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Building my dream life didn’t come easy. Success took years of hustle, endless client meetings, and carefully crafted deals to establish a name for myself. BuzzBurst’s small but mighty team allowed us to maximize profits, and I rewarded their dedication generously. I’d like to think I’m a good boss. I wouldn’t be where I am without them.

But none of that mattered as I left tonight’s disaster of a date. My skin was slick with sweat by the time I made it back to my car, heels clicking against the pavement. July heat in the city was no joke. As I slid into my sedan—more of an oven than a vehicle—I tossed my Burberry bag onto the passenger seat with an exhale.

All I wanted was to go home, peel off this mini dress, and sink into a bath to wash off the night and, honestly, the whole day. Luke had been relentless—touching me at every chance and practically begging me to go home with him. Mix that with having to deal with Jacob and his bullshit…I was going to need more than a bath.

I’m not in my twenties anymore. Back then, my standards were nonexistent, but I’ve learned a lot about myself and my worth. Thus, if I’m not into you, you’re definitely not getting into me.

The streets buzzed with energy as I drove back to the parking garage. Music blared from portable speakers on street corners, and the nightlife was in full swing. When I was young, I cared for the club scene, but now crowds made my skin crawl. A slow, steady bar with good booze and few people…yes, please.

Tonight, I wasn’t in the mood for my usual podcasts or music. Silence would be my companion, and soon, so would a glass of bourbon on the rocks.

I parked, gathered my things, and trudged up to the top floor of my high-rise apartment. This place was my second big-girl splurge after my business took off. It had floor-to-ceiling windows on every outer wall, sleek marble floors, and more rooms than a single woman like me needed. One room was my yoga studio, another a walk-in closet, and the third a home office. My master bedroom and a guest room rounded it out—not that I ever had guests, but you never know. The real selling point, though, was the view—Central Park stretched out beneath me like a living painting.

I loved the city. But lately, I’d been craving a change of scenery, something temporary, just to break up the monotony.

BuzzBurst Media had recently taken on a new job, one I’d initially passed to Stan, one of my newest hires. It was perfect for him—a corporate disaster that needed cleanup and a chance to travel out west. He’d been thrilled when I assigned it to him, so I felt like the Grinch reclaiming it. But I needed an excuse to get out of the city. Vacations weren’t my style—work was my life—and this job let me keep my mind busy while escaping the city.

Kicking off my heels at the door, I dropped my purse and keys onto the entry table. Bourbon was my first mission; a bath was my next. I poured my favorite amber liquor into a crystal tumbler, added ice, and took a long sip, savoring the warmth as it slid down my throat. Glass in hand, I shuffled to the bathroom, peeling off my clothes as I went.

I turned on the tub’s faucet and watched it fill. Steam curled into the air as I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror. Standing there, naked, I tilted my head, taking myself in. Fair skin, hips with soft dips, and breasts I could confidently call perfect. My body wasn’t flawless, but I loved every inch of it, from the stretch marks on my sides to the subtle bumps on my thighs. They were the marks of a woman.

I ran a hand down my curves, fingers tracing the imperfections, appreciating them. My long, dark chestnut hair fell down my back in a smooth cascade. My eyes, deep brown and wide enough to earn comparisons to cartoon characters, stared back at me. I tilted my head again, my pupils almost indistinguishable from my irises.

The mirror started to fog, and I took it as my cue to step into the tub. Sinking into the water, I let out a long, deep breath, releasing all the bad energy from tonight’s awful date.

Lying my head back, I closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift to the project I’d just reassigned myself.

In a few days, I’d be traveling across the country to help some cowboy manage his dude ranches. From what I gathered in Stan’s emails, Colton Stone ran exclusive ranch retreats catering to high-paying clientele. His ranches weren’t for the average person—they were for the ultra-wealthy, the ones who could drop a small fortune on a single night.

His first ranch was in trouble after a manager-client interaction had gone wrong, and my firm was hired to help rebrand and put out the fires. He’d gone for the “all-in” package, which meant full access to everything my company offered. For a client like this, I didn’t mind getting my hands dirty—or my boots dusty, as the case might be.

I’d be meeting Mr. Stone at his original location before touring the others. Beyond his name, I didn’t know much about him. Was there a Mrs. Stone? God, I hoped so. I didn’t relish the idea of spending two months on the road alone with a stranger, which wasn’t something I did often. I wanted to take on this situation with a more hands-on approach, to be there on the ground to see how the employees worked, to gather their insights and options on what it was like working at Stone Ranch. I could have collected the information needed while staying in New York, but since there were three ranches in total to which I’d be giving my attention, it made more sense to go there myself. Plus, some fresh western air wouldn’t hurt.

What if he was a broody asshole? Or worse, what if he was ridiculously good-looking?

I’d done a quick Google search but came up empty. It seemed this guy had no internet footprint and kept his face away from the media in general. That was part of his problem. When bad shit went down and people didn’t have someone to sympathize with, it only led to more outrage.

Lifting my glass in the air, I sank under the water, holding my breath as long as I could. My thoughts raced as I surfaced. How was I supposed to pack for months on the road? And did I even own cowboy boots?

Maybe it was time to shop for some. After all, if I was going to survive this, I might as well look the part.

Chapter 2

Colton

“AGAIN.” I JABBED two fingers at the bartender, my patience wearing thin. The kid moved slower than I thought humanly possible, too preoccupied with scrolling on his phone to notice the half-dozen people scattered along the bar. Shoving my empty glass toward him, I didn’t bother making eye contact as he lazily reached for the bourbon. At least he poured it right to the rim—no wasted space.

This time, I didn’t knock it back. I cradled the glass in my hand, took a sip, and let the amber liquid catch the dim light. It was my third pour of the night, and I wasn’t about to lose myself to it. I learned to handle my liquor, savoring the burn without drowning myself in it. Drunken mistakes were for twenty-somethings and fools. I was neither.

The bar was damn near empty, which somehow made it feel more suffocating. No crowd to drown out the silence, no excuses for the shitty service. Just the echo of boots on worn wooden floors and the faint hum of an old jukebox struggling to stay alive.

It was the kind of night that made a man reflect on all the cracks in his life, and I wasn’t in the mood to face them. Forty-two, with nothing but my money and my ranches to show for it.

Family? Nonexistent, save for my twin brother.

Wife? Never came close.

Kids? Not in this lifetime.