What I Should’ve Said
Chapter 23

Norah

Tad grins at me as he drops a binder onto the edge of the pool table that has the words Karaoke Songs labeled on the front.

I chortle at the sight. “That was your secret mission?”

I’ve spent the past hour or so hanging out with Red Bridge’s hottest sheep farmer, and I can’t deny that I’m enjoying myself. Tad is cute, friendly, and quite the talker. Maybe a little too good at talking, if I’m being honest. I’ve learned way more about sheep farming than I’ve ever wanted to know.

“Hey, you don’t know how difficult it is to get this binder on a Friday night. Karaoke is Red Bridge’s most popular pastime.” He nudges me playfully with his elbow. “So, what’s it going to be, Norah?”

“I’d like to remind you that I already did a song. And I don’t think Garth Brooks would appreciate if I do another.”

After I managed to drink half of my second glass of wine and Tad started getting a little too detailed about the difficulties of shearing wool, I let him convince me to get up onstage and sing “Friends in Low Places.” Poorly, I might add, because a singer I am not. The only thing I can and should do related to music is listen to it.

“And I’d like to remind you that you had fun up there onstage.”

“But I don’t want to be the only one having fun, Tad,” I tell him with a cheeky smile. “Which is why it’s time for you to pick a song and get your ass up there.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll take the bait. But only if you’ll agree to a duet.”

“I’m not dueting with you.” I roll my eyes and laugh at the same time. “But I will get up there one more time if you do the same and go first.”

“You have a deal, Norah Ellis.” A big smile covers his lips. “Already know which song I’ll sing.”

“Great.” I snort and finish off the rest of my second glass of wine with a hearty chug. I set the empty glass on a high-top table against the wall. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to run to the ladies’ room real quick before I have to follow through.”

“What song should I tell Mikey to play for ya?” Tad calls toward my now-retreating back. Mikey, the man he’s referring to, is Red Bridge’s hottest DJ. Or, you know, a twentysomething dude with a black mullet and some old DJ equipment.

“You just worry about your performance. I’ll tell Mikey when I get back,” I call back over my shoulder as I make a beeline for the restrooms.

A light flickers in the middle of the long hallway, signaling a bulb that probably needs to be changed, and I squint to adjust my vision as I seek out which of the two doors is labeled Ladies.

But I don’t get very far in my search because the person walking out of one of the doors is someone I know, someone I just saw mere hours ago—Bennett.

He’s changed his clothes from earlier today, wearing a simple pair of jeans and a clean white T-shirt with his usual brown boots. His hair looks like he’s run his fingers through it a thousand times. And his blue eyes appear ten shades darker under the bad lighting.

Though, the bad lighting doesn’t make him look bad. Not at all, actually. It simply highlights the hard edges of his muscular arms and chest and cloaks his face in something I can only describe as mystery. Sexy-as-hell mystery.

It’s confusing that God made a guy this difficult so damn good-looking.

He stops a mere foot away from me, and I have to look up, up, up to meet his eyes. Good Lord, he really is a big guy. Tall and well-built, if he were a tree, he’d be a damn redwood.

“Did you just get here?” I ask, and my heart bounces around in my chest as if I’m happy to see him. Like he was the exact person I was hoping I’d run into tonight. Which is nuts.

“Been here for a bit.” His voice is doing that honey and sandpaper thing I’ve come to know so well.

“Oh really?” I scrunch up my nose in surprise. “I didn’t see you come in.”

“Not surprised about that,” he mutters through a tight jaw. “You looked pretty occupied.”

Huh? Is it just me, or does it feel like I’m the last person Bennett Bishop wants to be around right now? After my three days of working for him and actually getting along with him, his current stone-faced demeanor is giving me whiplash. I mean, I was just in his studio with him and Summer this afternoon, and everything felt…good. It felt relaxed.

But this feels loaded.

He doesn’t give my brain time to catch up before he’s tossing a question at me. “How much have you had?”

“How much have I had?” I repeat, my mouth full of bewilderment. “What are you—”

“To drink.” He steps closer to me, leaning down to meet my eyes. “How much have you had to drink, Norah?”

“Uh…not much.”

“How much is not much?” he continues, and someone slather butter on me because I’m a kabob being grilled. “I sure as shit hope you’re not planning on driving home tonight.”

Jeez Louise. What’s his problem?

“Relax, Dad,” I tease, trying to lighten his mood. “I’m being a good girl. Only had two glasses of wine.”

It doesn’t work.

“I think it’s time you cut yourself off,” he comments, and his smile isn’t really a smile at all. It’s an accusation. “Otherwise, you might give that sheep farmer exactly what he wants.”

“Sheep farmer?” Is he talking about Talkative Tad?

“You know who I’m talking about. You’ve been up his ass since I got here.”

My jaw might as well hit the floor.

“Up his ass?” I question on a scoff, stepping back to lean against the wall and cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t think so.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to pretend on my account.” Bennett steps even closer to me and surprises me by reaching forward to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. His fingers are gentle—tender, even—but his eyes are the exact opposite. They hold an edge of silent interrogation. “Farmer Ted is working hard to get into your panties tonight, and by the looks of it, you don’t mind one bit.”

If my eyes get any wider right now, they’ll consume my whole face. Seriously. I’d just be a head with two eyeballs. “His name is Tad, not Ted. And he’s not trying to get into my panties.” Frankly, he’s too busy trying to get me to sing karaoke and talking about his sheep.

Bennett smirks and rests one hand on the wall beside my head. He leans closer and drops his voice to a whisper. “Yeah, sweetheart. That’s exactly what he’s trying to do.”

He’s so close, I can make out the flecks of gold in his blue eyes. And the smell of his cologne invades my nostrils, filling my head with cedar and cinnamon and soft vanilla all at once.

I hate how good he smells. Technically, you hate how much you love it.

“He’s just being friendly,” I attempt to redirect my thoughts and this insane conversation. I don’t know what crawled up Bennett’s ass tonight, but I’m starting to get pretty ticked off that I’m on the receiving end of his ire when I know I don’t deserve to be.

I’ve done nothing wrong besides exist and butcher one of Garth Brooks’s most popular songs.

“Friendly?” His laugh is devoid of comedy. “Is that a newfangled word for trying to fuck you?”

One second, I’m standing there, listening to Bennett spout bullshit in my direction. And the next, my palm replaces its way to his cheek with a loud smack.

Holy shit! What are you doing? You just smacked Bennett—your new boss—in the face!

Déjà vu hits me like a truck. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this, but the biggest difference is that now, he’s my employer. The man whose assistant job has finally made me feel like I am really turning my life around.

You idiot!

“Oh my God. I…I…I…” I open and close my mouth several times, unsure of what to say or do. A thousand apologies sit on my lips, but when I see that Bennett is just standing there, smirking down at me, I clamp my lips closed.

And when he says, “Did I strike a nerve, sweetheart? You want to fuck the sheep farmer?”

My hand replaces its way to his face for a second time.