The kind of man who could probably buy this entire mountain if he felt like it.
And he’s sitting here at a folding table beside me like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
My wine sits untouched in my hand.
Because what he just said?
What he’s offering?
That’s not real life.
Not mine, anyway.
“I can make your ex regret every cent he stole,” he says quietly, like he’s discussing the weather.“I can make sure your son’s future is secure.And I can make sure you’re not scrambling while you rebuild your life.”
Scrambling.
God, that word hits a little too close to home.
Because that’s exactly what I’ve been doing since Mike walked out the door.
Scrambling to cover bills I didn’t even know existed.
Scrambling to figure out how the hell he took out a second mortgage in my name without me realizing.
Scrambling to answer Evan’s questions about why Daddy doesn’t call anymore.
Scrambling to keep my spine straight when people look at me with pity—or worse, judgment.
I stare at J.T., my wine forgotten entirely.
“And what do you get?”I ask quietly.
Because men like him don’t do things for free.
His green eyes darken just a fraction.
“You,” he says.
The word lands in my chest like a slap.
Heat floods my face—anger, shock, humiliation.
Not because I don’t understand what he means.
But because I do.
And I cannot believe he’s serious.
“What the hell does that mean?”I demand, my voice sharper than I intended.
He doesn’t flinch.
“It means,” he says slowly, his voice roughening just a little, “I’m a man who gets what he wants.And right now I want you.”
My laugh comes out thin.
“You don’t want me, J.T.”
