#thisaintmyfirstrodeo
WHEN I WALK into the kitchen sleepy-eyed the next morning, Jack is standing at the kitchen table, giving me a lopsided grin that melts my heart.
“Morning, Jack man.” I ruffle his sandy brown hair.
“We have a surprise for you,” he says, his smile widening.
He steps aside to reveal a plate on the kitchen table with a stack of pancakes. There’s a folded napkin beside the plate with a knife and a fork on it and a glass of orange juice nearby. The paper on the table that says, “Good morning, Sienna” in Jack’s block handwriting is my favorite part.
“This is for me?” I give him my most excited expression, mouth open and eyes wide.
He nods and pulls out my chair for me.
My heart swells as I sit down. I shove down the sadness that tries to rise to the surface. This isn’t a sad moment, it’s a joyful one, and I’ll only feel the joy. Jack is here with us right now. He’s happy. That’s a gift to be treasured.
“Apple cinnamon pancakes,” Carmen says, walking over and setting a tiny pitcher of warm syrup on the table.
She’s wearing sweats and a T-shirt, her hair in a messy bun, and Jack is wearing his favorite Darth Vader pajamas. I wish I could stay here with them all day, cuddled up under a blanket watching movies, but I have to go to work.
“Are you guys going to eat with me?”
Jack’s expression turns sober. “I was really hungry. I already ate.”
I laugh and ruffle his hair again. “No worries. You’ll sit and talk to me, though, right?”
“Yeah.”
He takes the chair across from mine and animatedly recaps a Star Wars movie he watched last night. Something about a volcano and light sabers. No matter how many times he watches those movies, he never gets tired of them.
I finish breakfast, take a shower, and dress in a simple dark purple dress and black booties. I’m later than usual getting into the office, and when I walk into the lobby, I see one of the Durant brothers standing near the elevator. He’s wearing a crisp, charcoal suit with a pale blue dress shirt, his thick, dark hair just unruly enough to look sexy and polished at the same time.
As I approach him, I see he’s talking to Rob, a very popular alpha on my staff. Rob is covered with muscles that are covered with tattoos. He’s bald, with intense blue eyes. Last year, I found out several of his clients were mailing him their panties, and he was storing them in one of his desk drawers. I was disgusted and slightly impressed at the same time, because from what I heard, they were all worn panties. So. Gross.
“Sienna.” The Durant brother turns to me as I approach, giving me a warm smile.
“Ben.” I venture a guess that the one who sent the flowers is the one who took the time to come back to the office.
I must be right. Ben nods, gives me a quick, appreciative glance and then turns back to Rob.
“Rob was just telling me about his daughter.”
I laugh and arch my brows. “Lexi? We love it when she comes to visit.”
“She’s my whole world, wrapped up in a precocious little package.” Rob’s eyes take on the affectionate glow I only see when he talks about the four-year-old girl he’s a single dad to.
“I didn’t mean to keep you,” Ben says to Rob, glancing at his wrist, where a chunky, expensive-looking watch sits. “I know you said you have to get to your office.”
“No worries.” Rob extends his hand to shake Ben’s. “It was good talking to you, man.”
Rob smiles and nods at me, then walks away, leaving me alone with Ben.
“So . . .” He gives me a smile that almost looks nervous, but he quickly regains his composure. “I wanted to ask you out for breakfast to go over the expansion plans, but I don’t have your cell number.”
“Ah, right. Sorry about that.” I clear my throat. “It’s . . . I mean, I can email it to you if that works so you can text next time?”
He nods, a flicker of disappointment passing over his face. “You don’t have time right now, then?”
“I already ate, actually.”
“I understand. Rain check?”
His genuine disappointment touches something inside me. I take out my phone, open my email, and send him my cell number.
“I just sent you my number. And maybe we could do breakfast Monday? There’s a great little bakery a block over.”
“Perfect. I’ll text you, then.”
“Okay. And thank you again for the flowers.”
“It was my pleasure, Sienna.”
As Ben steps away, I get a whiff of his cologne, which smells quite nice. I haven’t spent time with a man outside the office in so long that I’d forgotten what a man smells like close up.
I walk back to my office, eager to get started on the workday since I’m running late.
As soon as I open my email, my light mood evaporates when I see the message I read yesterday but never responded to. I read it again and am as incensed as I was the first time. Before I can even think about whether or not I should, I’m writing back.
From: [email protected]
Re: unimpressed
Dear RoughRider (since you don’t have the balls to tell me your actual name),
My benefactor? Please. So far, you’ve taught me exactly nothing. Also, you’re arrogant, which I’m sure is just one of your many lovely qualities.
I mean, seriously—RoughRider? Because you’ll give me the roughest, most satisfying ride of my life, right? Yawn. Heard it all before. Still prefer to stay single.
What about the 16 on your email address, though? Shouldn’t that be a 69? Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.
This ain’t my first rodeo, RoughRider. I’ve dated men like you before. Go find someone who will be wowed when you flex for her. If you even have any muscles, that is.
Sienna
Shortly after I send the message, my inbox dings with a response.
From: [email protected]
Re: apologies
Dear Sienna,
I must apologize. I think my efforts at playful banter have made you think I’m someone I’m not. I’m genuinely not arrogant, and believe it or not, there’s no sexual innuendo in my email address.
It’s hard to convey tone by email. I didn’t mean to offend you.
If you’d like me to write again, say so. If not, I won’t bother you again.
RoughRider
I sit back in my chair, my brow furrowed with surprise. I wasn’t expecting that. RoughRider is capable of contrition?
All I need to do now is not respond. Like he said, he won’t bother me again. I’m still thinking about it when Jane comes into my office, fresh Starbucks in hand.
“Have I told you lately that I love you?” I give my assistant a grateful smile as she passes me the cup.
She returns my smile, but hers looks a little nervous. “Remember that fifteen seconds from now.”
“Oh, geez.” I sigh heavily. “What is it?”
“Client Services is having an issue with a client, and they need you to weigh in.”
“Tell Anthony he needs to run his own department. He’s a manager, he needs to manage. I’ve told him I’ll stand behind any call he makes.”
Jane arches her brows, considering her next words. “Well . . . Anthony is kind of out of ideas on this one.”
I take off my reading glasses and turn away from my desk to face my assistant. “Okay, can you tell me more?”
“From what Anthony told me, a client says she’s in love with one of the alphas. He’s stuck to the company boundaries, but she wants more and she’s become quite . . . aggressive about it.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“She’s mailed him nude photos of herself, and she was waiting for him in his car when he left work the other day, and she was, um . . . nude then too.”
“Eww.” I cringe, and Jane’s expression relaxes a little.
“It gets worse,” she says. “Last night, she followed him home from work, and when he got there, she confronted him at his front door and showed him a tattoo of his name on . . . one of her buttocks.”
Poor Jane. I recruited her from a tech firm. By her flaming cheeks, I can tell she never expected to be giving her boss a report about anyone’s ass tattoo.
“Okay, I’ll go talk to Anthony about it,” I tell her. “Thanks for letting me know.”
Anthony is relieved when I walk into his office, where he’s meeting with the alpha in question, Isaac.
“I didn’t have the heart to tell her my name was spelled wrong on the tat,” he says sheepishly.
“You looked at it?” I give him a stern look.
He puts his hands up in defense. “She dropped her pants on my front porch and turned around. It was right in my face.”
“You need to call the police,” I tell Anthony. “You wrote up reports on this from the beginning, right?”
Anthony nods, and I sigh with relief. “Good.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d want the police involved because of the potential for bad PR,” Anthony says.
I look at Isaac, a handsome blond who was one of my first hires. “Have you crossed any lines with her? Done anything to encourage this behavior? You need to be completely honest right now.”
“No. I need this job. You’ve been good to me, and I follow all the rules. I’ve got a girlfriend, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t hook up with a client.”
“What did you do when you found her in your car?”
He shakes his head. “Well, after I had a fuckin’ heart attack because there was a naked person in my back seat, I told her she had to go. That I have a girlfriend and it can’t be like that with us.”
“And did she?”
“No. She started . . . you don’t want to know, trust me. I left my car there and caught a cab home. The security guys checked it for me the next day.”
“And she was gone?”
Isaac nods. “But she left a dildo in my car. A used dildo.”
“Oh, shit.” I clear my throat. “Sorry. That just slipped out.”
“I said ‘dildo,’ so I think you’re allowed to say ‘shit.’” Isaac shrugs.
“Have the interior of your car cleaned, and we’ll take care of the bill. Anthony will work with the police to resolve this.” I turn to my Client Services Director. “And obviously, we’re dropping her as a client.”
We talk for a few more minutes, and when I’m walking back to my office, I can’t help laughing a little. There’s never a dull moment at Alpha Mail.
I sit back down at my desk and put my glasses on. The email from RoughRider is still up on my computer screen, and after reading it again, I feel an urge to respond. There’s something about him. He’s not put off by my bluntness, as people sometimes are. And he can take it as well as he dishes it out, apparently.
I decide to write him back.
From: [email protected]
Re: apologies
Dear RoughRider,
Apology accepted. And I apologize for being so harsh.
So who are you, really? Why the secrecy?
I don’t suppose any advice can hurt, so go ahead and hit me with some. You said true alphas aren’t possessive, and I’m not sure I buy that, but I’m open to new ideas.
Sienna
I go about my workday, leaving for a meeting out of the office and then lunch with a friend from college, and when I get back to my office that afternoon, there’s a message waiting in my inbox.
From: [email protected]
Re: fresh start
Sienna,
Your apology wasn’t needed. I like your fire. Never change.
A man who’s loving his woman the right way doesn’t have to worry about other guys. He lives to make her laugh, to listen, and to be her shoulder to cry on. He knows her like no other man does—her favorite drink, how she likes to unwind, and what makes her beg for mercy in the bedroom. No stranger can compete with that.
A true alpha takes care of his girl: body, heart, and soul. The wannabes are all swagger, and maybe you’ve been fooled by them in the past. But there are real men like me out there, and we’d walk through fire for the woman we love.
I can’t tell you who I am. Does my name even matter all that much? The things I wrote above in this email—that’s who I am.
So tell me a little something about who you are. Not the ass-kicking CEO, but the woman inside. Who are you, really, Sienna?
RoughRider
My pulse is racing when I finish reading the message. I’m surprised by my reaction. The man who pissed me off with his every word just made me feel . . . warm inside.
I’m definitely writing back. But I’m going to make him wait until tomorrow. Which is good, because I may need until then to come up with an answer to his question.
Who am I, really? I’m not actually sure.