Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(3)

“Look at you now?—”

My pointer finger aims straight at him. “Don’t even say it.”

As he speaks, his hands make sweeping, dramatic movements through the air. “World’s Hottest Billionaire.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah. You love me. I’m the sunshine to your grumpy.”

My brows pinch together. “What?”

“It’s a thing in romance books?—”

A knock at the door cuts him off, and we both turn to look across the barn, toward the rickety front door down a narrow hallway that turns sharply into the kitchenette.

“Who would be here?” West whispers like we’re in trouble.

Maybe we are. I’ve only been in town for a short while, working on the main house, so I have no idea who it could be. My sister Willa would barge in unannounced. My parents would call. My best friend is sitting across from me.

Truth is, I have no one else in my life who cares about me enough to drive all this way.

I keep my circle tight and trust few. The allure of Rose Hill is that the paparazzi don’t want to spend all day driving to maybe get a shot.

“I don’t know.” I shrug and West’s eyes go wide as an owl’s as he shrugs back.

Another knock.

“I can hear you whispering in there,” a feminine voice I don’t recognize calls from the other side of the wooden door.

My head goes to Rosie first, but this voice sounds too young to be hers. So, with a heavy sigh, I stride toward the door and yank it open.

Before me stands a girl. She’s wearing black ripped jeans. Black Chuck Taylors. An oversized Death From Above 1979 T-shirt—one of my favorite bands. The garment boasts a few intentionally distressed holes across it. Her pitch-black hair is tied in two braids, one down each shoulder, complemented with straight bangs in a slash across her forehead. All of this is topped off with an unimpressed expression on her face. The top loop of a JanSport backpack dangles from her fingers.

I don’t know how old she is. Young. Looks like that awkward, confusing age just before you become a teenager—based on her sullen stare and the sizable zit on her chin. She crosses her arms and drags her gaze from my face down to my feet before making her way back up.

“Who are you?” I don’t mean to sound like a dick when I say it. After all, she’s just a kid.

Her lips flatten, and she blinks once, slowly. “Your daughter, dickhead.”

Now it’s my turn to blink slowly. I hear West’s chair roll across the hardwood and his heavy steps as he approaches.

“Pardon me?” I say. I heard the words, but my brain is not processing their meaning.

“You’re my dad,” she says and rolls her eyes. “Biologically speaking.”

But there’s no way. There’s absolutely no way. The mere statement puts me on the defensive. It’s laughable.

One stupid Forbes article about my bank account and the cockroaches crawl out. I know this story all too well. I almost feel bad for the girl. She’s too young to pull this off on her own. Someone must have put her up to it.

“Listen, whatever your name is, I’m not sure what you’re after from me, but I can take a guess. And you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“My name is Cora Holland. Your name is Ford Grant Junior, and you’re my biological dad.”

“Oof, leave the junior off,” West murmurs from behind me. “He hates that.”

I don’t spare my friend a glance. Instead, I stare down at the snarky little kid spouting total bullshit right to my face. She’s got a lot of nerve. I’ll give her that. “That’s impossible. I never fucked Morticia Addams.”

Her head tilts and her eyes roll again. She barely reacts. “Really original, nepo baby. Never heard that joke before.” She rifles through her backpack. Black, of course. With a flourish, she pulls out a sheet of paper emblazoned with a logo I recognize.

The company I submitted DNA to so I could complete a family tree as a gift for my mom.

“What about a paper Dixie cup?” she continues. “A petri dish? A sterile tube? You fuck any of those for a few bucks at any point in your life?”

I feel every drop of blood sink down to my feet as my stomach turns and my head spins.

Because yes, in fact, I did.

West slaps my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze as he edges past me and out the door. “Right, well, see you at bowling, I guess.”

And then I’m left here.

Alone.

Staring at a young girl who may well be my biological child. And feeling like what I might actually be is the World’s Most Unprepared Dad.





CHAPTER TWO


ROSIE





I smile back at the boardroom full of people.

My boss.

My boss’s boss.

My boss’s boss’s boss.

I wanted so badly to nail this presentation. I think I did. No, I know I did. But you wouldn’t think so based on the blank looks and absent nods. It’s not like I expected a standing ovation, but a couple of pats on the back might have been nice.

Instead, it’s borderline awkward.

“And, well…” I wipe my hands down the front of my pencil skirt, a sign of how nervous I am. “That’s my take on the acquisition based on the research I’ve done.”