Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
MILLER
For God’s sake, Brooke, pick up.
The uneven floor of the barn loft creaks beneath my feet as I pace, tugging on the roots of my hair.
Why the hell didn’t I think of this earlier?
My call’s already gone to voicemail once, so I hope to shit that she doesn’t have her phone on Do Not Disturb now it’s after nine p.m.
“What the hell, Miller?” She sounds groggy and breathless.
“Oh, thank fuck. I was terrified you might be asleep.”
“I was better than asleep.” There’s a male laugh in the background. “Only three months till the baby comes. We have to make the most of the undisturbed time.”
“Lucky you.”
“Wouldn’t do you any harm to get some too.” She makes a sound like she’s heaving her pregnant body into a sitting position. “But what’s the emergency? Not enough tick removal instructions in the top secret donkey dossier?”
“No, no, that was excellent. Thank you.” She is truly the most brilliant assistant I could wish for, and I really should show her more appreciation. “I need you to get hold of whoever puts the pictures on our website and remove every photo of me right now.”
“What?”
“Exactly what I said. All pictures of me off our website.”
“Why?”
“Because I was looking over our offer for the Warm Springs land and realized I’d forgotten that the web address is at the bottom of every fucking page.”
The fact that Frankie would only need to click on the About Us section to see my face grinning back at her alongside my real name only came to me while I was in the shower at the house. She’d let me in before heading off to see her grandpa this evening.
So now here I am, not only dreading whatever donkey-related hell tomorrow has in store for me, but also desperate to eradicate all images of myself from my own company’s website.
There’s silence on Brooke’s end for a second. “You mean you don’t want the owners to know what you look like?” She speaks slowly, like her own words are baffling her.
“Exactly.”
“Becaaause …?”
I puff out a sigh as I perch on the edge of the cot. “You’ll think it’s ridiculous.”
“I’ve heard plenty of your ridiculous things. I’m immune. So, go on.” She whispers a thank you, followed by the sound of her taking a sip of a drink.
“It’s not just the old man who owns the place. His granddaughter owns it too. She’s running it right now. And has zero intention of selling it. And I’m a dumbass for not noticing there was a second name on the paperwork the lawyer drew up.”
“That’s great though, right?” Brooke says. “If she’s a hard ass who won’t sell, then you don’t have to worry about Skinner buying it anymore.”
“Not the point. This might be the first and last time I ever get a heads-up about what he’s trying to buy. So if he wants it, I’m getting it. No matter what it takes.”
“And this is why you wanted to learn about donkeys?” she asks.
“Yes. I’m volunteering here. And if Frankie, the granddaughter, looks at the website, she’ll see who I really am.”
“Hold on.” Brooke’s voice immediately takes on that sharp school-teacherly tone it gets when I’m doing something she doesn’t approve of.
“Are you saying you’re pretending to be a volunteer at the sanctuary?
Like, you’ve given a false name? So you can convince her to sell to us?
Without her ever knowing you own the fucking company? ”
“It sounds bad when you put it like that.”
“I put it like that because that’s exactly how it is. And it sounds bad because that’s exactly what it is.”
“Brooke, I’m tired. And I need to learn about donkeys. And I have to be up early tomorrow to muck them out and refresh the hay. And I have no idea how much sleep I’m going to get on this camping cot.”
“You’re sleeping on a camping cot?” I know exactly how wide her eyes will be right now. “Why are you sleeping on a cot?”
“Because I’m staying in a barn on the property.”
“You’re staying in a barn?” She couldn’t sound more shocked if I told her I’ve appointed myself the new Commoners’ goalkeeper.
“Have you been kidnapped and this is your cry for help? Or have you been kidnapped and replaced by a fake Miller Malone who hasn’t done his research properly and thinks you’re an outdoorsy type who wouldn’t even remotely consider going over his five-star hotel room with antibacterial wipes before so much as breathing in it? ”
“I’m not that bad.”
“You totally sanitized The Ritz in London the last time you stayed there.”
“That’s only because I thought I might be coming down with a cold and didn’t want to catch anything else while my immunity was low.”
“Let me book you a hotel. You’ll be as miserable as hell staying in a barn.” She pauses to hoot with laughter. “A barn. Honestly, it’s hilarious if I think about it.”
“It’s not hilarious. And no, thanks. I need to stay here. So I can get close to her.”
“What the fuck? You’re planning on seducing her into signing your contract?”
“That’s absolutely not what I meant.”
“Is she attractive?”
I inhale a long breath while the curve of Frankie’s lips, the swell of her breasts, and the roundness of her ass drift across my mind. “That’s got nothing to do with anything.”
“Ah-ha,” Brooke cries in victory. “I knew there had to be an actual reason you’re sleeping in a barn. You’ve gone all tingly for the woman you’re trying to trick into selling the place to you.”
“I have not gone all tingly.” No way am I mentioning the sensation that ripples through my chest every time she tucks her hair behind her ear, or how I ache to do it for her, or how I somehow came to life when she laughed at the voluminous pants in the Tractor Trunk.
“I’m not sure any woman’s ever made me go all tingly.
And between the business and the soccer club, I sure as hell don’t have time for any tingly bullshit.
Particularly not with the person standing in the way of me giving Skinner the metaphorical beatdown I’ve been wanting to give him for half my fucking life. ”
“That’s good,” Brooke says. “Because once she figures out you’re the mystery billionaire property magnate trying to buy her land, there isn’t a chance in hell she’d be interested in you anyway.”
“I don’t give a damn if she’s interested in me.” There’s a sudden heavy weight in my belly. Man, it felt good when Frankie told the donkey I was nice. “I just need her to sell me the land so I can rub Skinner’s face in it once and for all.”
“And then you’re going to finally let go of the Skinner thing, right?” Brooke’s tone is full of suspicion.
“Absolutely.”
“Sure, yeah.” She couldn’t sound more skeptical.
“Anyway, the point is, it’s super important that my picture comes off the website before she looks to see what the hell Maverick Developments is and finds the face of her new volunteer plastered all over it.”
“Okay.” Brooke yawns. “I’ll see if I can wake up one of the web guys.”
“Great, thanks.”
“Enjoy the cot. And the dust. And the animal shit. And the animals themselves,” she says with a titter.
“Photos. Off the website.”
“On it,” she says. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you, I’ve had an idea about next year’s charitable contribution.”
Jesus, there’s no time to waste getting into this. I leave all the warm and fuzzy stuff that comes with the business benefits of tax write-offs and good PR, to Brooke. And she needs to be off this phone and dealing with my photo issue right now.
“Great, you’re the best at those ideas. Do whatever you like and talk to finance about the cash.”
“I was hoping you might want to be a bit more involved.” Her tone is halfway between disappointment and disapproval.
“You know I have no time for anything more than signing the paperwork.”
“And even that’s a struggle sometimes.” She snorts.
“I just thought maybe we could send soccer gear to some summer camps, now that the Commoners aren’t such an embarrassment that no one would want to wear their shirts.
And since that club seems to be the only fun you have in your life, I thought maybe you might want to be a bit more hands on. ”
“No time. You have free rein to make it as fun as you like. Finance will let you know the spending limits.”
“Oh, so heartfelt.” She sighs. “I pity those poor donkeys having to rely on you.”
“Good night, Brooke.”
I hang up, kick off my new boots and lie back on the cot on top of the fresh bedding.
I thought the linens might smell musty because the farmhouse looks musty.
But they don’t. They smell like something that might have one of those absurd names like Spring Meadow or Fresh Breeze or Rolling in the Grass on a Warm Day.
It’s a bit firm, though. Got to admit, a hotel bed does sound good about now.
And it would definitely be cleaner. I did the best I could, but this place needs a firehose to get rid of the years of dust and dirt.
And I’m not totally comfortable with the idea of having only a thin sheet between me and the old cot, even though I tried like hell to scrub it and eradicate all the ancient cobwebs.
Maybe I should have bought pajamas. Or a hazmat suit.
But it’ll be worth it in the long run if it gives the impression I’m down with the farm life and makes Frankie trust me more.
My phone buzzes.
brOOKE
Photos eradicated. Don’t call me again tonight. But do let me know how you do with the donkeys tomorrow.
Hilarious.
At least there’s no danger of Frankie finding out who I really am now.
But maybe I don’t even know who I am anymore. Yesterday, I would have said I am definitely not someone who would have made the decisions I made today or be voluntarily spending time doing any of the things I am currently doing.
ME
Thanks. And very funny. Tomorrow please send someone to pick up my car. I’ll be here for a while and won’t need it.
brOOKE
Will do. But NO MORE TEXTS TONIGHT.
As I stand up to get undressed and try to make the best of this sleeping situation, car headlights sweep across the window.
Must be Frankie home from visiting with her grandpa.
I turn off the small lamp she gave me that’s sitting on the old dresser next to my cot, then peer around the edge of the window, keeping most of my body out of sight.
Yup, there she is, stepping down from the old truck. She flicks her hair out of her face as she skips across the path to the house.
And I unbutton my shirt, wondering what she sleeps in.