Grump’s City Girl (Boots and Heels #2)

1. Cassie

Chapter 1

Cassie

M y heart raced, pounding against my chest, as the black Bentley sped away from the glittering city lights of New York to the Montana ranch. I didn’t know if today would be the day when it would happen.

If it happened at all.

Each mile put more distance between me and the scandal that threatened to destroy everything I had worked so hard to build.

I was on edge, just like yesterday.

And the day before that… and the day before that.

The sprawling ranch, with its promise of wide-open spaces and endless skies, was my last resort, a place to hide until the storm passed.

While the unmarked Bentley wound its way through the streets of Cheyenne, Wyoming, heading to a bed and breakfast in the southeast—I forgot the place’s name—I couldn't shake the feeling that my past would find me.

I scrolled through the various news channels on my phone with my bottom lip caught between my teeth.

Would this be the day all the news outlets and scandal rags suddenly lit up with the story of Cassandra Carrington, heiress of Carrington Pharmaceuticals, her sex tape, and sexy nudes?

For the past four days, I had hardly slept, barely eaten, and had bitten my nails down to their quicks—all because I had trusted Vigo, my ex, with material someone in my position should have never even allowed him to have.

I owed my dad, who, acting on good sense—or paranoia; billionaires tended to have that particular ailment—had set a tail on Vigo. That PI, Henry, had stopped Vigo right before he had walked into the local newspaper office, armed with printouts of me—naked.

Henry had stopped him from brandishing my private affairs all over the country, but that still worried me. I was Cassandra Carrington, daughter of a Montana billionaire and local socialite. Any dirt on me was blood to sharks, so why had Vigo only gone to the guppies?

The fear that he had backups ready to sell to CNN or some foreign outlet plagued me for days, and even while Henry had assured me that he’d searched everywhere in Vigo’s apartment and found nothing, I still feared a major blowout.

I dropped my phone and sighed. “Poor little rich girl, huh.”

“Miss Cassandra,” my driver Porter said through the intercom, his soft English accent comforting. “We’re almost there. I thought you might like to see the countryside. It’s rather… bucolic.”

I nearly rolled my eyes. “It’s easier to say rural, Porter, and for the millionth time, it’s simply Cassie. Cassandra sounds so... pretentious.”

“I’ll remember, Miss Cassandra,” he replied politely, as always when I asked him not to use my full name.

“Has Hannah called?” I asked, curious to know if my PA, the closest thing I could call my best friend, had called Porter. I hadn’t heard from her in hours.

“No, Miss Carrington.”

That was understandable—she was probably caught up in the shit-storm I had left her and my dad to clean up.

For the hundredth time, I questioned my common sense.

Rolling the window down, I bit my lip for another reason: this land was truly gorgeous. The fog seeping from what I assumed was a river somewhere in the forest was wisps floating over the gentle, rolling hills covered in knee-high, green grass. Wildflowers grew in clumps and were bright spots in green carpets.

Beyond the green hills, rocky outcroppings rose in the distance, starkly contrasting the lush greenery around us. The car took an incline, and the trees on both sides of the lanes had branches that started to interlock and form a latticed cave over the road.

When we came around the curve, a large, three-story home sat on the expansive plateau; it was primarily natural wood, but the brick accents were not hard to miss.

A massive wraparound porch with quaint rocking chairs and swinging hammocks caught my eye; they didn’t look placed there for show. This home was countrified. Tall trees shaded the house, and bushes of gorgeous periwinkles surrounded the long white porch. A winding brick path led down to the parking lot.

Ancient oaks and a few evergreens graced the sides of the property, but what drew my eye was that two trees had knotted branches intertwined and from that twist, a set of loveseat swings hung from it. I’d been to retreats before, but this felt like I had landed in a foreign world.

“Oh my,” I whispered. “This looks so serene.”

Porter came around and opened the door for me, and I stepped out, briefly regretting the suede cowboy boots I’d chosen to go with my white summer dress and tan jacket. Was it a bit too cliché?

With Porter lugging my suitcase, I mounted the steps and entered the front door. The door was open, and I found an expansive foyer, warm wood molding, a couple of padded chairs, a coffee table strewn with old magazines, a row of coat racks, and a circular desk.

“It looks torn out of the pages of a novel,” Porter replied.

“For my sake, let us hope it’s not a horror story,” I added, wincing, “I’m already living in an extended one.”

“Where is the greeting staff?” Porter murmured while looking around. “Will they magically appear from thin air or descend from the ceiling like a cherub from the sky? A whisk of the wand, maybe… some sparkles in the air?”

“What movies are you watching?” I asked, quirking a brow.

“Oh!” A lady walked in, clad in full black like I assumed most wait staff would be. Her face lit up. “Welcome. I’m sorry no one greeted you at the door, but I am glad you’ve arrived. You’re the last one—” She went around the desk. “—let’s get you all situated, okay? May I have your name?” She asked.

The lady flung a ledger open, which was strange because this was the twenty-first century. Who didn’t use a computer these days? I looked at Porter, and his brows lifted as if to say, maybe it’s the bucolic charm.

I snorted and turned back to the lady as she checked me in. She then handed me a few pages to sign. “This is our standard NDA and privacy clause. Please note we will not disclose, publish, or leak any information about you or your activities here and we?—”

I droned her out as I had heard this speech a million times before. Instead, I spun the pages and found where the X met the line for my signature. While nodding along with the lady’s spiel, I scribbled my signature over the line and closed the sheath of papers.

It was one of the longest NDAs I’d signed, but it didn’t matter much to me.

I only wanted to get to my room, take a long, hot bath, wind down, and try to forget the chaos I had left behind me. The lady took the papers, scribbled her signature, and then beamed at me.

“Wonderful. Welcome to the Rocking Horse Ranch. You’re the last contestant in the Ex-Change Competition.”

“Wait?” I blinked. “ What ? What did you say? What competition ?”

The lady frowned. “Did you not hear what I said? The producers were waiting for you to arrive so we could start filming, and you’re the last possible match for our most troubling contestant, who, ironically, is the owner of this ranch.”

“What? No, no, no,” I shook my head. “This cannot be right, Porter—” I spun around and he wasn’t there. Oh, right, he’d gone to get my other bags. Turning back to the lady, I said, “This is a massive mistake. I’m not meant to be here. I cannot be in a competition!”

Her face twisted. “You signed the NDA, ma’am. I cannot let you out of the commitment until the next six weeks are up and the competition runs its course. If you do, you may disclose its location, the identity of the other contestants, and?—”

“Contestants? What?” Porter asked, his gaze flicking between me and the lady. “This is a bed and breakfast, is it not?”

“It’s a competition, sir, that matches cowboys and cowgirls with city slickers,” she said. “Unless you get kicked off in the first week, there is nothing I can do.

"Even then, you must stay on the ranch for the next six weeks until filming is finished. When the producers told me another contestant was coming, they did not give me a name, so I assumed when you turned up, it was you.”

I felt sick.

“I—”

“Cassie,” a voice had me turning.

A man stood there in faded jeans, a flannel and worn boots, but he was no simple man. His hair was a dark mane around his chiseled and strong square face. His eyes gleamed deep, unfathomable blue beneath dark, slashing brows, sculpted cheekbones, and golden tan skin.

His tall, lean figure radiated authority, and my body responded to it without any reason—even with a muscle jumping in his cheek with annoyance.

“Cassandra,” he said again, tone dark and rumbly. “I’m sorry I lured you back here like this. Can we talk?”

What? What the hell was he talking about? Do I know him?

Before I could even ask, he was towing me away from the table into a nook room away from the lady and Porter—who shot me an assessing look. I shook my head, dissuading him from drawing his concealed weapon; if anything, I would scream.

Mr. Whats-His-Face held my upper arm, and his eyes dropped half-mast, his tone low and guttery. I got the impression he didn’t speak much.

“Don’t freak out on me. My name is Beau, Beau Lowell. I own this ranch, you see, and—” he breathed out. “—it’s a long story. The ranch is under some financial constraints and the only option I had to get some help was to loan it out to this tawdry competition crew.”

His hand dropped from mine. “They offered me a place in the competition, but they’re now forcing me to get someone, even one of my exes, to attend as well so we could play. It’s all for show, but needless to say…” he grimaced.

“You’d rather get a root canal than ask any of them,” I said.

“Something like that,” he replied. “I know this is an unorthodox request, but if you would pose as my ex for a while, I’ll make sure you get off this wretched competition and into a private cabin for the rest of the time you’ll be here.”

This was… insane.

Honestly, it felt like something out of a twisted story.

Shaking my head, I told him, “I’m not supposed to be here. I-I can’t do this—” Not to mention if I was on TV, my face would be all over the world, and many people know me. “What about the clauses?” I asked. “Isn't there some way I can get out of it?”

“From what I know, the NDA is ironclad,” he replied. “Believe me, I made the same mistake. But, if we get kicked off before the competition finishes, I will make sure you will be all right here; my ranch is open to you.”

Rubbing my face, I felt the need to sigh and scream at the same time. I was exhausted, worried, and deathly scared of seeing my face on the news. I didn’t know what to do. Note to self: do better at listening.

I found a chair. “I can’t do this. I am not… I can’t help you. Plus, my dad will have an aneurysm if he finds out.”

Beau crouched and met me at eye level. His brows lowered over his hooded eyes, and even as dazed as I was about all that was going on—fuck, he had sexy eyes. “I know it’s a lot, but give it a chance. I will get you off this thing as soon as possible.”

Could I do it? Could I risk it? I didn’t even know this man.

As tempting as it was to give in and allow myself to delve into the company of this handsome man with soft eyes and a deep tone, who deemed me worthy of his attention, the current circumstances weren’t exactly… right.

I sighed. “I knew better than to just sign on the dotted line. You always get screwed over with the fine print.”

He snorted. “Ain’t that the truth? It’s a shitty situation, and you don’t know me from Adam, but if we work together, we can get out of it.”

“This game show is based on the premise of uniting country guys and girls with rich city folk under the premise of romance and finding their perfect match.

"It is some twisted version of every game show, peddling romance as its currency and selling it to the masses for profit…” he grimaced. “…and the winner will get a grand prize of nearly a quarter of a million dollars.”

Chump change.

“I want to help, I do, but…” I nibbled on my lip. “…Things are very complicated in my life. This is all a big mistake. I’m not supposed to be here. I am sure my friend is out there trying to coax my dad off a coronary cliff.”

His shoulders sagged. “You mean your butler?”

“No,” I said, “He is a friend. He may be under my employ, but he is more than that.”

He got to his feet and leaned on the wall. “Right out that door, I can promise that four cameras are trained at the door, waiting for us to come out. How we go out is up to you.”

“I don’t know.”

His head turned, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. “The guys out there are expecting a blow-up from us. I think it’s best to give them what they want and then get them to give us privacy, probably for a few hours. It might give you time to figure out how you can get out of this or if you decide to stay.”

My eyes lifted. “Okay.”

“For now, I need you to slap me.”

“ What ?”

He tapped his face with two fingertips. “Right here, and scream, you bastard . Trust me, it will help.”

And it was getting even crazier.

“You’re serious?” I shook my head, pulling my hand from his face, but he held me stiffly. “You cannot be serious!”

“I am,” he said. “Liliana, the woman you met at the front, would have told the producers about what I said, and they would want to dig into the apparent scandal. Your best bet is to treat me like the worst ex you’ve ever had. Now—” His eyes took an icy hue. “—strike me.”

“Why?”

This time, his hand grasped my chin, and he forced me to meet his eyes—the zing from his touch was very disconcerting. “It’s a long story—now, do it!”