CHAPTER 2
Elena
The first time I saw Addler de Marco walk into a room, I’d swear I heard panties dropping all around me. We were in high school then, but nothing much has changed.
“He’s never been here,” Sage, a fellow contractor working for the oil and gas company, says flippantly. “We deal with Ezequiel, the ranch manager. He’s a piece of work,” she tacks on with a twist of her lips.
Despite her constant dieting, she complains about how tight her security uniform fits. I think she really doesn’t care much for food, which boggles the mind. If there was anywhere to get a hot meal within the hour-and-twenty-minutes’ drive from town to the ranch, I’d go there now. Instead, I take another bite of my ham sandwich on plain white bread and scroll through my phone, hoping Sage will drop the subject.
“I’ve never met him,” she continues, stirring her soup absentmindedly. “But the waitresses at Tacoriendo ran to the glass door to check him out.”
Like I said, nothing’s changed. Back then, every girl in class was drooling over the burly senior—except me.
“I thought it was hilarious, considering the place has windows across the front and one side of the building. I guess they got a better view from there.” She shrugs. “Best I can claim is that I saw him from a distance once.”
Personally, I don’t mind not seeing Addler. Not in the least. In fact, I’ve done everything possible to give him a wide berth over the years.
“He’s tall,” she recounts dreamily.
Six foot six. Still taller than me when he was sitting on the stool in the chemistry lab and I was standing beside him. Me, the plain, fat nerd who’d done well without a lab partner, until he showed up well after the school year started. The rumor was he was kicked out of the private school he attended—not for the first time. And that his expulsion had something to do with the dean’s wife, but that was never actually confirmed.
“Dark hair…”
Jet black. The thick locks looking windblown without him doing a damn thing. Meanwhile, I could spend twenty or thirty minutes trying to do my hair and still not be happy with the way it turned out.
Her cell beeps, signaling a message. “Green eyes, from what I hear,” she says, reaching for the phone.
“Amber,” I correct. With green flecks. The opposite of the norm.
“Oh.” She straightens in her seat, snapping out of her dreamy state. “Do you know him?” she asks wide-eyed.
Oh damn. Too late, I realize my mistake, but there’s no way to take back the words. “I’m a local,” I remind her, hoping that’ll end the conversation. I don’t need Sage drilling me for more information, especially when it’s information on Addler de Marco.
Like just about everyone else working for the company, she moved to Nueces following the oil boom in South Texas. Which means she knows about the ranch owners, but the de Marcos seldom venture into town. In fact, from what I hear, Addler prefers to spend his time in Houston for some reason. Even more now since they’ve opened the ranch to drilling. It shouldn’t surprise me that the rich boy would spend his life jet-setting when the family has their own plane.
The private plane landing at the airstrip in Delta section, the ten thousand acres set aside for the family, was what started the conversation. Then Sage took it and ran into the weeds. As the coordinator for the security guards at the various gates around the ranch, she’s notified of the owners’ every move. So it makes sense that she’s curious about him.
“I wouldn’t exactly say I know him.” I take a huge bite of my sandwich and chew slowly.
“What exactly would you say, then?” she prods, refusing to take the hint.
Damn. Why did I decide to come into the break room? The wooden paneling on the portable office building is the same in every room, so it makes little difference where I sit. The view, right down to the notches in the wood, is exactly the same, thanks to a cookie-cutter manufacturing process.
Despite the message on her phone, she waits as I try to squeeze out every last second before I have to swallow.
The two-way radio beeps. “Front gate to Sage,” the guard at the entrance says with a sense of urgency.
She blows out an annoyed breath and reaches for the clip at her waist. She fumbles with the hard plastic and finally brings the radio around. “Sage,” she replies into the unit. Her phone beeps again, drawing her attention. Her eyes go wide as she pulls the screen closer. “Holy shit.”
“See my message? Thought I had a speeder coming in,” the guard says from the radio.
She pushes out of her seat, stopping me mid-chew. I’ve never seen her look so frazzled. “He’s here.”
Mouth full, I scrunch my eyebrows and tip my chin up. “Who?” I manage from behind my hand.
“But it’s the ranch owner,” the guard continues. “He’s heading up the front steps.”
“The ranch owner,” she repeats with all the enthusiasm of a groupie.