“So, I have a plan.”
I peer back at Kip through the slits of my eyes. “I already hate it.”
He laughs. And smiles. Because that fucker knows he has me over a barrel. We both know my days are numbered, and I’ve made the mistake of telling him my family needs more money to maintain the ranch long-term. I’ll take what I need to live comfortably somewhere on our land and then work with my older brother, Cade, to keep Wishing Well Ranch up and running.
That’s what you do for family. Whatever it takes.
“That’s fine. We both know you’ll do it anyway.”
I glare at him. What a dick.
He gestures across the table. “This is Summer. She’s new on the team. Has been an intern here for several years. She’s also your new shadow.”
My brows scrunch up along with my nose. Because this plan already smells like shit. “Elaborate.”
“For the next two months, through the end of the World Championships in Las Vegas, she will work as your assistant. A media liaison. Someone who understands public perception and can help you polish your image. You two will discuss and come up with a plan. And then she’ll consult with me so that I don’t strangle you for being such a colossal cocksucker. I’m sure she’d be open to helping with any other administrative work you might need as well. Mostly, though, she’ll be there to watch and keep you out of trouble.”
I glance at the woman, and she nods, not seeming alarmed by this suggestion at all.
“Now I know you’re kidding. Because there’s no way you’d assign a man my age a glorified babysitter. That’s just insulting, Kip.”
I want him to burst out laughing and tell me this is his idea of pulling my leg.
But he doesn’t. He just stares back at me, like the woman, giving my brain time to catch up to what he’s already decided for me.
“The fuck outta here.” I laugh in disbelief as I sit up straighter to glance around the room for some proof that this is a really excellent and hilarious joke. Something my brothers would pull on me for sure.
But the only thing I get is more silence.
This is not a drill, not a joke. This is a fucking nightmare.
“No, thanks. I’ll take that guy.” I point at the other dude. The one who can’t even look me in the eye. He’ll be perfect for me to pretend he doesn’t exist. Not the uptight ball-buster who stares at me like I’m a dumb hick.
Kip steeples his hands again and crosses his legs. “No.”
“No?” I sound incredulous. “I pay you, not the other way around.”
“Then find someone else who will fix this shitstorm better than I can. It’s only the future of your family farm on the line.”
Heat slashes across my cheeks, barely hidden by the stubble there. And for once, I’m speechless. Utterly speechless. My jaw pops under the pressure of grinding my teeth against each other.
Milk. Taken down by fucking milk.
A piece of plain white paper slides in front of me from across the table. Nude polished fingernails tap on it twice. Prissy. “Write your address here, please.”
“My address?” My gaze shoots up to meet hers.
“Yes. The place where you live.” I swear her cheek twitches. It’s fucking rude.
My head swivels to Kip. “Why am I giving this girl my address again?”
He smiles and reaches forward to clap me on the shoulder. “You’re not Peter Pan, Rhett. You won’t be losing your shadow. Not for the next two months.”
My mind reels. He can’t mean . . .
“Where you go, she goes.”
Kip gives me a vicious smile, not the one he gave me when I walked in the room. No, this one is full of warning. “And Eaton, that girl is my daughter. My princess. So, mind your goddamn manners, keep your hands to yourself, and stay the hell out of trouble, yeah?”
The snarky princess is supposed to live at the ranch with me? Good God, this is so much worse than I imagined.
My weekend has been on a downhill spiral ever since that fucking video, and when I storm out of the shiny office, it doesn’t get any better because I forgot to plug the meter on that great parking spot I got.
3
Summer
Summer: Heading out there now.
Dad: Be safe. Don’t let that asshole in your pants.
Summer: I’m really more of a skirt gal.
Dad: -_-
“Okay, wait. How long are you going to be gone?”
“I mean, I’m not gone, Wils. I’m like an hour outside of the city. The drive to your barn isn’t that much less from where you live.”
“I need notice for things like this. Who am I supposed to go for boozy brunches with? What if I find a whole new best friend while you’re gone?”
I laugh at that. My best friend has a flair for the dramatic. It’s part of her charm. “Then I guess you never really loved me,” I reply wistfully.
“This is the worst news. For me anyway. You’re probably all giddy and wet in the panties. Remember that photo you—”
“Willa, please. That was a long time ago. I’m an adult. I’m a professional. Hot athletes are my job every day. Don’t make this weird for me.”
She groans. “Why do you have to be so responsible? And mature? It makes me feel like a child.”
“You’re not a child. Possibly more like a teenager?” I peer around, trying to make sure I catch the right turn because the dusty back roads aren’t the most well-marked. But I see the range road sign up ahead and turn just in time, tires wobbling on the gravel.
“I guess I can live with that. Growing up is the worst. It’s just not for me, you know?”
I laugh at that. Willa is plenty grown up. She’s just playful. She’s fun. She’s good for me. “You run a tight ship with all the guys at the bar. I think you’re more grown up than you realize.”
“Take that back!” She laughs before adding, “And bang the cowboy. Do it.”
Willa has always been the one to loosen me up, the one to pick me up when I’m down, the one to rub my back when I cried over Rob.
But sometimes she’s also wrong.
“You want me to ruin my budding career to sleep with my teenaged celebrity crush, who by all appearances hates my guts? Thanks. I’ll take that under advisement.”
“That’s all I’m asking, ya know?” We chuckle together, like we have for the past fifteen years. I don’t have a lot of friends. But I’d rather have one Willa than an entire pack of people who don’t truly get me.
I catch sight of a driveway up ahead and slow to read the numbers on the fence. “I gotta go. I’ll text later.”
“You better. Love you.”
“Love you back,” I say absently before sighing with relief that the numbers are a match for what Rhett wrote on the piece of paper. I click off my Bluetooth and turn into the driveway, ready to face whatever mess I’ve been roped into by my father.
The raw-post fences that line the property usher me in through the main gate where those posts rise high above the driveway. The beam that crosses over the top is adorned with a wrought iron sign in the shape of a wishing well. And attached by two narrow chains, dangling beneath, is a slab of wood with the words Wishing Well Ranch branded into it.