Page 133 of The Guy Who Stole My Ranch

For the first time ever, I’d thought a woman had wanted me and not my money.

In this case, Brooke didn’t want my money. Instead, she wanted me to go away.

Chapter 35

-Brooke-

My skin was crawling with imaginary insects. Ever since seeing Adam Fowler, I’d felt dirty.

How had Adam ended up being employed by William?

Actually, it wasn’t that far of a jump. Adam was a brilliant corporate lawyer, and Harris Inc. was one of the biggest businesses in the city.

Matthew Grant dragging William away had given me a minute to compose myself, so I started texting Jessica.

Brooke:I just met someone I know.

She answered immediately.

Jessica:Really?

Brooke:A lawyer I interned with.

Jessica:Is this good or bad?

I considered. Adam Fowler had never had power over me, but his behavior had convinced me that being a lawyer wasn’t going to fulfill my dream of being respected for who I was and not what I was—a plus-sized woman.

Brooke:Both.

I started to type more, but someone cleared their throat. I glanced up and found a tall, slender older woman with long dark hair and skin so smooth it could only be filled with plastic. She wore a fitted dark blue dress adorned with a yellow floral pattern and a matching short cape.

Yes, a cape.

William’s mother looked different in every picture I had found of her on the internet. She’d probably had more work done than most celebrities, and while she looked good, she also looked a little…wrong. Like bad CGI, but not the really bad stuff, just the somewhat bad stuff.

“May I?” William’s mother gestured to the chair next to me.

My inner Texan took over, and I stood and offered her my hand. “Of course, Mrs. Harris.”

She bestowed a slight smile on me—maybe a three, but it was hard to tell with the Botox—before giving me a limp handshake and sweeping into the white, cast-iron chair like it was a throne. “Where has William run off to?” She looked around.

“Someone asked him for a minute of his time.” I pointed. “They went that way.” I almost said that-a-way but refrained.

“Tall man? Broad? Bad hair transplants?”

“Sounds right,” I said.

Mrs. Harris sniffed in a most delicate manner. “Matthew Grant. An associate.”

The way she said associate told me that she didn’t think much of the man.

Mrs. Harris gave me a category-six smile, but it was a predatory one, which made my skin crawl almost as much as seeing Adam Fowler had. She was a cross between the Cheshire cat and the hypnotizing snake inThe Jungle Bookcartoon. “My dear, Brooke, is it?”

“It is.”

“Wonderful. Brooke. William refuses to tell me how you two met.”

The red alert sound fromStar Trekwailed in my mind. Did this woman think I was some sort of amateur? I wasn’t about to tell her that he was buying my ranch, but I needed something. “It’s more his story to tell than mine.”

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