Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
“I didn’t get you in trouble, did I?” she asked.
“No.”
“Is he your boss?”
“Also, no.”
“He seems nice. How long have y’all worked together?”
My lips twitched. I hadn’t heard even a hint of a southern accent from her while we’d been in LA. A few hours in Tennessee and she was already reclaiming the vocabulary. Even I had to admit it was cute.
Not that I said that or anything. That would have been highly, highly unprofessional.
“We don’t work together.”
She sighed and then dropped her voice to a low, mocking tone. “He’s a great guy, Lofton. I’ve known him for a hundred years. Don’t feel bad about dragging him out of retirement. Also, he likes whiskey and is a huge fan of lasagna. Thank you for respecting my boundaries and only asking about work.” She exaggerated a giggle and then answered herself. “No problem, Devon. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, so I figured a little conversation might help with all the silence.”
Perplexed, I flicked my gaze to her in the rearview mirror. “Is everything okay?”
“Yep.” She popped the p and then smiled, all wild eyes and crazy.
What in the actual fuck was going on with her?
Pretending to wave at Chris before the gate fully closed behind us, I turned in my seat and found her hands tangling in her lap and her knee bouncing at a marathon pace.
I eyed her with suspicion. “You nervous? Got a bad feeling?”
Her lids fluttered shut for a beat, her shoulders sagging when they flipped open. “No. Sorry. I’m just a little antsy. Ready to be home, that’s all.”
I wasn’t buying it. Though it wasn’t my place to pry either, so I just kept driving.
The paved driveway beyond the gate was long and manicured. Tall trees arched overhead, their branches thick, filtering the sunlight through in patches. Pristine white fences lined both sides, nothing but green pastures beyond them.
It was exactly what I expected a celebrity’s family estate to look like.
Though everything changed when we reached the top of a hill.
As the hill dipped, the driveway immediately turned to cracked concrete, potholes filled with muddy water from the last rain.
The white fence was now old natural wood, warped by weather. The fence posts leaned at odd angles—still standing, but clearly on borrowed time.
A house came into view. Two stories with a wraparound porch and red faded shutters. The white paint was peeling on the wooden siding. Weeds had overrun the flowerbeds, and not in the sense that they were awaiting their first maintenance of spring. Bright green shoots stood tall behind the brick borders as if they had not only won the war but had also taken the gardener hostage as well.
A large barn sat across the driveway from the house. Based on the crooked doors, barely hanging by the rusted hinges, it had needed a renovation for a while.
The difference between before and after that hill was so stark it was jarring. That hill was the line of delineation where beauty and grace met pain and neglect.
And it made absolutely no damn sense.
It wasn’t possible that Lofton didn’t have the money to fix the place up. She’d dropped at least a few years of my salary on the security upgrades alone.
I parked in the horseshoe drive in front of the house behind an old white Ford pickup truck.
As soon as I got it in park, the screen door flew open.
Then, in a seriously unexpected turn of events, Apollo came flying out, tripping on the front three steps.
“What the hell?” I rumbled as he went down hard, landing on his ass.
A frail old man followed him out, fury etched in his wrinkles. He had white hair and reading glasses hanging from a cord around his neck. He wore rugged jeans, cowboy boots, and an orange University of Tennessee polo stretched across his chest.
And he was pissed.
He stabbed a finger at Apollo, screaming a barrage of cuss words I could barely make out from inside the car.
On the one hand, I knew Apollo probably deserved whatever hell the old man was issuing.
On the other hand, shit was about to get messy.
“Stay in the car,” I barked at Lofton as I swung open my door.
But did she listen? Fuck no. I had barely finished the sentence when she flung open her door and raced out of the car.
“I know who you are!” the old man bellowed, waving toward the roofline. “Black SUV. Dark windows. I ain’t fucking blind, boy.”
Apollo scrambled to his feet, hands up. “Sir, I’m with Guardian Protection. We’re here to—”
“I don’t need the damn FBI to protect me!”
Apollo tried again. “Sir, please.”
“You’re not fooling me with that Guardian nonsense,” he snapped. “Nobody's taking my land.” He paused and patted his pants pockets. “Where’s my damn gun?”
Fuck.
My body moved on instinct. I took off at a sprint, crossing the distance in long strides, not knowing what was going on, but I sure as hell was going to stop it.