Another addition to her résumé while she waited for her dream position to come up.
If there was one thing that turned her on more than the prospect of cowboys, it was the idea of a mess to clean up. Tidy up the finances and be gone by the end of tax season. If she got lonely, she could always visit the city on weekends and stay at her apartment.
Perhaps the quiet of the country would give her the space she needed to think.
Evaluate her life to figure out what she wanted.
Being an unemployed thirty-year-old with zero relationship prospects made her think she had a lot to figure out. What was she doing to work toward her ambitions? She had goals, but was she going to meet them by stagnating?
When she was younger, it was easy to see the goals. Finish high school, get accepted to university. Finish her degree. Get a job. Maybe get married and have kids. Nowhere in that plan was there a “get laid off” and “stay single and living in a dingy apartment.” She loved her friends, but she hardly felt like she was building a life or planting roots. Simone and Cameron both came from wealthy families. Their lives had a certain polish to them. They were both living their dreams, it seemed.
Was Colette living her dream? Her gaze floated to the popcorn ceiling again.
Was there a popcorn ceiling in her dreams? Absolutely not.
“Totally up to you,” Simone said, breaking into her thought spiral. “Cam, start the TV. I want to see Colin Firth in a wet shirt, stat. Then I want us to discuss who wore it better, him or Anthony Bridgerton.”
With a serious nod, Cameron took the remote and settled on the ground at their feet, stretching out his long legs.
“Thanks for putting my name in the running, Simmie. I’ll think about it,” Colette said, digging in for another handful of chips. Crumbs dropped onto her chest, and she didn’t even care. She was fully in her loser phase.
But Simone had gotten her thinking.
Could she live in the countryside? She was so focused on the prospect that she barely paid attention to who wore the wet shirt best. Could this city mouse become a country mouse? They finished a couple of bottles of wine, and after a very serious discussion, everyone agreed. A wet shirt on a man was always a good thing, but there could only be one winner.
Anthony Bridgerton, duh.
CHAPTER 3
Was his lip bleeding? Marshall King chewed his bottom lip so hard as his grandfather spoke into the phone. Swiping his tongue over his mouth, he tasted no blood.
Okay, so only his ego was hurting then.
“We’re hiring someone to help you. There have been some strange discrepancies in the finances lately and there are grumblings in the ranching community that the Kings are struggling,” Clarence King explained over the phone. His grandson swore softly under his breath. He had hoped to figure out what was going wrong before bothering his family about it. Nothing added up.
Lost payments to suppliers, missing funds, and rumors swirling that made his employees nervous enough to consider leaving Rosebud Ranch. Marshall scrubbed a hand through his damp hat hair, grateful that his grandfather couldn’t see him sweating. The ranch had run like clockwork, everything smooth and predictable for years.
Suddenly, it was like a switch had gone off, and nothing made sense anymore. It galled Marshall that they would have to send someone to supervise his work, since he had devoted almosta decade to learning and mastering the inner workings of the ranch.
“I understand, Grandpa. I can’t tell you what’s going on, so maybe I do need some help,” he admitted reluctantly. “I’ve never pretended to be a finance guy. That’s Roger’s area of expertise, not mine.”
“At this point, we have no other choice. Running the ranch is a huge job and I’m realizing that perhaps it was too big a workload to place on you since Agnes left. So, I’m going to be interviewing candidates this week. We'resending someone with fresh eyes to look over our finances. Maybe advise you on the public relations bit, since we have to do damage control needed after the grain suppliers started whispering about our missed payments,” his grandfather grumbled. “I just can’t make heads or tails of it.”
Marshall gritted his teeth and nodded, to himself more than his grandfather. Even though the older man was only being helpful, there was no way to avoid feeling like he had failed. Again.
“I care about your well-being, Marshall. If the job is too much for you now, we might consider bringing on a new supervisor who could shoulder the current challenges we’re facing. I know you’ve been there for years, and we appreciate your commitment. Times are changing at the ranch, and we need someone qualified at the helm who can handle it. I’m hoping the new accountant helps smooth things over and maybe we don’t have to consider any other new hires.”
Pain gripped his heart as his grandfather’s words hit him.
Watching someone else run the ranch would kill him. Literally kill him.
“This is just business. You know we love you and want what’s best for you.”
His voice gravelly with repressed emotion, Marshall agreed. “I know, Grandpa. I want what’s best for the ranch, too.” Leaning back in his chair, Marshall blinked at the sudden onset of damn tears at the thought of not being in charge.
He couldn’t let that happen.
“You’ll always have a place at the ranch. That won’t change. I need to make sure it’s running well and making money. We want to keep this ranch in the family for generations. I’m sure you understand. It has to be self-sustaining at the very least. Take the help and fix whatever’s going wrong.”
