4
1766 Words
“Not a problem, Kip. I pay you the big bucks so that you can boss me around, right?”
We both laugh, but we also both know I just reminded him I’m the one paying him here. Not the other way around.
He claps me on the back, and my teeth shake. He’s a big man. “Follow me. Let’s chat in the conference room. Congratulations on your win this weekend. You’re going on quite the streak this year.”
I have no business winning as many events as I have been this season at my age. I should be on the downhill slide of my career, but the stars are aligning right now. And Three-Time World Champion sounds a lot better than Two-Time World Champion. And three gold buckles on my shelf would look better than two.
“Sometimes the stars align.” I grin at him as he ushers me into a room that holds a long table surrounded by generic-looking black office chairs with a generic-looking man sitting in one. Brownish, close-cut hair. Brownish eyes. Gray suit. Bored expression. Manicured nails. Soft hands. City boy.
Next to him is a woman who is anything but generic. Deep brown hair that shines an almost mahogany color when the sun hits where it’s twisted into a tight bun on the crown of her head. Her black-rimmed glasses are a smidge too strong on her dainty, doll-like face, but her almost over-full lips painted a deep, warm pink somehow balance them out.
The ivory dress shirt she’s wearing buttons all the way up, lace trim wrapped tight around her throat. There’s a slightly bemused twist to her mouth, but her arms are crossed protectively across her chest and sparkling chocolate eyes give nothing away as she sizes me up from above the top rim of her glasses.
I know better than to judge a book by its cover. But the word uptight flits across my mind while I assess her all the same.
“Take a seat, Rhett.” Kip pulls out a chair directly across from the woman and smoothly folds himself into the seat beside me before steepling his fingers beneath his chin.
I flop down and push away from the table, crossing a booted foot over my knee. “Alright. Give me my s******g so I can go home, Kip. I’m tired.”
My agent quirks a brow and regards me carefully. “I don’t need to give you a s******g. You’ve officially lost the Dairy King sponsorship, and I think that’s probably bad enough.”
I rear back, and my neck flushes. That same sensation of getting in trouble as a child. Missed curfew. Jumped off the bridge with the big kids when I wasn’t supposed to. Trespassed on the Jansens’ farm. There was always something. I was never not in trouble. But this is different. This isn’t childhood fun and games. This is my livelihood. “You have to be kidding me.”
“I wouldn’t kid about this, Rhett.” His lips flatten, and he shrugs. The look says I’m not mad, I’m disappointed. And I hate that distinction, because deep down, I hate failing people. When they’re mad, it means they care about you. They want better for you. They know you’re capable of better. When they’re indifferent like this, it’s almost like they expected you to blow it.
It’s why I’ve always said I don’t care what people think of me. Then they don’t have the power to make me feel like this—clearly, it’s not working.
I shift in my seat, eyes darting to the two other people in the room. The guy has the good sense to look down at the papers in front of himself.
But the woman holds my gaze. That same unflinching look on her face. And somehow, I just know she’s judging me.
My hand swipes across my mouth as I clear my throat. “Well, how do we get them back?”
Kip leans back with a deep sigh, fingers tapping against the armrests of the chair he’s in. “I’m not sure we can. In fact, I think we might be doing damage control more than anything. Hoping other sponsors don’t jump ship. Wrangler. Ariat. These are all companies who know their clientele. And their clientele are the people you’ve pissed off. Not to mention, punching a man with a camera rolling is a PR nightmare.”
My eyes find the ceiling as I tip my head back and swallow audibly. “Who knew not liking milk was a crime? And that guy deserved to have his jaw adjusted.”
The woman across from me huffs out a small scoff, and my eyes slide over to hers. Again, she doesn’t look away. The f**k is she staring at?
She just smirks. Like me blowing a multimillion-dollar sponsorship is funny to her. I’m exhausted. I’m sore. My patience is beyond fried. But I’m a gentleman, so I rub my tongue along the front of my teeth and turn my focus back to Kip.
“If that camera hadn’t been filming, it would have been fine. But don’t let anyone hear you talking that way about assaulting someone. I worked my ass off to keep that fucker from pressing charges.”
I roll my eyes. I’m pretty sure worked my ass off is code for spent a bunch of my hard-earned money to shut the guy up. “Why was the camera even rolling? Was it intentional?”
The older man sighs and shakes his head. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? The damage is done.”
“Fuck.” I groan and let my eyes drift shut for a moment as I roll my shoulders, taking stock of how painful the right one is. The way I landed on that last ride was not ideal. Rookie dismount.
“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 d**k.
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 s**t. “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 f**k 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 f*****g 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 f*****g 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 f*****g 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 f*****g 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.
- Writer
