Page 23 of Dallas Rivals

When I’m here, I’m not the daughter who came back home, or the girl who left halfway through a dream, or the employee who’s constantly being watched through a pair of binoculars.

I’m just… Cala.

For a few minutes, that feels like enough.

“Cala!”

Someone’s shouting from far off.

I pull out my earbuds and stick my head up between the plants.

Angelo’s looking for me in the tall grass, waving his arms like I’m a lost kid at the fair.

“What?!” I shout back.

“Need anything before I head out?”

“We’ve talked about this! I’m not your boss!” I yell.

He laughs—he’s got that kind of smile that makes little dimples in his cheeks.

Adorable. Totally not my type, though.

Then again, I don’t really have a type.

Henry Cavill doesn’t count, and Roger was… well, entertaining.

Definitely not long-term material.

“Alright then, just checking! You good?”

“I’m good!”

“See ya tomorrow!”

“Arrivederci, Angelo!” I call out, and he cracks up again, shaking his head as he walks away.

I started doing that after he mentioned his Italian roots—now it’s kind of my personal mission to annoy him in two languages.

“Anyway, as I was saying…” I turn back to the plants, focusing on one leaf that’s turning brown.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” I tell it.

The audiobook I’ve been listening to says talking to plants helps them grow—so here I am, giving it a try.

“This wasn’t my first choice of career, but I gotta admit, after three weeks, I’m starting to like it here.

I wake up excited to check on everyone. The horses, especially. I swear they already know what time I’m coming. They start neighing the moment I step outside.

It’s wild, right? They don’t even wear watches and⁠—”

“Miss Saint-Clair!”

That voice freezes every muscle in my back.

I go dead silent, crouching lower between the rows of plants.

Maybe if I stay still, he’ll think I don’t exist.