Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Daddy, I need you to call me. This assignment is…” I sighed and closed my eyes. “Dad, they changed it on me, and I don’t know what to do. This guy Doug Larson called me, and he wants me to focus the article on Blayze and only him. Like in a very personal way. I have no idea who this guy is, and Kathleen isn’t returning my calls or texts. Something doesn’t feel right, Dad. Please call me.”
Hitting End, I groaned and dropped back onto the bed. How in the hell did I end up in this situation? There was no way my father would have told me to do this interview had he known the magazine was looking for a different angle. It wasn’t a piece about catching up with the Shaw family, it was to find all their secrets and air them all out. That wasn’t even what Sports Monthly was about. It wasn’t a rag magazine.
Standing, I put my hands on my hips. “I’ll write it the way I want to write it. The way I was told to write it in the beginning. Or, maybe I won’t write it at all.”
Maybe this was exactly what I needed to get me to decide where my career was going to go. I closed my eyes. If only I had that answer myself.
I walked over and opened the garment bag I had hung in the closet earlier and started to look through the outfits I’d brought. I wasn’t sure if I should hang them up if I was going to be leaving. In the end, I decided they needed out of the bag, even if just for tonight. After taking the clothes out and hanging them up, I decided on an A-line swing dress. It was long and had a boho look to it, but I loved how it molded to my shape. I’d have to bring a sweater since it was short sleeved, but since we were only going to Brock and Lincoln’s house, I figured it would be okay.
After showering, I pulled my hair up into a loose bun on the top of my head, put a bit of mascara on, and then put the dress and my cowboy boots on. I added a few bracelets and a simple, beaded necklace.
A knock on my bedroom door had me drawing in a deep breath before I headed to answer it.
When I opened the door, my eyes nearly bugged out of my head. Blayze had on jeans—something I didn’t think I’d ever not seen him in—and a black sweater that showed off his broad chest. His hair was still damp from the shower, and those blue eyes of his traveled up and down my body. I swore they lit a fire to my insides.
“You look beautiful, Georgie.”
Feeling my cheeks heat, I looked down and let out a soft chuckle. “Thank you.”
When I looked back up, our eyes met. “And you look handsome, as always.”
He winked, and I wished more than anything that it wasn’t just a reaction to a compliment. It was probably something he did whenever women told him things like that.
Okay, where is that all coming from? Why do I care?
“Are you about ready to go?” he asked. “My mom doesn’t like waiting when there’s lasagna to be eaten.”
I laughed. “Yes, let me grab my phone and a sweater.”
With my phone in hand, I followed Blayze through his house and toward the side door that led to his garage.
We spent the ride to his parents’ house mostly in silence until Blayze broke it. “I meant to tell you earlier that I’m okay with you staying at the house if you want. It might get to be a pain in the ass driving to and from town each day, and it seems like my dad wants you to really dive into the world of ranching.”
I pressed my lips tightly together to suppress a smile. I really didn’t want to think about how relieved I was that Blayze had said that. The idea of staying with him wasn’t even something I wanted to think about at first, but now it felt weirdly right.
“You don’t mind me staying with you?”
He turned and our eyes met for a moment before he focused back on the road. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”
“It will be easier,” I said as I glanced out the window to see fields of green pastures slowly turning darker as the sun began to sink behind the mountains. “I’ll try and stay out of your way.”
“I want you to be comfortable, Georgie. I just need to know one thing.”
Turning to him, I asked, “What’s that?”
“When you’re in my house, everything is off the record.”
My heart squeezed. That was twice they’d reminded me of why I was here. I understood, but a small part of me wished I was simply here as a guest. Not a freaking reporter. The knowledge that Brock and his family were doing this to help me with my career made it all seem a bit worse. I felt like an intruder.