Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Her eyes are not the same blue as mine. Hers are very much alive, and if you guessed that mine are not, you have great powers of deduction.
“I can still get you some cookies. They’re homemade. Chocolate chip and oatmeal.”
“My favorite,” I respond.
“Are they?” she asks with some surprise.
“No. I don’t eat cookies.”
“Right,” she says, laughing softly. “Because you’re a lean, mean, scary-ass machine.”
Shit. My lips are doing something that might be considered a smile. Not that it’s illegal to smile, but…I don’t get a lot of sass. I don’t often get people noticing that I’m a human being and not a robot. I’m not the kind who invites smiles and invitations of flirtation, no matter how moneyed I might look.
I open the contract app, which is dry, straight up, and boring. What I need to do is focus on that.
She goes to the pantry on the far side of the kitchen and pulls it open. Then, she takes out a cookie that looks and smells amazing, puts it between her teeth, and slides the bag shut before putting it back and closing the door.
“Mmmm,” she sighs. “Good thing I’m not a lean, mean machine. I’m okay with being just me.”
She most definitely is. She’s the most salt-of-the-earth, honest-to-goodness, okay-with-herself woman I’ve ever met.
It has to be fake. Knowing what I know about her, it doesn’t compute. I’m no engineer, and I certainly don’t possess an engineering brain, but all this has to be for show.
“Do you have a name?” I grunt, forcing myself not to look up. It’s easier to focus on the phone when my face is doing out-of-control things that may or may not be silly and may or may not be giveaways to the feelings I probably don’t have. Probably.
“Yeah, do you?”
“It’s Beau,” I say.
“That’s fake.”
“I need your real name for the contract. And you’ll see that my real name is indeed Beau. I’ll show you my ID so you know the contract is legit. I need to see your driver’s license too, to put the number in as proof of identity.”
She snorts at me from around the cookie. “Goodness. This is a very formal contract.”
“It’s a lot of money. I want to make sure we’re both protected. There will be a clause against cancellation so that we both hold up our end of the deal. If I should cancel, I’ll pay out the contract regardless. And if you should cancel, you’ll pay me three thousand dollars per missed night.”
She still has a full cookie stuffed halfway in her mouth, holding it there with her teeth instead of her hands, and she should look silly when her eyes cross. But no, she doesn’t look silly. Rather, she looks adorable.
Good fuck, I shouldn’t be thinking things like that. She’s not adorable. There’s a ninety-nine percent chance this woman is a criminal.
I continue, “Formal. Legal. You haven’t signed it yet. You can still kick me out and—”
“Finish it.” She waves me off, finally taking the cookie in her hand. It looks downright mouthwatering. I don’t cave on things like cookies or adorable women with pet crawfish, but I want to. I want to ask her for a damn cookie. Badly.
I don’t.
I finish the contract instead.
She leaves for a minute and comes back with a beat-up brown leather bag. It looks handmade. The wear only increases the aesthetic.
When she hands over her license, I read her name. Ignacia Sutherby. Ignacia. That would be beautiful if it were real.
It’s not.
I have enough training to spot a fake ID when I see one. I knew she’d have one. She didn’t just run from her old life and go into hiding with her real name. She was smarter than that. She was smart enough to commit fraud so many times that she could have bugged out somewhere a hell of a lot nicer than here. Why steal money just to live an impoverished-looking life in the country?
Maybe she knew she was being investigated. Maybe she’s just lying low, gathering as much money as she can in order to leave and live the high-end lifestyle she obviously craves.
Part of me grudgingly respects her for the effort she’s put into this. She’s still designing or at least sewing, and she still looks like she’s thriving instead of just surviving. Even if this is a new way to shake people down for money, she’s giving those men something for it. She’s already put a burr in my chest, and that space has remained burr free up until this minute.
It doesn’t bode well for my already surly state. I took this job, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t like it, and now that feeling has been absolutely confirmed.
Chapter three
Ignacia
We go out to the barn after I electronically sign the contract that Beau prepares in record-setting time, with all the scary clauses included. I don’t plan to default on my end of the deal. I’m not that kind of person, and I need the money.