**Chapter 4** As I paused at the doorway to the conference room, a jolt of surprise shot through me. There sat Farrah, already settled at her desk, a vision of poise that caught me off guard. Today, her curly hair hung free, cascading in playful ringlets past her shoulders, framing a face illuminated with enthusiasm. She wore a floral button-up shirt, the loose sleeves fluttering like leaves in a gentle breeze. And the aroma that hung in the air—a delightful medley of coffee intertwined with wildflowers—washed over me, invoking a bittersweet nostalgia that stirred deep within my chest. Clearing my throat, I made my presence known, and she looked up, startled. In an instant, she stood, her desk chair tumbling to the floor in a clatter I didn’t even know was possible. “Oh, hi! Good morning! I’m so sorry! I’m such a mess!” she exclaimed, her voice an adorable mixture of surprise and embarrassment. Walking in, I bent to retrieve her fallen chair, our proximity amplifying the intoxicating scent of her floral perfume. “First rule of business: No apologies. There are no mistakes, only learning opportunities,” I replied, trying to embody the confidence that kicked in every time I entered a room. “Right, sorry—I mean... Thanks?” she fumbled, humor flaring briefly in her eyes. I managed a fleeting smile before heading to my side of the long conference table, where my laptop sat, comfortably charging and waiting. “I got you coffee,” Farrah said brightly. “I wasn’t sure what you like, so I brought a black, a cortado, and a frappuccino. I personally enjoy all of them except for black, so you can choose any two out of three.” Confusion tugged at my brow. “That’s not your job,” I responded, slightly bemused. Her kindness seemed disjointed from the workplace dynamic we were navigating. She tilted her head, curls tumbling over her shoulder, a gesture that momentarily distracted me. “I enjoy doing nice things for people. Unless you’re lactose intolerant, in which case the cortado might not be so thoughtful,” she teased, a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll take the cortado,” I said, averting the discomfort of her assumption about my diet. She handed me a steaming cup, and I turned it over to discover the logo. “Barry’s?” I questioned, lifting my gaze to her. “It’s my parents’ coffee shop,” she explained, a sense of pride spilling from her lips. “Dad runs it; he’s there from six to two every day, except Sundays.” Taking a sip, I savored the robust flavor that filled my mouth. “It’s good,” I admitted, appreciating the warmth both in temperature and in taste. Farrah’s eyes sparkled, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “I think it’s the best in Texas! I practically grew up there.” Lacking a response, she quickly shifted the topic. “So, I had some ideas for the en suite bathrooms I’d love to share with you.” I raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Already? You barely had an hour to work yesterday.” “Couldn’t sleep,” she shrugged off my question, her passion unfurling like petals in sunlight. “Come look?” Without hesitating, I walked around to stand behind her, the scent of wildflowers enveloping me again, more intoxicating than the coffee. A thought struck me—perhaps I should open a Barry’s in the hotel. Her screen displayed a digital mock-up of the bathroom design. As I scanned the layout, she explained, “We want it to feel refreshing, yet not blend into the monotony of every five-star hotel around here. So we’re avoiding all white. Black’s out too; with kids, every spot will show. I recommend adding some color—perhaps a soft green that’s soothing and complements neutrals beautifully.” I nodded, my gaze drawn to the centerpiece of her design—a luxurious marble soaking tub. “I like the tub,” I said, envisioning families splashing about. “They're ideal for kids,” she added enthusiastically. “I get really disappointed when I stay at a hotel without a bathtub, and this is a huge upgrade from the usual shower-tub combo.” “Agreed,” I mused. “But isn’t marble porous? How does that work?” “It’s cultured marble—what’s great is that they mix limestone with resin, so it appears and feels like the real thing,” she explained, her excitement palpable. “Interesting,” I replied, impressed. “Gold fixtures will complement the green backsplash,” she continued. “And half-oval shower tiles can add character. The gray floor tile we've discussed is distinct enough from other hotels while remaining easy to clean.” Her confidence flowed through her words. I struggled to find fault in her suggestions; she had clearly considered every detail. “We settled on flooring, and when I agreed, she exclaimed, “I’ll make it happen!” “Good,” I affirmed, returning to my computer to regain focus, grateful to be away from her fragrant presence that distracted my thoughts. “It’s like talking to my teenager,” she chuckled, and I raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” Lowering her voice playfully to mimic mine, she replied, “Good. Agreed. Great. All I get from him are one-word answers.” Realization struck me; I hadn’t noticed my closed-off responses. “My time is at a premium, Ms. Elkins.” Her response was quick. “I’m surprised you’d choose to work in here with me. Surely, you’d be far more efficient in your own space.” There was an edge to her words that kindled something feral within me, and I replied calmly, “I’m here because I cannot afford for you to mess this up.” She smirked, leaning in closer. “You do realize that’s not the most effective motivation, right?” I had to fight against the magnetic pull of her neckline as my voice danced dangerously, “Is that so?” “Absolutely,” she said with a confident nod. “If I spoke to my five-year-old like that, she’d probably end up crying in a corner.” “For your sake, I’m glad you’re a thirty-four-year-old woman and not a five-year-old child,” I retorted, turning my attention back to my screen, effectively ending the conversation. With an exaggerated sigh, she rose from her desk. “I need to make a call and don’t want to disturb you.” “No need for that,” I gestured to her desk. “I’d like to observe how you converse with your professional contacts.” Her brows knitted together, a silhouette of confusion crossing her features, and all I could think was how charming she appeared—what a terrible thought. I was a CEO of a billion-dollar empire, and I had no room for distractions like this one flooding my mind. Pretending to focus on my computer, she retrieved her new company cell phone and dialed a number. But what unfolded next was unexpected. Within minutes, she was engaged in a friendly chat about their day, discussing dinner plans as if they were childhood pals. As the conversation progressed, Farrah recited a recipe for chicken noodle soup casserole, a dish they could prepare and enjoy throughout the week. My jaw nearly dropped. Ten full minutes of casual chatter had flown by before she finally swung the topic back to business. “I love the natural sand flooring you have for this substantial project I’m working on, but do you have more options available?” She nodded, humming softly, and I envisioned her twirling an invisible phone cord between her fingers. “When could you send a contractor over?” Watching her, my heart raced—as she smiled and pouted, her lips forming a teasing expression that made my stomach drop. What was happening to me? Why was this interaction becoming so consternating? Time was money, and the other party seemed to treat it like a lavish gift to be proffered at will. “And what’s their timeline on a twenty-thousand-foot property?” She sighed dramatically. “Come on, Mark, that’s so far away,” she pouted, a pleading tone in her voice. “My boss is a hard-ass and would never let me slide on that kind of deadline…” she winked at me. “I get it, really, but I wanted you to secure the commission, especially with your wife’s due date approaching. But if I have to source elsewhere, I can...” Her lips curled into a smile. “Are you sure? That would be fantastic! I’ll see you at five.” She hung up, her hand extending toward me in a gesture for a high five. “What's that for?” I asked, bemused at her exuberance. “That was me working magic,” she said, still grinning. “It only took…” I glanced at my watch. “Forty-five minutes.” She shook her head playfully, lowering her hand but unable to suppress that radiant smile. “That forty-five minutes will save you countless headaches in the future and shave months off our timeline. This flooring company is the best within a two-hour radius. They’re always booked minimally a year in advance, but they’re giving us special treatment—it won’t cost extra.” “Why in the world would they do that?” I questioned, genuinely puzzled. “Because his wife is about to give birth, and I just provided him with a killer recipe,” she shrugged, acting as if it were an everyday occurrence. But it was astonishing—her effortless knack for connecting could indeed be my secret weapon. “Five o’clock?” I confirmed, running through my options as I reviewed my calendar. “I have dinner reservations at six.” “I’ll be here,” she assured me. “I can manage things while you’re out for dinner.” Raising my brows, I chuckled lightly. “Are the surly teenager and the sensitive five-year-old going to be okay?” “They’ll manage,” she said, her grin widening. “But the middle child? He’s anyone's guess.” Her smirk caught me off guard, igniting something I hadn’t anticipated. Pointing at me, she teased again, “See? Made you smile. Just a little.” I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. No one dared joke with me except my siblings. “Get to work, Ms. Elkins. We still have a lot to accomplish, and…” I glanced at my watch, “only six hours left to do it.” * * * “She made four calls today, each one longer than the last,” I recounted to my siblings and new sister-in-law at dinner on Thursday evening. The five of us found ourselves in an exclusive restaurant on the west side of Dallas, perfectly positioned between my office and Cottonwood Falls, my family’s residence. No paparazzi dared enter this sanctuary, and every individual seated here understood the gravity of maintaining privacy. It was the ideal setting to treat my siblings without the scrutiny of the media. Despite our grown-up lives, I took pride in shielding them from unnecessary attention. I was the eldest—Tyler and his wife, Henrietta, brought up the second tier, followed by Rhett and our sister, Liv. Almost eight years separated us, a bond woven with threads of fierce protection. As I vented about Farrah’s incessant chatter, Rhett couldn’t hide his grin, flashing a perfect set of braces. “So, is she single?” Liv promptly hit his shoulder, while Tyler groaned. I cast an apologetic glance at Henrietta, who had been swept up in the whirlwind of Rhett’s antics. “She’s single,” I replied, “but freshly separated; the ink’s barely dried on her divorce papers.” Rhett’s eyes lit up with mischief. “So she’s single and ripe for a rebound? You should totally act on that.” Liv snatched an ice cube from her drink and threw it at him. He snagged it mid-air, popping it into his mouth with a cheeky grin. “What?” he challenged, “You’re alone at that hotel, and—” Even half-joking, I resisted. “You should know better than to mix business with pleasure.” Rhett raised an eyebrow, a knowing grin sweeping his face. “Oh, so you’ve been thinking about pleasure?” “That’s a stretch,” I retorted, taking a long sip of my scotch on the rocks. “And besides, even if I liked her and she liked me, I’d rather not face a harassment lawsuit.” Tyler tapped his nose knowingly. He had always upheld a strict aversion to workplace romances. “That kind of mess can spiral fast. Ask Hen.” She nodded, a slight smile plastered on her lips as she leaned against Tyler’s shoulder. “We’re lucky things ended well for us, but that isn’t the case for everyone.” My thoughts strayed to Farrah, pondering how our dynamic would play out under different circumstances. Liv chimed in, “The power differential could make things worse. What if she's hesitant to reject you due to fear of losing her job?” “Bingo,” I conceded, attempting to steer the conversation away from wading into such murky waters. “Can we discuss something else?” I was tired of her occupying every fragment of my thoughts. “Mom and Dad’s fortieth anniversary is approaching this year,” Liv declared, jolting me with unexpected emotion. “I thought maybe we could throw them a party and send them on that Alaskan cruise Dad always talks about.” Tyler's enthusiasm mirrored mine. “We can host the party at the Hen House in the common area.” Henrietta nestled her head on Tyler’s shoulder. “That sounds lovely! Mrs. Bieker has been mentioning how much she misses cooking for family events; she could help with the food.” Tyler placed a gentle kiss on her temple. “So thoughtful, babe.” Her tender smile melted any remnants of ice within me, if only a little. They were genuinely happy—my brother deserved a love like that. “Don’t worry; I’ll provide the beer!” Rhett yelled, and Liv rolled her eyes playfully. “Just don’t break another cashier’s heart at the liquor store in the next six months.” Rhett threw a wink in my direction. “I don’t mix business with pleasure.” I shook my head silently, tossing a handful of cash on the table. “Dinner’s on me. I’ll take care of the cruise too. Anonymously.” “Gage…” Liv began, her tone soft yet firm. “You and Dad can’t let this feud linger forever.” I rubbed the emblem on my bicep, a painfully carved reminder of what I’d lost, and the silent pact my siblings and I had made. “He made his stance clear; he doesn’t like me or what I represent. If that perspective has shifted, he knows where to find me.” “Perhaps he needs you to take the first step,” Liv proposed gently. I slid my wallet back into my pocket. “I refuse to play losing games.”