Chapter 2
RIGHT NOW
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she white-knuckled the steering wheel of her vintage, 1972 Oldsmobile. She couldn’t stop the never ending list of what ifs pounding in her brain. She wasn’t sad, she was pissed. The man she thought was her dream come true turned out to be a nightmare from hell, and that nightmare’s name was Maxwell Harrison.
Maxwell Harrison was a high rolling real estate agent with his own brokerage. He’d very quickly become a self-made millionaire at the ripe old age of twenty-five. Harrison Premier Brokers. She made a face as she remembered the day Max took her to see the place he so affectionately referred to as his baby . She blew out a chestful of air. The irony was disgusting to her.
Yeah, she was twenty-years-old, and maybe she was naive. But she was a hopeless romantic at heart, and Max had metaphorically come riding in on his white horse, swept her off her feet, and told her he loved her on the second date. She remembered the scene like it was yesterday and cringed knowing now that it was all an act.
How was she supposed to know that wasn’t reality? Soulmates existed, right? Knights in shining armor? Love at first sight?
They’d sat there on the hood of his fancy car, staring out over the city lights—his arms wrapped around her when he proposed. The ring he’d slid on her finger when she said yes was the biggest diamond she’d ever seen. A solid four-carat solitaire with a white gold band holding it up. The wedding set she’d later picked out to go with it only made the ring look like it belonged to Queen Elizabeth herself.
Max was the image of perfection. Tall, handsome, established, and connected to all the right people. Just the type of man her parents would approve of. Too bad they’d never gone out of their way to meet him. They would’ve finally had the son they’d always wanted and could be proud of.
The intrusive thoughts played like a movie in her mind. What if she’d married him? It would’ve ruined her life. Then what? Divorce? Or worse—a life of misery and unhappiness, strapped to a man who controlled her every move and treated her like trash in the process.
Prior to ditching his stupid ass, she worked for Max in reception. Answering phones and bringing him contracts and coffee. He’d told her before she started that the first thing he wanted everyone to see when they walked through his door was the face of an angel. His thumb had caressed her bottom lip when he’d said it. After they'd become engaged, and before her first day of work, he’d made an appointment with his favorite designer in town to have her fitted for w ork attire .
She’d walked out of the high-end storefront with a rack of black dresses. They were form fitting, knee length, with plunging necklines—all of which made her extremely uncomfortable.
Once, he’d called her back to his office and made her sit on the edge of his desk while he worked. She could still feel his hand slowly climbing up her leg and under the hem of her dress. She didn’t let his hand wander any higher than that, and it made him salty.
She should’ve known then that Max didn’t want a wife. He wanted a trophy—someone to look at and touch whenever he wanted. He would've made sure that she never gained a pound or had a single stretch mark on her. No commitments other than to the man she belonged to.
She remembered the day she met him.
She’d been waitressing at the La Grande Boucherie, one of the most expensive steakhouses in Chicago. She'd put in an application after high school on a whim, not believing for one second that she’d get an interview. But when she had, her parents were enraged. They’d always given her anything and everything she wanted, but now she was wrecking every carefully laid plan they’d ever made for her.
Her mother had set her up with tutors in academics, and private lessons from skilled instructors in music and literature. At one point, her mother tried to turn her into a prima ballerina, but then her dream of a Juilliard daughter went down the drain. Blythe refused to get on pointe shoes the day she turned twelve. Those stupid things were painful, so she made a promise to work harder on her piano skill set instead. Though, it never got strong enough to qualify for such a school.
“You were accepted into the University of Chicago! I can’t believe I raised a daughter and gave her literally everything, just to see her throw it all away and become a waitress after graduation!”
Her mother had stormed off, and her dad stopped all funds flowing into her bank account.
She didn’t care.
Her father was the owner of an Inc 5000 tech company, and her mother was the CEO of spending his money. It was hard to believe that her mom shared even a drop of DNA with her Uncle Chris. Her mom and her uncle weren’t close, and her dad never wanted to dirty his white collar by associating with him. They did, however, love to pawn her off with Chris for a few weeks every summer—so they could jet off somewhere exotic without her. Thank heaven for that. It was the one adventurous thing she had to look forward to as a little girl.
The restaurant had asked for a photo during the application process, and when she'd arrived for the interview, the upper management didn’t even ask questions before they told her she was hired.
“You’ve got the look. We like to make sure our girls are top tier body type and face. The men who come in here don’t spend as much or tip as well when there’s an ugly waitress.”
Blythe had been shocked. Her hair was long, wavy, and auburn… pretty. But it wasn’t like she was some tall, beautiful brunette or blonde goddess. Her eyes were hazel-green, and her lips were average but full. She did have a smattering of freckles across her nose, and she remembered wondering how in the world that was the type of face they were looking for? She never disliked her appearance. She felt cute and confident when she looked in the mirror. But those men acted as if she was Marilyn Monroe and scooped her up as quickly as she walked in the door. It’d made her uncomfortable, but she pushed the feeling away because the job paid extremely well, not to mention the tips.
One Saturday evening, while tending to a large corner table, she’d felt a hand slip into hers as she turned to walk away.
“What did you say your name was again?”
His voice was velvety smooth and innocent. Stunned, she’d turned to look down at the man holding her hand. He was extremely handsome—ebony hair, brown eyes, clean shaven, suit and tie just like every other patron that ever walked into the place.
His cologne wafted up her nose, and she’d been a bit intoxicated before answering him. “Um, I, uh…Blythe. My name is Blythe.”
“That means joy, doesn’t it ?” The man shot back.
“What are you, Webster's dictionary ?” one of the other men joked as he sipped his scotch.
“Maxwell Harrison, but you can call me Max.” He'd said it with a wink while rubbing his thumb across the top of her hand.
Every time Max dined at La Grande Boucherie, he’d requested her to wait on him. He never came alone, until one day when he asked her on a date. He’d wined and dined her—made her feel like his queen.
Jackass.
She wasn’t his anymore. As of this morning, she never planned on seeing him again. Before she dipped out of the city, she threw away every rose in the community dumpster near Harrison Premier. Then she walked up to the glass door of the building and pulled out her key. She made sure it was early, before anyone arrived to work, and quietly left one last gift for Max.
She’d carefully propped a note next to the cut flowers he always requested she send for. Freaking douche canoe and his stupid obsession with flowers. Next time she saw one, she wanted it peeking out of the ground—like the bed of irises she'd planted with her aunt in front of the house at Silo Springs.
The vase was sitting on the high top desk in front, where Blythe sat every day to greet clients as they walked in. She’d positioned the elegant ring box next to the note, with a single line that read…
“I will never come to my senses. I am no man’s trophy.”
She hadn’t signed it, and she didn’t care who found it first.
Pulled back to the present moment, tears still streamed down her cheeks. Though, they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of fury and outright disbelief that any of it even happened in the first place.
“Get yourself together, Blythe!” she shouted to herself inside the empty car.
Why she’d given him the ring back was beyond her. She’d thought about keeping the four-carat diamond and pawning it for cash. But about two seconds later, she envisioned police officers at her door with handcuffs—and a warrant for her arrest.
Yeah, not on her bingo card for this year. But then again, neither was ditching her super rich fiancé and running off to Montana for the summer.
Living life on the edge there, girlfriend… Way to keep it interesting.
She swatted the steering wheel then gripped it tighter. But as she drove toward her uncle's ranch, where all of her childhood dreams had come true, there was a sigh of relief. Silo Springs had always been more home than home was.
It was where she ran and played as a little girl.Where she caught lizards and toads, played in the mud, and felt the wind on her face. That place gave her wings, and soon she’d be there, running barefoot through the yellow fields of grass. Nothing but hills and blue sky in front of her.
Her Uncle Chris had two little girls, Adelaide and Evolette. Addie was ten, and Evie was eight. When Chris invited her to come stay with them, he’d promised to pay her. He said the girls needed someone to help feed and take care of them while school wasn’t in session. He needed to be able to take care of things without worrying about who they were with or what they were doing. She’d tried to argue, but he wouldn’t budge. Truth be told, she would’ve done it for free, as long as he gave her a bed to sleep in and food in her belly. She wouldn’t need much cash and didn’t have any bills to pay. Jenny already had another friend who’d jumped at the offer to take Blythe’s place in their apartment.
Blythe’s little cousins were the spitting image of her childhood self. If not physically, their spirits were kindred to her own. It would be so fun to spend the summer with them. She hadn't been back to Montana since she was fifteen. Addie was only five then, and Evie was three. Chris always sent pictures, though, and she called and video chatted with them often.
Adelaide was her mother’s reincarnate—long blonde hair, blue eyes, satin pink skin, and just plain lovely. There was no other way to describe her. Evie took after her daddy. She was adorned with a crown of brown curls, chestnut eyes, and freckles from head to toe. Someday, she’d give a man a run for his money with her confidence. She was beautiful in her own right—definitely more rough around the edges than her sister. Though, they were both pretty heathen, and that was the most exciting part for Blythe.