Page 239 of Not Over You

That makes me laugh. It's hard not to like this guy.

"Honestly, I need the three of you to help me outfit my new fire station, find and train fire fighters, and, of course, provide security for Golden Meadow. It’s a huge undertaking, but once I realized the severity of the situation with the Wellers and the growing tension in the town, I knew you’d be the man to lead it."

I sit forward. "As you can imagine, I can’t give you a definitive answer until I’ve spoken with Ryker and Tyson and surveyed the ground and toured your fire station facility."

Brocker’s chuckle is deep. "You’re gonna love the station. I decked it out, but Mack, if you accept, you can order what you need once I hand over the yearly budget. Golden Meadow is my top priority right now. So that means between you, your men, and my property manager, you have my full support."

I blow out a breath. I really should be focusing my efforts on rebuilding my clientele in DC, not messing around with this country jaunt. But I did promise Chuck Stamm that I’d hear Brocker out.

Brocker continues, "The only completed construction on site is a manager’s cottage and a stablemaster’s house. You and your men can bunk in the stablemaster’s house until we figure out a more permanent solution."

Shit, this probably isn’t going to happen. Brocker’s going to be disappointed. I guess it doesn’t hurt to take a look at the property, though.

I clear my throat. "Right, but before we get ahead of ourselves, I’d like to tour Golden Meadow before taking your offer back to my men."

Brocker nods. "Of course. Here, take this packet and look over the specifics of what the job entails. You’ll find my offer in there and contracts for you and your men."

He hands me a thick manilla envelope. I smile over the fact that Brocker already drew up new hire packets. I guess when you’re a billionaire, you’re used to getting what you want. However, I don’t think stepping out of the DC scene and into the wilderness will help me regain clients.

Brocker pulls a buzzing cell from his pocket. "I have to go, but look over the information with your men tonight. And let me introduce you to my property manager. You’ll be working closely with her until we get things up and rolling."

BROOKE

Of course the town's deep-pocketed slumlord is first in line to ask me about my new role in sales for Brocker's. I take a sip of wine, and relief rushes through me as I spot Owen waving me over. Without a moment’s hesitation, I reach out, placing my hand on Kenny’s arm, interrupting his stream of questions. "I’m so sorry to interrupt you, Kenny, but it looks like Mr. Brocker needs me."

Annoyance flashes in Kenny’s dull gray eyes. "We have yet to set a time for Monday’s property tour."

I bite the inside of my cheek. There’s no way this man is actually interested in purchasing a lot in Golden Meadow, not after he’s been holed up in his rundown farmhouse for all of these years meticulously counting his pennies from his slum rentals and Brownie’s Tavern. I clear my throat and cement a serene smile on my face. "How about eleven?"

His eyes light with a slimy satisfaction. "All right then, maybe we can have lunch after and discuss incentives for first lot buyers."

My skin crawls, and I have to stop myself from throwing my drink in his face as he runs his gaze up and down me, like I’m the one for sale instead of the lots. Like he even has a chance. My Aunt Trudy warned me that Kenny would be here tonight trying to throw his dirty money around.

I clear my throat. "Eleven it is, I’ll have to double-check my schedule about lunch, though."

One side of his unusually small, tight-lipped mouth curls into a half-smile. "I doubt people are knocking down your door after hearing about the troubles you’ve been running into."

His comment stops me cold. "What are you talking about?"

His smile widens, and he shrugs. "You know how this town talks."

I blink a few times and keep my fake smile pasted on my face. "Well, you can tell me all the rumors that have been swirling around at your tavern on Monday when you tour the lots. Now if you’ll excuse me…"

I gasp as his fingers wrap around my forearm. He stares at me with cold, hard eyes and lowers his voice. "You should know the first lesson in sales is honey catches more flies than vinegar. You might want to sweeten your approach."

I yank my arm from his grasp. "And you should know by now not to lay hands on women."

My pointed remark referring to his latest restraining order from a former waitress from his bar hits him like a stinger. Staying silent, Kenny licks the inside corner of his lip so hard it juts out as he lets the irritation in his eyes do the talking for him.

"Good night, Mr. Brown." Asshole. I sweep by him and make a blind beeline for Owen Brocker. Out of nervous habit, I start digging around in my clutch purse for my lip balm.

Owen smiles and waves me over. "There she is. Mack, may I introduce to you the woman who wears many coats currently for Brocker Enterprise, my head of sales and Golden Meadows’ unflappable property manager, Brooke Sheridan."

I shove my lip balm back into my clutch, look up, and stick my hand out. "It’s nice to—" Drake? Drake! My throat constricts, and I stand frozen, suspended in time and space as I stare slack-jawed into the heavy-lidded, soulful, and all-consuming, sensuous eyes of my ex-fiancé, Drake Mackenzie.

There’s not a moment’s confusion. It’s him. The curve of his lips into an easy, confident smile and the warmth of his large, strong hand taking hold of mine and cradling it hurtles me back a decade on the timeline when I first met this gorgeous specimen of man. Sure, his eyes are now framed by deeper laugh lines and his hazel orbs, a bed of emerald green streaked with gold flecks, now hold a harder, more distant sheen, but it’s him. And I’m wearing his ring.

My stomach lurches as though I’m sailing the high seas of mortification, and everything goes sideways. My purse thuds against the floor, and Drake immediately releases my hand to bend down to pick it up. Seeing my chance, I twist my old engagement ring around so the diamonds face palm-side down. Damn it, Aunt Trudy, I told you this wasn’t a good idea!

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