I hit accept, anger spiking. “What?”
“Beau Sterling?” The voice was unmistakable—sultry, entitled, Dallas drawl. “Oh my god, finally. Your dad’s secretary was such a bitch about giving me this number.”
I froze.
Solene.
“How did you—why are you calling?”
“Because I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks. Your dad finally caved when I told him we were basically back together.” She laughed. “Which we kind of are, right? Before you went full Yellowstone.”
Winnie was backing away. I reached for her but she stepped out of range, arms crossing. She mouthed, Your dad?
I nodded helplessly.
“Why would my dad give you my number?” Desperation clawed at my throat. “Why would he tell you where I am?”
“Because he agrees with me. He thinks this little detox has gone on long enough.” Solene sighed. “Look, I know you’re having a moment. Finding yourself. Whatever. But fashion week is coming up, and I need a date who doesn’t look like a thumb. And I missed you, Beau.”
Her voice dropped, husky. Intimate. “I missed your hands. The way you taste. It’s been weeks since I’ve had that thick cock inside me, and frankly? I’m starving.”
The barn went silent. I hadn’t put it on speaker, but the volume was high. Winnie heard. I saw her flinch.
“Solene, stop,” I hissed, face burning.
“Don’t be a prude. Remember the Joule? The balcony?” She laughed. “I packed a bag. I’m an hour out on I-35. GPS says I’m close to something called Pawhuska, which sounds like a sneeze. I brought the silk sheets.”
My blood turned to ice. “What?”
“I said I’m almost there. I’m coming to rescue you. Get ready to sweat, baby.”
“Turn around. Solene, do not come here.”
“Too late. I see a sign for the ranch.”
Click.
I stood frozen. The silence wasn’t peaceful anymore. It was suffocating.
Winnie was halfway to the door.
“Winnie, wait—”
“No.” She didn’t turn. Her spine was steel. “Your real life is literally driving up the driveway. You’re in here playing cowboy.”
“It’s not like that—”
“What is it like then?” She spun, hurt gutting me. “Because from where I’m standing, you had a nice three-week vacation. You got to pretend. Flirt with the local girl. Feel rustic.” She spat the word. “Now your girlfriend’s here to pick you up because Daddy sent her.”
“She is not my girlfriend—”
“She’s close enough! Did you hear her? She thinks she owns you. And your father gave her the address, Beau. That means he approves. That means she’s the plan. I’m the distraction.”
“You are not a distraction! You’re the only real thing that’s happened to me in years!”
“Don’t.” She held up a hand. “You need to warn Pops. The guest house needs fresh linens. She won’t sleep on anything less than 800 thread count, right?”
“Winnie, please—”
