by Serena Bell
I had no idea about the legality of that, but I understood why he’d want that kind of control, since my little piece of property would essentially be surrounded by his.
“Certainly.” I set my backpack on the scarred hardwood floor that would gleam after I refinished it. I dug through my things to find my wallet, so I could hand the man my check and unpack a few things before it got dark.
I noticed the electricity had been turned off, so I wanted to get started ASAP, while I could still see.
From outside, a man’s voice called. “Mr. Fraser?”
“In here, Scotty.” Damien backed up a step and opened the creaking front door, allowing a wide swath of sunlight into the main floor.
A wiry young guy stepped inside. He wore a trucker’s cap, with a big pair of old-fashioned headphones clamped around his ears. I could hear the wailing steel guitar and fiddle music from where I stood across the room, so I had no idea how he heard anything else.
I smiled at him, ready to make his acquaintance. But when his eyes met mine, I knew.
I’d been recognized.
My heart sank even as his face lit up.
“Miranda Cortland?” He shoved off his headphones and stepped closer, with the familiarity of someone who’d known me all his life. “No freaking way. The Nebraska Backstabber in my own backyard.”
I swallowed hard, hating that stupid nickname the press had jumped on. Resenting that they’d dug up details about my past, even though I’d listed “Los Angeles” as my hometown.
“Scotty.” Damien did not sound amused. His hazel eyes flashed a deeper brown and he tugged the kid back a step. “What the hell kind of manners are those?”
I would have been touched by that moment of chivalry if I wasn’t sure that Damien Fraser would turn on me in another minute.
“It’s okay,” I rushed to explain. “Just a dumb nickname the media stuck me with after I won a reality TV show.” If I downplayed it, maybe he’d let it drop.
Of course, Joelle had tried ignoring it when I returned to work at her tearoom in L.A. At first, she hoped my notoriety would be good for business. But two weeks in, she was so fed up with the paparazzi harassing the other employees for an “angle” about me, and Hollywood watchers clogging up the tearoom so her real customers couldn’t get a seat, she’d asked me to take a paid leave.
Seriously? I wasn’t about to collect a check I didn’t earn.
“Don’t let her fool you, Mr. Fraser. She’s totally famous.” Scotty shut down his music and reached for his iPod. “See? The Nebraska Backstabber won last season’s Gutsy Girl by stepping back and letting everyone else fight it out. It was totally epic.”
He tried shoving the screen under his boss’s nose, but Damien’s eyes stayed locked on mine. “Maybe later. For now, can you finish up the fence on the northern pasture? I didn’t get to the last couple of acres in the southwest corner by the creek.”
“Yeah, boss, I’m on it. Wait until I tell my girlfriend about this.” He was already texting as he walked out the door.
Belatedly, I remembered that cashier’s check in my hand. More than happy to change the topic, I offered the down payment to Damien.
“I’m sure any way you write the contract will be fine,” I reminded him, all the while crossing my fingers.
Take the check. Take the check.
He didn’t take the check. His square jaw flexed, a five o’clock shadow only making him more handsome. Too bad I knew what that uncompromising look meant.
“Miranda, this is going to be a problem.”
Copyright © 2014 by Joanne Rock
ISBN-13: 9781460323922
STILL SO HOT!
Copyright © 2014 by Serena Bell
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