Page 28 of Rough Around the Hedges

If only she didn’t pique my interest like this.

I pulled the file of information about her towards me. I didn’t know how Luke had gotten hold of all this, but it didn’t seem to be anything that would require illegal means.

Well… mostly.

Obtaining her criminal record might have been a bit dodgy.

I’d have to get rid of that sooner rather than later.

But still… she seemed to be so free, as if she lived her life according to her own whims and nobody else’s.

Was it freedom? Or was it carelessness? I wasn’t sure, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out, although I feared I had little choice in the matter.

After all, she’d been ballsy enough to threaten me with legal action to meet me sooner than Luke had told her I was available. I wasn’t mad about it, though. Until the land sold, this woman was going to be a thorn in my side, and we clearly needed to settle things between us before this dispute went any further.

Because getting tangled up with Rose Matthews was absolutely not something I needed in my life.

Ever.

7

ROSE

Duking It Out

In general, finding somewhere where my canary yellow van didn’t look out of place was extraordinarily difficult. After all, it wasn’t every day that you saw such a bright vehicle roaming around, and yellow was a tough colour to pull off.

Sunflowers? Nailed it. Lemons? Smashed it. Highlighters? Bit dodgy, but in general they were all right.

Little baby cars like the Fiat 500 or a Volkswagen Beetle? Cute as heck.

Big arse Ford Transit van named Ramona with a wonky rear brake light and a classic nineties Troll doll hanging from the rearview mirror? An absolute fucking eyesore, if I was honest.

But hey—this eyesore got me business. Who wouldn’t stop and gawk at such a monstrous vehicle on the road? More to the point, Ramona was somewhat of a local icon, and everyone knew it was me inside. Word-of-mouth was my bread and butter and had been for Lawn and Order since Gramps had formed the company.

So, nothing delighted me more than sitting in this slightly miserable looking van while it was parked outside of the grandest house in an eighty-mile radius.

That’s right.

My arse was plonked outside Hanbury House as I waited for my meeting with His Not-So-Grace.

I didn’t give a shit what his official style was.

His Grace, my left tit.

Nobody with any grace would walk into the village his estate oversaw and immediately seek to sell the heart of it. Although it made sense, given that he didn’t appear to have a heart of his own.

Perhaps I was slightly jaded by the late duke’s portrayal of his son and grandson. We were hardly close enough to share titbits about our lives, much less engage in personal discussions, but I knew exactly how he felt about his successors.

At least until his son had died. Then he’d refrained from even speaking about him at all, but Oliver hadn’t received the same treatment.

If anything, he’d been even harsher on him.

All because their values didn’t align. The old duke was a bit of a fossil—he didn’t want the estate to change in any way, and since adapting to the times was Oliver’s ultimate goal, they’d butted heads on more than one occasion.

I’d always kept a neutral position on things. It wasn’t my place to offer a comment on their familial relationships—or lack thereof—but right now, I found myself doing the impossible.

Agreeing with that curmudgeon who’d popped his clogs and left me to deal with his grandson.

---