Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
She definitely isn't supposed to fall for the foreman.
And his six-year-old son is absolutely, definitely not supposed to capture her heart.
Lainey Brown is not ranch material. She's a city girl who landed on the legendary Wallace Ranch to give the place a fresh coat of branding—and get her career back on track. She's got no interest in cowboys, cattle, or the infuriatingly gorgeous foreman who clearly wants her gone.
Colton Wallace has spent every day since losing his wife building something worth leaving his son: a spotless reputation, a thriving operation, and a life with no room for complications. The last thing he needs is a firecracker from Austin with a sketchbook full of big ideas and a smile that makes him forget every reason he swore off wanting things he can't keep.
But somewhere between their very first fight and a Texas night sky that stretches on forever, something shifts. Lainey stops counting the days until she can leave. And Colt stops pretending he wants her to.
The ranch has always been the Wallace legacy. But Colt is starting to wonder if the best thing that's ever happened to it—and to him—just walked in wearing city shoes
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Eldest Daughter
LAINEY
OCTOBER
That can’t be it.
Using a pair of metal tongs to turn over the meatballs in Mom’s ancient cast iron pan, I try not to wince as the memory of today’s interview loops through my head for the thousandth time.
The parade of haughty private equity bros in their matching puffer vests.
The not-so-subtle digs about me applying for a “non-income-producing seat” in the marketing department.
The freezing conference room with a sad little office park pond outside the windows. Even the fountain looked depressed, trying in vain to keep the toxic-looking sludge from crowding the pond’s surface.
The cherry on top, though, was being propositioned by one of the firm’s partners at the end of my interview. Randolph Price Edwards III was his name. No, I’m not joking. Just like he wasn’t joking about the two of us—and only the two of us—hanging out afterward.
Yeah, Prestige Partners can’t be the company—the type of job—I’ve spent years busting my ass for.
“So?” Mom drops some ice cubes into a glass of pinot grigio and hands it to me. “Did you get the job?”
Taking a long, hard pull of wine, I give the meatballs another flip. They’ve started to sizzle, releasing the mouth-watering scents of butter and garlic. I don’t love coming home to Fort Worth anymore, but I do miss Mom’s cooking.
“I didn’t get an offer, no,” I reply. “Honestly, I’m relieved. The people I met…they just didn’t feel like my kind of people. One of the guys I interviewed with had the balls to ask me out. During the interview. Can you believe it?”
Even now, my stomach turns over at the way Randolph kept fluttering his stumpy, lily-white hands between his thinning mop of brownish hair, the arms of his chair, and the pile of paper in front of him.
My résumé was on the top of that pile. The one I’ve meticulously built, first with internships at marketing firms in college and then with a very specific selection of courses in business school at the University of Texas at Austin, where I still live.
It was almost like Randolph wasn’t sure what his most vital appendages were for. Bet that applies to more appendages than just his hands.
But the memory of Randolph keeps me from following that train of thought, even though I’ve had sex on the brain lately. Guess that’s what happens when you haven’t gotten laid in a year.
Longer than that if we’re talking about getting properly laid. But I’m starting to think good guys who are also good in bed just don’t exist.
“Huh.” Mom lights the burner underneath a giant pot of water. “I’d take the invite as a compliment if I were you. That’s just how men are, sweetie. I think you’re expecting too much of these guys.”
I blink. Sip my wine.
I’m…honestly not sure what to say to that. I recognize that Mom comes from a different generation. She also hasn’t worked since I was born, so her view of how people act in the workplace is probably a little skewed. But surely I’m not asking for too much by wanting to be respected?
“I’m not sure I agree.” I avoid meeting her eyes.
She shrugs. “You haven’t had much luck in your job hunt so far. I’d keep an open mind if you really do want an offer.”
Thing is I don’t want an offer. Not anymore. But I’m not sure how to explain that to my parents.
Letting out a silent sigh, I tell myself I’ll only be back in my hometown of Fort Worth for thirty-six hours. Maybe less if I play my cards right. I made the three-hour drive from Austin right after my bomb of an interview because it’s Mom’s birthday this weekend. If I don’t celebrate the occasion, no one else in my family will.