The Romeo Arrangement

My mind also tries treading down another road, but I won’t let it.

I have enough to worry about without drowning in my own regrets. My own blame. My own stupid mistake trying to help the situation by fighting Clay and just making it worse.

Dad doesn’t know about it, and if I have my way, he never will.

“You’re making me more noble than I really am, Gracie. It was jackass pride, plain and simple.” He sighs, rolling his shoulders. “I hitched up with Clay for money. I was greedy, jealous, always hating how I busted my hump on the lines for years and saw the managers swapping out their rides every other year for cars I could only dream about. I wanted to buy your ma nice things, the farm she always wanted, and send you off to school without worrying about any damn loans. But I could’ve done that without Clay. If I hadn’t boxed myself in, if I hadn’t been so bitter, too old or stupid to learn anything new…”

“Dad, no,” I whisper, rubbing his back. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Shaking his head, he solemnly adds, “I took the bait, the first easy money that came along. Stupidly thought I’d found us a golden ticket. Truth is, dirty money is always filthy. How many people did I help that bastard kill with the stuff he was shipping? How many folks ruined their lives or killed each other, fighting over that junk?”

Drugs.

Just like I always guessed.

Jesus.

He’s never admitted it outright before, but now…

Now, I get it, and I know part of what’s been wrong with Dad wasn’t just his health. It was guilt, poison in the soul, constant and suffocating.

Arguing won’t do him any good, though, so I nod.

He isn’t wrong.

Dirty money will always be filthy, even when it sucks good people in.

“Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty.” I fold my hands on my lap.

“I’m glad you have a good head on your shoulders. I didn’t want you to suffer, but Ridge’s plan is our only option now. It might even end all of this. You know it’s a game to call Grendal out of the woodwork. When it’s over and done, then we’ll go wherever we want. Start over.” He pats my hand. “Hollywood folks get engaged and break up all the time, so no one’s even gonna question that. They’ll probably figure a man like Ridge would never settle for someone who wasn’t born with millions.”

Ouch.

My stomach sinks because he’s right.

Fantabulous sex aside, it’s all a game.

A plan to neutralize a monster so we’ll finally be free. He’s on-point about Ridge, too, and if I want to keep my heart intact, I’d better remember it.

Hollywood princes don’t fall for pumpkin farmer peasants.

16

No Regrets (Ridge)

It must be time to get up because Corny Pecker is screaming his beak off.

For once, he’s on time, welcoming the morning like a normal rooster. I see it’s roughly nine o’clock when I sit up.

His shrieking has nothing on the double jolt I get when I see Grace out the window.

My heart wakes up and so does my cock.

Even after hours of horizontal acrobatics, I still have the biggest hard-on of my life and zero regrets.

I can’t muster up any guilt for taking her last night, indulging my lust, my desire.

I’d started it on the dance floor, all for show, or so I’d thought.

Technically, it was part of the act at Libations.

But the showstopper aspect took on a life of its own, leaving me wanting Grace like I’ve never wanted anyone. When I came upstairs to find her, I knew damn well what I was doing.

A grin jerks at my lips as I watch her enter the barn. She’d wanted me, too.

Of course I sensed it long before we got home, practically felt the smoke rolling off her.

I’d tried to not act on it, even when I came up sniffing around like a moose in rut, but seeing her in the hall shattered my restraint and my judgment.

My senses are still beyond mangled as I clean up and head downstairs to my office, where I dick around with my accounts and reply to a few random fan emails from my website.

Despite my shit-fight with Hollywood, I haven’t totally forgotten the people who love me.

Every so often, I’ll write to answer a mundane question about one of my movies or promise to send them an autographed photo.

These people are the reason I got stuck in a high-end prison of a life in the first place, and plenty of money to escape when it was time.

“Will you be having breakfast this morning?”

I turn, shaking my head at Tobin, who stands in the doorway of my office like a loyal sentinel.

“Pass. I overslept and it’s already coming up on lunch.” I’m not hungry—not for food. “Plus, I have to go to town soon. Return Jess’ truck and check on mine.”