Every muscle in Tank’s body tenses beneath me. “You don’t have to answer.”
“I know.” But I’m already swiping. “Hi, Albert. I said I’d send the sketches by?—”
“Jessie.” His clipped, impatient tone indicates I’ve inconvenienced him. That tone used to make me scramble to apologize, but not anymore. “I’m not calling about the sketches. I’m here.”
The words don’t register. “What do you mean,here?”
“I drove six hours through godforsaken mountain roads to save you from whatever breakdown you’re having.” A pause, thick with judgment. “There’s a gate. Some kind of security checkpoint. They won’t let me through without authorization.”
My stomach drops. “You’re at Havenridge Ranch?”
“I’m ata gatein the middle of nowhere, surrounded by cows and men who look like they belong on a Most Wanted poster.” His sigh crackles through the speaker. “Jessie, this has goneon long enough. The Whitmore Commission is getting anxious, your social media has been dead for two weeks, and frankly, I’m concerned about your mental state. You’re not thinking clearly.”
I look up at Tank, this man who makes me feel safe, seen, and wanted, exactly as I am.
“That’s private property,” I manage. “You can’t just?—”
“I can, and I did.” Albert’s voice sharpens. “I’m your agent, Jessie. I’ve spent five years building your career, and I won’t watch you throw it away because some cowboy made you feel special for five minutes. Now, are you going to let me in, or do I need to call the police and report a kidnapping?”
The threat lands like a slap. Not because it’s real, but because it’s soAlbert.Control disguised as care.
I’ve spent five years letting him speak to me like this, five years shrinking myself to fit his vision of who I should be.
Not anymore.
“Fine.” My voice comes out flat. Dead. “Stay there. I’m coming down.”
Chapter 11
Jessie
Tank’s truck idles behind me as I stand at the ranch gate, gravel sharp under my bare feet.
I should probably put on pants. Or shoes. Or something other than Tank’s flannel and my underwear.
But Albert Evansis standing six feet away in a cashmere coat that costs more than my car, and I’m done waiting for the right moment to feel ready.
The right moment is now. The right outfit is whatever I’m wearing when I finally say what I should have said years ago.
Behind me, Tank’s boots crunch on gravel. He stays behind me, probably with his arms crossed, acting as a solid wall of backup I know is there without having to look.
“Jessie.” Albert straightens, his expression shifting from annoyance to something more calculated. If you didn’t know him, you could mistake it for concern. “Thank God. I’ve been worried sick since you stopped answering my calls. I was starting to think you'd actually lost your mind.”
“How did you find me?”
“I have my ways.” He waves a hand dismissively, then catches himself, softening his tone. “Some waitress at a diner was very helpful once I described you. Charming place. Very... rustic.” His eyes flick over my shoulder to Tank, then back to me. “Is this him? The man from the auction?”
“His name is Tank.”
“Interesting.” Albert’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Look, I understand. I do. Sometimes, we all need to... blow off steam. Have an adventure. But the show is in just over two weeks, and I’ve been fielding calls for days. The gallery is panicking, and you're up here playing Little House on the Prairie with some?—”
“Go ahead,” I cut him off. “Finish that sentence. I’d love to hear what clever little insult you’ve got loaded up.”
He blinks, thrown by the interruption. I’ve never cut him off before. Never pushed back when he was in full management mode.
“I want to help you.” He steps closer, spreading his hands in a gesture of openness that feels rehearsed. “I know things have been... stressful. The pressure of the show and the expectations can be overwhelming. I should’ve seen that you needed a break. That’s on me.”
Another step. His voice drops, becoming intimate and concerned. “But running away isn’t the answer. And getting...involvedwith someone you barely know?” He shakes his head sadly. “That’s not you, Jessie. That’s panic. That’s fear.”
