Page 30 of Faking It with my Billionaire Grump

Eventually, Jake turns to me when we reach a pen of piglets. They’re all so tiny and cute—well, maybe not tiny, but way smaller than the huge pigs we passed on our way here.

“You’re going to buy a piglet?”

“Sure am,” Jake says, leaning against the fence and resting his leg on the bottom rung. Beside him, a few other farmers are gathered. Men he clearly knows, given that they strike up a conversation. Feeling like I have nothing to offer the very agriculturally based discussion, I instead gaze at the piglets and watch them frolicking around.

It’s not long after that when a guy arrives and starts calling out numbers really fast. The auction has begun, and I’m in awe of it all. Jake raises his hand several times, and when it’s all over, I come to the obvious conclusion.

“You bought one?”

“I did. Now it’s your turn.”

I shake my head. “Oh, I wouldn’t have a clue. That guy was speaking so fast I could hardly understand him.”

He smirks and shakes his head. “No. I don’t need you to buy one. I need you to jump in there and get the one I just bought.”

My eyes fly wide. “What?! No way. I’m not going in there.”

The guys beside Jake find my reaction hilarious and seem to be chuckling among themselves. Whereas I don’t find it funny at all.

“Hey. You said anything. I’m sacrificing my reputation for you. A deal’s a deal.”

I scowl at him, noting that he’s getting quite fond of that saying.

“Go on.” He nods toward the pen.

“Fine,” I huff.

12

Jake

Tilly clambers over thepen, and I watch with delight as she lands in the thick mud. She turns back and scowls at me, but I nod toward the piglets.

“Any one will do. They’re all from the same litter.”

I’d like to say I’m holding back my smirk, but I just don’t have the willpower. I’d pay good money for what’s about to happen, but instead, I get to watch it for free.

Tentatively, she moves forward, clearly not sure how to approach them.

“They won’t hurt you, Tilly,” I call out.

“No, but I might hurt you when I get out of here,” she spits back.

The piglets scatter at her approach, and leaning forward with her arms outstretched, Tilly runs toward the nearest pig. It squeals and runs away from her, as do all the others. The pen isn’t huge, but it’s big enough to give them room to escape.

She tries again, but again, they scatter in every direction.

“Is there a way I’m supposed to do this?” she yells.

“Just try to grab one,” I call, pretending to sound encouraging.

She breaks into a run and seeing an outlier, she goes for it, but as she turns, her foot slips, and she lands with a mighty splatter in the mud.

“Argh,” she squeals.

At this point, I’m now chuckling alongside the men who remain standing beside me.

She pushes herself to her feet, flinging mud from her hands. Her overalls are now covered, as is the whole of her right leg.

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