Page 7 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

“In that moment, I didn’t understand but now I get it.” Or at least he understood enough to know he’d never let himself unravel like that again.

They hadn’t officially said “I do,” but he’d put a ring on her finger. Clearly it had meant something different to her. So, while he’d forgiven her, he would never make that mistake again. Better to be alone than to trust his heart to someone—because the reality was, love wasn’t forever for him.

“Back to Goldilocks,” he said.

“Last year, I wanted us to get away, so I put the ranch up as an Airbnb. I figured we could use the money and go somewhere fun. We needed fun back then. Anyway, I forgot to take it off the registry.”

“I want her gone.”

“I can check, but I think the contract is ironclad. Plus, how bad can it be? A couple of days?”

“Goldilocks says a month.”

“Yikes. Let me pull up the app.” He could hear her on her phone. “You want the bad news or the good news?”

Boone dragged a hand down his stubbled face. “Jesus, Kayla.”

“Before you jump down my throat, two days ago she rented your ranch for ten grand.”

He went completely still. “Ten grand? For this piece of shit?”

“I may have taken a few pictures from a flattering angle and photoshopped them a tad.”

“You mean catfished an unsuspecting traveler.”

“Anyway. The reason it’s so high is that she rented it for a full month during high season.” She said the last words like his ranch was a tourist destination. “She paid half up front and pays the other half when the thirty days are up. And before you start moaning and hollering, think about what you could do to the ranch with ten grand.”

Boone didn’t have to think. He already knew. Ten grand could be the difference between getting things up to standard and losing the ranch entirely.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. "You're welcome, baby."

The line went dead.

Boone felt a real smile cross his face, so old and rusty it almost caught on the way out. Then he thought about the pocket rocket of a disaster currently occupying his kitchen and that smile dropped straight into a frown.

What was he supposed to do with a city slicker for thirty whole days, especially when he was barely holding his own life together? Thirty days of her citrus perfume in his house, her laugh in his kitchen, her eyes daring him to be interested.

He was in trouble. Serious trouble.

3

Vivi pressed her forehead to the cool glass of the window, trying—and failing—to ignore the way her thoughts kept circling back to Boone.

She'd woken up next to him, her backside pressed against his—undeniably, impressively, impossibly-difficult-to-ignore—front. God help her, he was irritatingly and infuriatingly sexy—and way too complicated to be thinking about this early in the day.

She stood at the counter sipping her latte, savoring the hit of caffeine, when her phone pinged. A text from her boss, Peter.

She considered ignoring it but if he was texting at this hour it must be important. Then again, this was Peter, it could be anything from a paper cut to the office being on fire.

With a sigh, she opened the text.

Peter the Prick: Why aren't you responding to my emails?

Vivi: I just woke up.

Peter the Prick: I warned you the time difference would be a problem.