Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
He leaves the water. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking either. I didn’t see it with the dress, but I should have remembered. We’ll do something else.”
“Like what?” I ask.
He cups my cheek, his eyes smoldering. “I have a few good ideas.”
Then his mouth comes down on mine.
EPISODE 145
EMILY'S STORY
A Month Earlier...
Do these look familiar?
The subject line of the email catches my eye immediately. I don’t recognize the sender, and the message has come to my personal email address.
Ignore it, Emily. Just ignore the bloody thing.
But curiosity gnaws at me, refusing to let go. Against my better judgment, I click to open the email.
As the content loads, I widen my eyes. My heart pounds a wild, frantic rhythm. The images before me are unmistakable—screenshots of my designs, displayed on a discount clothing website.
The same designs that Lotus, our creative director, raved about at the last design meeting, saying they were perfect for the new vision and direction of the brand. Those designs hadn’t been shared outside that meeting—at least, not to my knowledge.
I feel a surge of anger and betrayal. Whoever stole them must be someone from that meeting, someone who resents that I’m Lotus’s new darling.
My hands trembling, I click the links included in the email. Relief washes over me. Thank God. They’re not live.
But before I can blink, another email pops into my inbox. My heart skips a beat and then starts racing again.
I click it open, dread pooling in my stomach.
Want your designs back? Wire a hundred grand to this account by the end of the month.
Panic. Sheer panic and dread.
I don’t have those kinds of funds.
Who are you? I type back frantically. Why are you doing this to me?
Present Day...
I jerk upward in bed.
Where am I?
Right. River’s suite.
My heart is beating like the thundering hooves at Ascot.
I still can’t believe I fell in love with a Montana rancher. How will I maintain my career? How will we make it work?
Watch it, Em. He’s not in love with you yet.
I breathe in, trying to calm my racing pulse. Where is River, anyway? Probably up with the sun, like he is on his ranch.
Bloody River...
When I first got here, I figured Sebastian was my most likely match. A rock star travels a lot, and though he resides in LA, he could easily maintain a place in New York—where I’d live, of course—and stay there when he’s not on tour.
As second choice, either Brett or Alex would have sufficed. Both left their home state and made lives elsewhere. Brett is the richest of the bunch and can easily have homes in all fifty states. And Alex, as a writer, can do his job anywhere.
But River?
River’s the one who never left Montana, who is working land once owned by his ancestors. He’s added a lot to it, of course, but his life—and is heart—is there on that ranch.
I’m so fucked...
Maybe I could just ask him for the money. A hundred grand is chump change to him.
I’ve tried not to think about why I’m truly here. When I applied for this event and Evangeline chose me, I got my blackmailer to agree to three more weeks. Told him or her that I’d be off the grid for a few weeks. For a person who lives and dies via her cell phone, I’ve been loving the peace.
My mind races. How will River feel when he finds out my secret? Could he ever understand or forgive such a deception? Would he consider helping me, even if he doesn’t love me?
I’m out of options. I decided when I left the UK that I wouldn’t ask my family for anything. Even if I could, they don’t have those kinds of funds lying around.
No.
I’m on my own.
Will River understand if I tell him the truth? That I had an ulterior motive for coming here?
He doesn’t live in a world dictated by cell reception or the endless vibrations of social media notifications. He’s firmly rooted in the real world, with his hands in the earth, the wild wind sweeping through his hair. He belongs among the vast plains of Montana, a man as raw and unrefined as the rugged landscape.
My heart fills with an unspeakable longing. I imagined a life made up of penthouses and five-star hotel suites, not rustic cabins and horseback riding—dear God, my arse—under the open sky. But ever since meeting River, something deep within me has shifted.
I find myself craving fresh air rather than air conditioning, home-cooked meals instead of Michelin-star cuisine. I yearn for cozy nights by the fire rather than extravagant parties filled with shallow conversations.
And as much as it terrifies me to admit it, perhaps what I really want is not a billionaire’s luxurious, isolated existence, but a simple, intimate life with River—who, by the luck of the draw, happens to be a bloody billionaire.