Chapter 4
Ruth
Igrip my phone tighter, resisting the urge to chuck it across the room as I pace from one side of my apartment to the other, doing my best to remain cool, calm, and collected. Screaming at the customer service rep from my credit card company won’t help my situation.
It might make me feel better, though.
“But I have a job. I just haven’t started yet.” If I can convince them to raise my spending limit, it might give me enough to work with. “I can email you a copy of my offer letter. It shows how much I’m going to be making.”
“I understand, Miss Wagner. But our policy requires proof of income on accounts that have been delinquent within the past twelve months.” The woman on the other end of the line is starting to lose her patience and get a little snippy with me, her words becoming short and clipped.
“And you have been delinquent at least four times within that period.”
I pull in a deep breath, closing my eyes as I try to calm my racing heart. “What if I agree to an increase in my APR? Charge me more. I don’t care.”
All I care about is getting the fuck out of here. Especially after the letter that was shoved under my door yesterday. I don’t know if I believe William would actually take me to court—it would lead to the very result he’s gone to great lengths to avoid—but I don’t want to find out.
“I’m sorry, but that’s simply not an option.” Her fake customer service voice is back when she asks, “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“No.” I disconnect the call without thanking her, because she didn’t do anything to help me. And because I’m about two seconds away from crying or screaming, and I don’t want to be caught on a recording doing either.
“Mumumumumumum.” Birdie babbles at me from where she sits on the floor with a plate of scrambled eggs and strawberries.
Slapping on a smile, I crouch down next to her, pushing a lock of curly hair off her forehead.
“Mommy’s okay.” I steal one of her strawberry slices, forcing myself to swallow the tiny bit of food.
I need to put something in my stomach, but I’m worried anything I try to shove down will come right back up.
“Would you like to go to the park today? Play on the swings?”
She gives me an exaggerated nod, her chubby, fruit stained fingers clenched in a bobbing fist as she also signs her answer.
Teaching Birdie some simple signs was initially about passing down a piece of what my mother would have taught her if she was still around, but boy has it been useful. Being able to communicate, even before her little mouth could form words, has been a life saver.
Especially considering my little girl can be quite the impatient monster when she’s hungry.
“Finish up your breakfast and then we’ll go.” I steal one more strawberry slice before going to the kitchen to make a snack and fill her reusable water bottle.
I’m packing up the diaper bag when someone knocks on my door.
I immediately turn to Birdie, checking to see if she heard the sound. Thankfully, she’s still engrossed in the brightly colored show playing across the television, and her remaining eggs, so she’s being blessedly quiet. Quiet enough maybe I can pretend no one’s home.
Slowly, I creep toward the door, continuing to check on my daughter as I silently move closer to the peephole. I don’t know what I’ll do if it’s William or one of his minions on the other side. Probably scoop my daughter up and hide in the bathroom until they leave.
Leaning forward, I brace both palms on the solid steel surface, needing a little stability as my whole body begins to quake thanks to the dump of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
I assumed last night’s letter was a threat.
Something to make sure I understood what would happen if anyone ever finds out who Birdie’s father really is.
But maybe it wasn’t a threat. Maybe it was a promise. One William has no intention of waiting to follow through on.
Squinting through one eye, I peer out into the hall, gasping when I see who is actually on my doorstep. The view is a little distorted and kind of cloudy, but that doesn’t make Tucker Bradshaw any more difficult to identify. The man is striking.
He’s tall and broad, with a square jaw and piercing eyes. His frame is solid and strong, but somehow the guy still manages to come off as boyish. I can definitely see the appeal, and understand why so many women have found their way into his bed.
I don’t know what in the world has brought him here—or how he found me—but the relief I feel over it being him and not William, or one of his people, makes it a little easier to open the door.
Hopefully telling him the truth is just as easy.
I’m not interested in sharing my daughter with anyone.
Not a man I don’t know, and especially not one I do.
That means I have to break the news to the man holding flowers and a stuffed animal that I am a big fat liar. In another life I might even feel bad about it.
Not this one.
Tucker’s smile is wide when he sees me. The guy is grinning from ear to ear, and I have to admit, the expression is a little disarming. It takes the edge off my annoyance at his appearance, and has me rolling my eyes instead of clawing them out, which was where I was headed after that phone call.
“Good morning.” Tucker holds the flowers out between us. “These are for you.”
They’re beautiful. A collection of tulips in the prettiest peach color I think I’ve ever seen. I wish I could accept them, but that would make me an even bigger jerk. And I’m pretty sure he’s already going to think I’m a giant asshole when I confess my sins.
“Tucker.” I shake my head. “I can’t—”
“I’m going to stop you right there, because I'm pretty sure I know what you’re about to say.” He shrugs. “And I don’t care.”
Obviously he doesn’t actually know what I was going to say, or he would care. A whole lot. “You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“I definitely do,” he looks from side to side. “But I think maybe we should discuss this somewhere a little more private.”
I look him up and down, not positive I want to invite a stranger into my apartment. Especially not with Birdie here.
Tucker seems to notice my hesitation, because he leans closer, not quite invading my space, but almost. He lowers his voice, eyes locked onto mine when he says, “I know what I’m talking about, Ruth.”
Oh shit. I think he does. The look on his face is weirdly easy to decipher.
Which begs the question…
“Then why are you here?”
If he genuinely knows I was trying to extort him, showing up on my doorsteps with flowers and toys is the exact opposite of what I’d expect him to do.. But here he is. Sporting expensive tulips and a toy I’m pretty sure came from one of the bougie stores in downtown Willow Bend.
Again, Tucker looks up and down the open hallway outside my apartment, like he expects someone to be spying on us. When he finds it just as empty as it was before, he elaborates. “I have a proposition for you.”
That has my brows lifting. “I’m not interested in sleeping with you.”
His head tips back in surprise, forehead creasing. “That’s not what I was going to say.” He chuckles, a smirk twisting his lips. “But you shouldn't completely write the possibility off. I’m pretty good at it.”
This time I do roll my eyes, crossing both arms over my chest as I lean against the doorframe. “I’ve heard.”
That’s how my plan started in the first place.
I overheard a woman talking about him one day when I took Birdie to get her hair cut.
The woman was under the dryer at the salon, so likely had no idea how loud she was when she went on and on about how she couldn’t believe he didn’t want her on a more long-term basis.
Honestly, I couldn’t either. She was gorgeous. The kind of girl most men would cut their pinky off if it meant they’d get the chance to spend time with her.
So I started to do some digging, and discovered Tucker Bradshaw is a commitment phobe. He avoids permanence of any sort when it comes to women. I assumed that would carry over into any byproducts that happened to be born, and decided he could be the answer to at least a few of my problems.
“Whatever you’ve heard is absolutely true.” He gives me a wink. “I’m happy to prove it to you any time. Just say the word.”
“That won’t be happening.” Not only because I have bigger concerns than whatever urges I may or may not have, but also because Tucker Bradshaw is the exact opposite of the sort of man who will be in my bed next. I’ve had my fill of commitment averse men.
If Tucker is bothered by my disinterest, he doesn’t show it. Just shrugs. “Suit yourself.” His easy smile holds. “But I still have a proposition for you.”
I sigh. “Tucker, I have a lot going on right now, and I don’t—”
“Twenty grand.”
My brain trips as I attempt to process what he just said. “Twenty grand, what?”
“I’m willing to give you twenty thousand dollars.” He says it slowly, like he wants to be sure I hear him.
And I hear him, I just don’t understand. “For what?”
“That’s the proposition I’m trying to make.” He gives me a lopsided smile. “But you’re not making it very easy.”
I hesitate for a second longer, but ultimately the need to get my daughter the heck out of Wyoming wins. I reach out, grabbing the front of his shirt, and use the hold to drag Tucker into my apartment before slamming the door behind him.
I turn to face him, nervous but hopeful for the first time. “What’s the proposition?”
I know I said I wouldn’t have sex with him, but I will. For twenty thousand dollars? I’ll even do it twice and pretend to like it.
But Tucker is already distracted, his eyes roaming around my empty home. “You’re quite the minimalist, aren’t you?”
“Sure. Yeah. Feng shui.” I step toward him, gripping his jaw with one hand to bring his attention back to me. “What is the proposition?”
“You’re kinda bossy, aren’t you?” He grins down at me. “Perfect.”
“Tucker. Focus.” The guy is like a golden retriever with too many toys to pick from. “What is the proposition you’re making me?”
“Go?” A little hand grabs at my wide leg jeans, yanking on the softened fabric. “Mumum, go?”
Once again, Tucker gets distracted, dropping to a crouch so fast I lose my hold on his remarkably strong jawline. He gets down on my daughter’s level, greeting her with a warm smile. “Hey, Little Bird.” He holds up the toy I’m just now realizing is a sparrow. “Would you like this?”
“Yah.” She nods both her head and her fist before reaching out with sticky strawberry hands to collect the furry, squishy creature.
Her little fingers immediately start squeezing at its beak.
As soon as she pinches down, the thing makes a squawking noise that has both her and me jumping in surprise.
My toddler recovers before I do, cackling as she squeezes again. Again there’s a squawk.
But without the element of surprise to distract me, I’m able to identify the actual source of the sound.
My daughter seems to have figured it out too, because her next squeeze isn’t on the bird’s beak, but on Tucker’s nose.
And of course, he squawks again, resulting in Birdie belly laughing so hard she stumbles. As soon as she regains her balance, her little hand is gearing up for another grab.
“If you don’t stand up, she’s just going to keep squeezing parts of you to see what sound you make.” He’s going to end up with a finger in his eye and one ear half ripped off.
Tucker boops Birdie on the nose before standing, his eyes trained on me. “She’s really cute.”
I angle a brow at him. “The proposition?”
“Bossy and impatient.” He waggles his brows at me. “I like it.”
Oh my God. How does anyone hold a conversation with this guy?
I guess maybe they don’t. Maybe that’s how he gets so many women into bed with him. It’s not because he’s gorgeous and ridiculously charming. They just can’t get him to hold a train of thought and decide to focus on something that doesn’t require much talking.
“I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend.” Tucker finally lays out what brought him here.
And I’ve got to admit, I’m a little shocked. “Why? You don’t want a girlfriend.”
“Exactly.” He glances down as Birdie yanks on his jeans, but instead of shooing her away, Tucker scoops her up, propping her on one hip as he continues talking.
“My mother is hell-bent on getting me and my brothers to settle down, and I know she’s coming for me next.
” He tips his head, looking me over. “But if I already have someone, she can move to whoever’s next in line. ”
I’m not sure I’m understanding him correctly. “You want to pay me twenty thousand dollars to pretend to be your girlfriend so your mother doesn’t try to get you a real girlfriend?”
Tucker beams at me. “Yes.”
“For how long?” I want his money. Desperately.
But I have a job waiting for me in Maryland. My start date is in three weeks, and there’s no way I can push it back.
For the first time, Tucker looks uncertain. “I was thinking it would be sort of a long-term contract.”
Suddenly, twenty thousand dollars isn’t sounding as lucrative. “I’m gonna need you to give me your definition of long-term.” To be fair, as far as I know, the man has never been in a long-term relationship. Long-term to him could be a week.
Please let it be a week.
“The duration is negotiable.” Tucker backtracks a little. “Twenty thousand dollars for two weeks, and then we reevaluate.”
I would think he was kidding if the man hadn’t shown up on my doorstep with flowers and a toy for my daughter, but I still can’t help but laugh. “You really don’t like the idea of a relationship, do you?”
“Relationships are fine for other people.” He shrugs, but the movement seems stiffer than before. “They’re just not my thing.”
At least he’s upfront about it. But I do see one potential problem with his plan. “Won’t your mom be suspicious if you’re supposed to be with me but still spending time with other women?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Because there won’t be any other women.”
“So you’re going to stop…” I’m not sure how to explain his social life, so I stick with something general. “...socializing? Even though we won’t be having sex?”
Tucker gives me a slow smile. “You’re it for me, sweetheart.”
This is ridiculous. No way should I even be considering it. I certainly shouldn’t accept.
Not without making a counteroffer.
“Twenty-five thousand for two weeks.” The amount he’s offered me is outrageous, and asking for more is ridiculous, but I need every penny I can get.
“Deal.” Tucker doesn’t even hesitate. I blink back a little shock as he turns to Birdie, bouncing her around. “What do you think, Little Bird? You up for the challenge?”
“Park.” My daughter points a chubby finger toward the door. “Go park.”
“Sure thing, chicken wing.” He heads for the door, almost looking excited. “To the park we go.”