My brows scrunch up along with my nose. Because this plan already smells like shit. “Elaborate.”
“For the next two months, through the end of the World Championships in Las Vegas, she will work as your assistant. A media liaison. Someone who understands public perception and can help you polish your image. You two will discuss and come up with a plan. And then she’ll consult with me so that I don’t strangle you for being such a colossal cocksucker. I’m sure she’d be open to helping with any other administrative work you might need as well. Mostly, though, she’ll be there to watch and keep you out of trouble.”
I glance at the woman, and she nods, not seeming alarmed by this suggestion at all.
“Now I know you’re kidding. Because there’s no way you’d assign a man my age a glorified babysitter. That’s just insulting, Kip.”
I want him to burst out laughing and tell me this is his idea of pulling my leg.
But he doesn’t. He just stares back at me, like the woman, giving my brain time to catch up to what he’s already decided for me.
“The fuck outta here.” I laugh in disbelief as I sit up straighter to glance around the room for some proof that this is a really excellent and hilarious joke. Something my brothers would pull on me for sure.
But the only thing I get is more silence.
This is not a drill, not a joke. This is a fucking nightmare.
“No, thanks. I’ll take that guy.” I point at the other dude. The one who can’t even look me in the eye. He’ll be perfect for me to pretend he doesn’t exist. Not the uptight ball-buster who stares at me like I’m a dumb hick.
Kip steeples his hands again and crosses his legs. “No.”
“No?” I sound incredulous. “I pay you, not the other way around.”
“Then find someone else who will fix this shitstorm better than I can. It’s only the future of your family farm on the line.”
Heat slashes across my cheeks, barely hidden by the stubble there. And for once, I’m speechless. Utterly speechless. My jaw pops under the pressure of grinding my teeth against each other.
Milk. Taken down by fucking milk.
A piece of plain white paper slides in front of me from across the table. Nude polished fingernails tap on it twice. Prissy. “Write your address here, please.”
“My address?” My gaze shoots up to meet hers.
“Yes. The place where you live.” I swear her cheek twitches. It’s fucking rude.
My head swivels to Kip. “Why am I giving this girl my address again?”
He smiles and reaches forward to clap me on the shoulder. “You’re not Peter Pan, Rhett. You won’t be losing your shadow. Not for the next two months.”
My mind reels. He can’t mean...
“Where you go, she goes.”
Kip gives me a vicious smile, not the one he gave me when I walked in the room. No, this one is full of warning. “And Eaton, that girl is my daughter. My princess. So, mind your goddamn manners, keep your hands to yourself, and stay the hell out of trouble, yeah?”
The snarky princess is supposed to live at the ranch with me? Good God, this is so much worse than I imagined.
My weekend has been on a downhill spiral ever since that fucking video, and when I storm out of the shiny office, it doesn’t get any better because I forgot to plug the meter on that great parking spot I got.