Page 2 of The Billionaire and the Runaway

Her eyes widen just a little, but other than that, she maintains her composure.

“OK. Well, let’s see,” she says, turning back to her computer. Those pink nails begin typing, and after a minute, she smiles, like almost a real smile this time.

“How about this? There’s a farm in Storyview Falls that’s looking for a marketing, social media manager…” She pauses to read more before continuing. “Local farm that currently sells produce through a farmstand and has several contracts with local restaurants and grocery stores is looking to expand…” She trails off and looks at me. “I mean, maybe not a farm.” I press my lips together because everything about that sounds like it’s straight from one of those made-for-television movies. You know the ones. Big-city girl comes to help country farmer and wins his heart in the process. I shake my head at the ridiculous thought because a) maybe the farmer is a woman and I’m being sexist, and b) farms probably are not at all like those films that Katia and I absolutely adore.

“I mean…there are a few positions at some smaller marketing firms in the suburbs,” she adds as she points at her screen. “I’ll just send these to you. You take a look,” she adds.

“Uh, right. Thanks,” I mutter as I fidget with my laptop.

She glances at the expensive watch Dad bought her for her birthday last month. “Oh, my, is that the time? I really should go. I have a Pilates class in an hour.” She stands and heads toward the door, pausing at the threshold. She turns her head back toward me. “For what it’s worth, I think a small town would suit you.”

And then she walks through the doorway, leaving me staring at her backside in total shock. What just happened?

Shrugging, I open my laptop and find Kimberly’s email. I click on the first link which goes straight to a website for Windsor Family Farm. Geez, their website is lacking. I scroll through some photos of the town and property. Wow, OK, maybe this is more like the movies than I anticipated.

My fingers itch to send my résumé. What harm could it possibly do?

I pull out my phone and call Katia.

“I thought you were bailing on me?” she answers.

“Am I crazy to apply as a social media marketing manager for a farm in a small town?” I ask as I twirl a piece of curly hair around my finger, a nervous habit that I’ve never been able to break.

“I’m sorry, what? Am I experiencing a real-time glitch in the universe? Wait. Is this a prank call?” she asks.

“Katia! Focus! I’m being serious,” I groan.

“What? Hold on, I’m video-calling,” she says and a second later I see her face on my phone screen.

I flip my camera to show her the Windsor Family Farm’s website.

“Holy shit! Is that place for real?” she asks.

“Right? It totally looks like a movie set,” I add.

“For real. Wait, scroll back. And stop twirling your hair,” she demands.

“Where?” I ask, releasing the lock of hair as I start scrolling up on the photos.

“There. Stop,” she commands, and I stare at the screen. It’s a photo of a man, and I dare say, he’s hot as fuck.

“What’s that say below it?” she asks.

I squint and read, “Eric Windsor, current owner and operator of Windsor Family Farm.” My eyes widen. Can I work for someone that attractive? How will I focus? I groan.

“Oh. My. God. You have to apply! That guy is fucking hot! Also, you would legit be living our romantic small-town made-for-television-movie dreams! Do it! Do it for me!” Katia yells and then squeals with excitement. I decide not to mention that I think Dad has a house in this small town. Of course, he has houses in a dozen small towns and cities around the world. I don’t even know if he ever goes here. I have a faint recollection of going here a long time ago, but I’m not sure if the memory is real or just made up out of my deep desire to have a normal relationship with Dad. When I was younger and on school breaks, Dad would just bring me along with him for everything. I was mostly with nannies. And then during the school year, I was away at various boarding schools. I suppose it was a lonely childhood. I always wanted to be in one place and make real friends, not just friends who only wanted to be around me because my dad wastheJames Titan.

I glare at her as I switch the camera back to my face. “This is real-life shit, Katia. Not a movie.”

She rolls her eyes. “I know that, Ari Party Pooper. But come on, when else in your life will you have a chance like this?”

She makes a valid point. “See, even you know the answer is never,” she points out.

I hate that she’s right.

“My dad would never allow it,” I say. My father is a control freak. He’s had my life plotted out for me since, well, birth. I try to think of a way that I could make this work.

“Girl, you gotta go. Go for me! At least try. Send in your application and then show up in person. What’s the worst that can happen? Where’s this place?” she asks.

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