Bad Boy Billionaire: F#cking Jerk 3

by Tawny Taylor

I couldn’t help grinning at that confession. Could a man be any sweeter? Seriously. “You mean, time where we’re both awake?”

  “Awake, sure. But I wouldn’t mind if we were in bed.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  I waggled mine too. “If you promise some more of what you did this morning, I’m game.”

  “You bet.”

  I got to admire all six feet-something of him as he dressed for work. Then off he went. I showered before heading to the kitchen for coffee. Unfortunately, I was unpleasantly surprised when I discovered Clay had bought decaffeinated coffee.

  Crap.

  And his idea of “rabbit food”? A head of iceberg lettuce. That was it. I definitely needed to make up that shopping list. Pronto. Now. I could probably live on iceberg lettuce for a day, but I could not survive without my caffeine.

  Thus, after grabbing one of his protein bars for breakfast, I began my search for a piece of paper and pencil to make up my list. My search started in the kitchen. But all the drawers and cabinets were paper and pencil-free. So I moved on, searching the side tables and credenza in the great room. At one point I hesitated, after locating some letters from his sister Carrie. This felt so wrong. I wasn’t the kind of girl who sifted through other people’s things. Sure, I doubted Clay would care. But still, I felt a little guilty. That was, until I reminded myself that Clay had told me to make the shopping list. Surely he would expect me to write it on something.

  I moved on to one of the unused bedrooms. This room, like the rest of the house was furnished tastefully, the furnishings totally masculine. More a library than a bedroom, it had an entire wall covered floor-to-ceiling in bookcases. I gazed for a moment at the books, old hardcover volumes that had probably belonged to Clay’s parents. Then I checked out the rest of the furnishings. The table next to the bed looked like a small antique writing desk, with three shallow drawers running along the top. I pulled the center drawer open and discovered a stack of papers, printed on an attorney’s letterhead.

  My gaze went to the top lines, where it said in big, bold letters: Purchase Agreement. Silver Sage Ranch. Dawson, Wyoming.

  Chapter 7

  Purchase agreement.

  There had to be some kind of mistake.

  Clay wouldn’t do this to me.

  He couldn’t!

  He loved me.

  My insides twisted. The pain. It felt like a blade ripping, tearing through me.

  He fucking loved me! Nobody did something like this to someone they loved!

  My hands trembled as I lifted the document and tried to focus on the black letters filling the page.

  Purchase agreement.

  It was a sales contract. For my ranch. My ranch.

  How could he sell it to anyone? It belonged to me!

  This had to be a mistake.

  I flipped the pages. I couldn’t read a damn word. I was blinded. By shock. Confusion.

  On the last page I saw a series of blank lines. No signatures. Did that mean the sale hadn’t gone through yet?

  What the hell was I thinking?

  How could a sale take place without my consent? As far as I knew I hadn’t lost the property. Not yet. The lawyer, Hardin, hadn’t contacted me. He would have told me if I’d lost the property, wouldn’t he?

  Yes. Of course he would!

  Or had he been trying to tell me I’d lost it when I met with him?

  Shit! What had he said? I couldn’t remember.

  “There you are!” Harper said, jerking me out of my coma. Reacting out of guilt, I smacked the drawer shut and stumbled backward. “What are you doing?”

  “I was looking for a…for a…” Something wedged in my throat and I couldn’t spit out the rest of the words.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I…” That thing in my throat swelled to double the size. “I…” I wheezed and teetered.

  My ranch.

  Clay.

  The contract.

  What the fuck?

  The world dimmed. Stars twinkled.

  Harper rushed past me and yanked open the drawer. Then she grabbed my hand and led me from the room. “That fucking bastard!” she yelled as she dragged me down the hall and into my room. She kicked the door shut behind us and steered me to the bed.

  I sat, tears spilling from my eyes. “It’s not what it looks like, right?”

  “It looks like Clay sold your place.”

  “But he can’t. It isn’t his to sell,” I reminded her…and myself.

  “I don’t know.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense.” I rubbed my head, trying to stimulate my brain. Think. Think. I needed to think.

  What the hell was going on?

  “Maybe it went to him after the fire?” she suggested.

  “No. It didn’t. Not yet. I don’t think. I just met with the lawyer. He didn’t tell me I’d lost it… yet. At least…I don’t think he did. But even if I did, Clay wouldn’t sell it out from under me. He wouldn’t do that.”

  Softly, she murmured, “It looks like he has.”

  My stomach convulsed.

  “I was thinking about taking a road trip,” Harper said as she surged to action. She yanked open my closet. I don’t know what she was looking for. Nothing was in there. Because all my stuff had been burned up in the fire. “How about we go on a road trip? You and me?”

  “Road trip? Now?” I swallowed my breakfast for the third time. It didn’t taste any worse then than it did the first time.

  “Yes, now.”

  “But I need to find out what’s going on.”

  “I say we take a little road trip and figure out what’s important first. There’s plenty of time for finding out about the ranch later.” Harper plopped next to me and grabbed my hand. “I mean, tell me if I’m wrong, but since you came to Wyoming, things have kind of sucked. Haven’t they?”

  “Well, not everything. But…” I shrugged as I gently tugged my hand free. Harper had a point. Outside of a few very precious moments with Clay, things had been kind of sucky since I’d arrived in Dawson.

  “You’ve been working your ass off, shoveling shit. When was the last time you had some fun? Some serious fun? Like we used to?”

  “Um…Well, Clay and I…? We…”

  “Clay and you have had a rocky relationship from the start. Maybe it isn’t meant to be.”

  Not meant to be?

  Of course we were!

  Or…?

  My ranch. He’d sold my ranch.

  My head spun.

  What the fuck did I know? Not much, evidently.

  But a road trip? Now? This was the worst time to leave. I needed to talk to Clay. And Hardin. “You don’t know that,” I snapped. “You don’t know we’re not meant to be.”

  “Maybe I don’t. But do you?” Harper pointed at my chest. “Can you say for sure you know you two are meant to be together?”

  I sat there unable to tell her she was wrong. And that hurt more than anything.

  Oh God, I wasn’t sure about me and Clay.

  Or was I?

  Fuck! I was so confused!

  “I just got a call from a real estate agent in LA,” Harper said as she stood. “He sells multi-million dollar estates. He’s looking for someone to stage his properties for him.”

  A chill swept through my body.

  Harper? Moving to LA? No!

  “You’re leaving?” I felt sick. I clapped my hands over my mouth. She couldn’t move to LA. How would I deal with all of this without her? She was the only person I knew I could trust right now.

  She lifted her hands, palms out. “Nothing’s for sure. I haven’t given an answer yet. I’m just meeting with him to see how well we click.”

  “You promised you’d stay here with me.” Shit, I sounded so fucking weak and whiny, even to my own ears. What kind of friend was I being for Harper?

  “I know. And I will stay if you need me to. But this is an amazing opportunity, getting to work with one of the most successful agent
s in LA. Staging gorgeous homes. You never know where an opportunity like this could take me.”

  Dammit. I’d be a total bitch to force her to stay in Wyoming. Now I didn’t even need her design expertise, not that I could ever have afforded her anyway. Nobody in these parts of the state could. Except for Clay.

  I nodded. My heart sank. She was leaving. Harper was moving to California. “Yes, you have to go.”

  Harper dropped to her knees in front of me. “Come with me.”

  I stared down at my hands, cupped in my lap, hers resting on top.

  Friends for life.

  That was what we’d always said.

  Years ago we’d planned our lives together. We’d had it all figured out. We’d marry brothers. Or best friends. And live somewhere warm and beautiful. Like California. Or Hawaii. And of course we’d be neighbors. I would find a job in a high school, as a social worker, helping young women plan their futures and break through barriers. And Harper would be a famous interior designer, her projects featured in every publication in print.

  Nowhere in our plans had there been any thought of running a bankrupt ranch in the middle of nowhere. Or getting involved with a man who couldn’t seem to be honest with me.

  “It’s Southern Cal” she waggled her eyebrows. “No snow.”

  No snow.

  No ice.

  No Clay.

  My insides twisted again.

  I’d told him I would try to trust him more. Not less.

  I’d promised to talk things through instead of jumping to wild conclusions.

  But how could I not jump to conclusions when the proof was right there in front of my fucking face?

  Did he deserve my trust if he was selling my property without my knowledge?

  “I’m so fucking confused,” I grumbled.

  “I get it.” Harper gave me a kind smile. “I wouldn’t want to take one step in your shoes. You don’t know what to believe and what not to. Not after everything you’ve been through. But in situations like these, sometimes taking a step back is good. It allows you to gain some perspective. To look at the situation from another angle. That might be what’s needed right now. A step back. It doesn’t mean you won’t come back.”

  What she said made sense.

  A step back.

  It was a road trip. We weren’t moving.

  Nothing was permanent.

  I nodded. “True.”

  “It’s a meeting. I haven’t accepted the job yet.”

  “Yet,” I emphasized. “Once that agent sees your portfolio, he’ll drop to his knees and beg you to work for him. And you won’t be able to resist.”

  Harper blushed. “You don’t know that.”

  “I do. No, it’s not a matter of if you’ll accept. It’s when. Then I’ll have to make a choice.”

  Harper’s smile faded. I knew what she was thinking. She was hoping I’d choose her over Clay, especially since...since I had nothing else keeping me here anymore.

  “What about Mike?” I asked.

  “Mike’s great.” Shrugging she pushed up to her feet. “I like him a lot. But I can’t plan my life around him. Or any man for that matter. Not at this point.” She sighed. “I’ll miss him. I’ll even miss this dumpy little town.”

  “You will not. Not Dawson. Mike, well, that I get.”

  Trying to hide her pain, she smiled. “Who knows? Maybe our paths will cross again sometime.”

  “Sure,” I agreed.

  She arched her brows and gave me a pleading look. “So will you come to California with me?”

  “Are you really leaving today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow. So when were you going to tell me?”

  “I just got the call about the meeting last night...and well…right after I hung up, I went to your room…and heard…I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  My face warming from embarrassment, I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate.

  Last night.

  Just a few hours ago I’d felt closer to Clay than I’d ever felt before. In fact, if he’d asked me to marry him I would have said yes. Gladly.

  And now…?

  I still loved him. I still wanted him.

  But…but…

  Crap!

  What the hell? It wasn’t a forever thing. Just a quick road trip. I could come back after Harper’s meeting.

  The distance would help me sort out some things. Maybe help me get some perspective on where I really wanted my life to take me.

  Since coming to Wyoming, I’d been uber-focused on only one thing—on keeping the ranch going. And that was because I’d wanted what came with it. Money.

  Ironically, I’d lived my whole life believing money wasn’t the most important thing in the world. Making a difference was.

  How would I do that out here if I didn’t have the ranch?

  Could I work at a school? Or…or?

  I had no clue. But I knew one thing. I needed to think. Really think hard about things. To consider all my options. My hopes. My dreams. My goals.

  I was going to miss Clay. But I wouldn’t be gone for long.

  I slowly nodded. “Yes. I’ll go.”

  Harper flung herself on me, knocking me onto my back.

  “Easy!” I said as my bestie practically molested me. “If I’m dead, you’re on your own. There’s one thing I want to do before we leave.” I pushed to sit up as she rolled off me. “I can’t leave without saying goodbye to Clay.”

  “Ready?” Harper shouted. She was outside, on the front porch, pacing back and forth, anxious to hit the road early. We had roughly nine hundred miles ahead of us. And she wanted to get at least half of them done today.

  “Almost!” I called out as I smoothed my hand over the folded letter I’d left on Clay’s bed.

  I couldn’t believe I was leaving, even for only a week or so. Since arriving, I’d figured I’d be living in Dawson for at least five years. I’d actually grown comfortable with that plan. Now…? Everything was up in the air. My inheritance. My future. And, most of all, my relationship with Clay.

  I couldn’t leave him wondering where I’d gone or why. Thus the letter. And its placement, on top of the sales contact for my ranch.

  Even though I wasn’t making a permanent decision yet, I still felt awful. A part of me felt defeated. I’d lost the ranch so quickly. Was my luck that bad--that I’d failed so fast? Or was I just a really, really bad business owner? I hoped (and yes, prayed) that my future efforts wouldn’t fail so miserably.

  And then there was this thing with Clay. Early on I’d sabotaged our relationship with my inability—no, unwillingness—to trust him. I’d vowed to work on trusting him more. But now I wondered if that had been a stupid move. Maybe there was a reason why I shouldn’t trust him.

  Then again, maybe, once again, I was jumping to some kind of crazy conclusion when I shouldn’t. I’d done my share of that recently. But even Harper hadn’t been able to tell me I was off my rocker this time. No, she’d reaffirmed what I’d concluded. Clay had taken possession of the ranch. And he’d sold it. Already.

  My heart was brittle, and every time I closed my eyes I pictured Clay’s face. I heard him say, “Trust me. I love you.” And little pieces of my heart broke off, crumbling to dust.

  Hollow. I felt hollow. And cold. And eerily calm. I wasn’t angry anymore. Or hurt. I just felt empty.

  I took one last look around Clay’s mansion as I made my way to Harper. Her car was running in the driveway. Unlike my junker, it would get us to California. I slipped into the passenger seat next to her and buckled in.

  And off we drove. South.

  Out of BFE Nowhere, Wyoming.

  Chapter 8

  A few hours later we parked outside a dusty old family diner in southwest Wyoming. My stomach was so empty it was digesting itself. But I was broke until the insurance money came in. Until then I was relying upon my (very generous) bestie to feed me. And so I would go light on the food. I would never take her generosity fo
r granted.

  Inside, she claimed an empty table while I made a beeline for the bathroom. I’d learned one thing about traveling through Wyoming: when one found a bathroom, it was extremely wise to use it. We had traveled for hours before stumbling upon this place. My bladder was about to explode. I didn’t even care that this dump looked like a filthy public restroom in a truck stop.

  I locked myself inside a stall and coated the grimy toilet seat with at least a half roll of TP before daring to sit. Outside the little stall, I heard the bathroom door thump shut and footsteps. No doubt it was Harper, taking care of the essentials too. I was so glad she had suggested this little trip. Already I was starting to feel better—less bogged down and stressed. I was breathing easier. Smiling easier. Just relaxing and enjoying the little things—like singing to our fave tunes on the radio. At the top of our lungs—because what other way was there to sing Adele’s “Hello”? Adele we weren’t, but we didn’t care.

  After taking care of business, I nudged my makeshift seat cover into the toilet with my toe, flushed and pushed open the door. The instant I stepped out, I was jumped from behind. By someone big. And strong.

  It wasn’t Harper.

  One anaconda-like arm wrapped around my waist while a hand slammed over my mouth, instantly muffling my shriek of shock. Terror knifed through me, sharp and cold as ice blades. I threw my body from side to side. I kicked my feet. I slammed my head backward, smacking it into concrete. But despite all my fighting, I found myself hauled outside the restaurant through a side door I hadn’t noticed before. A truck stood idling, waiting for my kidnapper to throw me in.

  Oh God. If he succeeded…

  I could be…

  Oh God!

  A million thoughts raced through my mind. I was blind with fear. The world around me was a blur as my sole focus became survival. I fought with everything I had. Until my muscles literally stopped moving.

  It didn’t work. I was stuffed into the truck. And before I could scramble out, a huge body blocked my exit.

  I screamed as loud as I could, the sound tearing my throat to shreds.

  Then a face popped into my field of vision.

  I knew that face!

  My heart jumped.

  “Clay! What the hell? You scared me to death!”