A Cowboy for the CEO

Chapter 35: Someone I Used to Know

"So you're now an expert on what goes on in my head?" she asked as she balled her fists, watching him fiddle with something inside the truck's bed.

"Not an expert, but you're fairly easy to read," he called over his shoulder.

Ali gritted her teeth. "All right. What's the answer, then?"

He faced her again. "You should turn down the offer."

"Why would I do that?" Her eyes narrowed at the statement.

Hank stuck his hands in his pockets. "Because you hate your job."

Her jaw dropped. "That's so not true. I've worked very hard to get where I am, and I deserve that job."

"Then why didn't you say yes to this grand opportunity immediately?" He paused, but when she didn't reply, he continued. "That's right. Because deep down, you really don't want it. You don't want any of it. The only reason you're doing that job is because your mother set you on the path years ago. And of course you couldn't fail because then you wouldn't be you, so you excelled and climbed the corporate ladder. But it doesn't make you happy."

"Oh, like you're qualified to give advice on what makes people happy." She gestured toward the scattered furniture. "You're practically living out of a suitcase. If that isn't an indication that you're clinging to an unattainable past, then I don't know what is."

He scoffed. "You're such a hypocrite!"

"How's that?" She raised her chin defiantly.

"You're the golden child who breezed through Yale, got a cushy job, and now rules the financial world. Surely nothing bad can happen. Well, guess what? It did and it could again. Maybe your only fault was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It doesn't matter. You're human, Ali. Accept it and move on. At least you have that option."

When she just stared at him, Hank shook his head and returned to the truck to remove a wooden table.

"You don't have to haul everything back." Her voice quivered as she held back tears. "I'll call the movers—"

"Jesus, Ali!" Hank dropped the table onto its thin legs with a clank. "This isn't about the fucking furniture."

"Then what is it about?" She threw her arms up in exasperation. How could they have gone from the candor and intimacy of last night to such a sudden, inexplicable blowout? "Because you're sure as hell not making any sense."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Just forget it," Hank whispered, looking up and stepping closer. "I'm sorry. I—I need to work some stuff out."

He sounded defeated, and Ali allowed him to hold her in spite of knowing his argument—even if it was born from exhaustion and frustration over his own illness—wouldn't easily leave her.

Hank disappeared for the rest of the day—not that it made any difference. Ali kept repeating the awful scene in her head, making her wonder why he bothered with her in the first place if he thought she was so flawed. She even considered backing out of Saturday's party, but Liz's growing excitement leading up to the final touches was infectious, despite everything.

"I got you a little something, but promise not to open it until after dinner," Liz said as she met her by the reception desk the following evening, handing Ali a square, flat box.

Tied with a silk ribbon, the box was small enough to fit into Ali's palm, and she blushed at the unexpected gesture. "You're so sweet—but why are you giving me this?"

Liz grinned mischievously. "You'll see when you open it. But not before dinner," she warned again, flicking a piece of lint from her floor-length, maroon gown.