Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Why does she want me to sell the farm? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it has everything to do with my incompetence as a sheep farmer and the green beacon of dollar signs from the commission her bank account is seeking.
But I’m neither concerned with Hillary’s bank account nor being good at sheep farming. “No, Hil. Still no interest in selling.”
“Fine.” She huffs. “But if you change your mind, now’s a good time to do it. Supply is really low with places with land like yours, and demand is high with all these city folk looking for a change of pace. I heard even Bennett’s sister moved out of the city, so it’s only a matter of time before we’re flooded.”
I don’t bother setting her straight on Breezy’s temporary status. Frankly, it’s none of Hustle Hillary’s business, and it’s something I’d prefer not to think about. “Okay. But I’m not selling.”
“Suit yourself,” she says then, huffing before shoving away from the bar and muttering, “Dammit, Marty, stop freaking flirting with the woman. She’s going home with you, regardless.”
She marches down to Sheila rather than waiting, blabbing at Marty as soon as she comes to a stop. Impatient, always.
But she was at least helpful in a way—dealing with her has shown me that I’m not in the mood to deal with people. I don’t need to switch to liquor; I need to finish my soda and get the hell out of here pronto, before the real Saturday night crowd floods in.
Throwing my glass back for a hearty gulp and then wiping at the condensation that’s damn near drenched my lap, I glance up just as Hollywood fuckface, Logan Bishop himself, sits down at the bar next to me.
“Jeez,” I scoff. “Sometimes this town really is too small for its own good.”
“Relax, Ted. I’m just here to have enough to drink that the Inn looks a little nicer. I won’t bother you.”
Annoyed by his never-ending misuse of my name and his arrogance over the way he’s treated Breezy, I turn toward him, my heels hooked on the rungs of my stool and my knees cocked and open. “What is your deal anyway? You just want to torture your brother and sister until they break, or what? Neither one seems to want you here very much, and from what I’ve heard, I don’t blame them.”
He frowns, irritation leaching into his features. “Sounds like you haven’t heard the whole story, then.”
“I’ve heard their version, and I’ve got a feeling it’s closer to the truth than yours.”
Logan scoffs. “Yeah, I imagine you would think that. But the tits of it is, Ted, pretty much every story has three versions—yours, mine, and the third, the actual damn truth.”
This guy. I fucking swear. Honestly, the only thing holding me back from punching him again is the fact that remnants of my first two punches are already showing up in the form of blue and purple bruises around his eyes.
“Okay, then,” I challenge. “Enlighten me. What’s your version so I can average the two of ’em out.”
“I…well, I’m not perfect by any stretch of the imagination,” Logan answers, though I sense a hint of hesitation in his voice. “I’ve done a lot of fucked-up shit, and I own that. But I did most of it with pure intentions, and for the last five years, I haven’t made any choices I would change.”
My eyebrows lift to my hairline. “That’s a pretty big declaration. Five years, and you wouldn’t change anything?” There’s heat in my words, stoked by indignation. I know for a fact that he’s done some shit here recently. It’s how I ended up punching him in the fucking face twice in the first place.
Hell, maybe I shouldn’t have kept his bruising war wounds from stopping a third time.
“Circumstances? Yes.” He offers a cocky kind of shrug. One that makes it clear he really thinks the world of himself. “Fallout? Absolutely. My relationship with my siblings? Of course. That’s why I’m fucking here. But my choices? They’ve been sound.”
I roll my eyes, turning my belly back to the bar. “Maybe I don’t need to hear your version.”
“What?” he questions, putting both elbows on the bar. “What’s your deal, Ted?”
“My deal is that you sound like a damn liar, and what a waste of fucking time listening to one of those is.”
“I’m a lot of things, Farmer.” Logan lets out an exasperated sigh. “But I’m not a liar.”
“Then how do you explain the state of things now?” I ask, turning toward him to see the expression on the prick’s face. “What you did to Breezy? Stealing the galleries right out from under her?” I shake my head. “Sounds like a really fucked-up choice to me.”
“I didn’t steal them…” He growls, frustrated. “See, that’s what I mean. There’s another version to this, and the version I know is that my dad left me the galleries. I didn’t lobby for that shit—I’m an actor. What the hell do I want with a bunch of art galleries?” He throws his hands up in the air. “But he was fucking determined to leave them to me in the will. No matter what I said or did, no matter how adamant I was that the galleries belonged to Breezy, he wouldn’t change his patriarchal fucking mind. And I thought I had more time before the bastard up and died, but clearly, that wasn’t in the cards.”