, then Denver for college and my MBA."
"And now Grizzly Ridge. Quite a change."
"I've worked in small towns before." She hands me a plate to dry. "Though I admit, none quite this remote."
Our fingers brush during the exchange, and I feel that same jolt of awareness I've been fighting all day. Her eyes flick up to mine, and I know she felt it too.
For a moment, we're frozen in place, the air between us charged with something neither of us is acknowledging. She's close enough that I can smell the floral scent of her shampoo, see the pulse beating at the base of her throat.
Then thunder crashes directly overhead, making her jump slightly, breaking the moment.
"I should get some work done," she says, stepping back. "Review my notes from today."
I nod, relief and disappointment warring inside me. "I've got some paperwork myself."
She retrieves her laptop from upstairs while I settle at my desk in the corner of the living room. We work in companionable silence for about an hour, the only sounds the rain, the crackling fire, and the occasional tap of her keyboard.
When I glance up, I find her curled in an armchair, laptop balanced on her knees, firelight playing across her features. She looks like she belongs here, which is a dangerous thought.
Because come morning, we'll be back to being adversaries. Her job is still to change everything about how I run my business. And my job is still to resist.
No matter how good she looks in the firelight of my cabin.
CHAPTER FOUR
SOPHIA
Morning light filters through unfamiliar curtains, gently pulling me from sleep. For a moment, I'm disoriented, the comfortable bed and rustic wooden beams above me nothing like my apartment in Denver or the car seat I'd slept in two nights ago.
Then I remember. Wyatt's cabin. The guest room.
The way his fingers brushed against mine when we washed dishes.
I roll over, burying my face in the pillow with a groan. This is not how this job was supposed to go. I'm here to modernize Brennan Logging, to prove myself to Aspen Business Solutions, to secure my future. Not to develop inconvenient feelings for my stubborn, infuriating client.
My impossibly attractive, surprisingly thoughtful client.
