Page 59 of Dallas Rivals

Roger.

Yeah, he’s a problem.

Still in town, still calling, and I’m still dodging him. I told him we’d meet tonight, but honestly, that was more wishful thinking than promise.

My mom probably mentioned something to Eliza.

“Oh, no,” I answer. “We’re going out. There’s this Argentine restaurant in Bishop Arts everyone’s obsessed with—I wanna try it.”

“Bishop Arts?” Oliver scoffs without looking up. “At night? Good luck finding parking.”

His eyes never leave the screen, and I swear he hasn’t scrolled a single line of that article.

That tone.

I know that tone.

“Well, Oliver⁠—”

“Mr. Walker,” my dad cuts in, eyes narrowing, voice like a warning shot.

I grin, wide and unbothered, while Oliver’s mouth twitches into half a smile.

“Mr. Walker,” I repeat sweetly, “for your information, Roger’s hotel is just a few blocks away. No need to worry about parking.”

“And how exactly do you plan on getting back here tonight?” His voice sharpens, eyes locked on me now—less a question, more a challenge.

Why does he assume I’m coming back tonight?

I’d tell him that, if my parents weren’t both watching this exchange like a tennis match.

“I’ll take an Uber,” I say simply.

“Uber doesn’t come all the way out here.”

Ugh.

“Well,” I say, grabbing a piece of toast in one hand and another between my teeth, “I’ll figure something out.” And with that, I head for the stables before he can get another word in.

“Cala!”

I hear his furious voice before I see him.

I swallow the last bite of toast like a penguin choking on a fish and reach for the other slice, trying to look busy.

But when he reaches me, I can feel his energy—heavy, restless, magnetic.

“What?”

He stands there, jaw tight, words stuck somewhere in his throat. I can see them fighting to come out.

“Take my truck.”

“Not a chance, boss.”

“Then I’ll come pick you up.”

“Even worse,” I snap, walking away before he can throw another order my way.