Page 122 of Wild As Her

I square my shoulders and nod, still not sure what business we're handling. “Let’s.”

And for the first time ever, I walk into that building not alone.

I walk in like I’ve got an empire at my back.

Because I do.

The bank conference room is cold and sterile, like it’s designed to make people feel small. I used to feel that way in here, small, and out of place. I used to have to wear a business suit to amp myself up with confidence. Now, I'm sitting here in jeans, abutton-down shirt, and scuffed boots. I'm more confident than I've ever been.

Today I walked in with Jack on one side, Weston and Tucker flanking us like a damn cowboy SWAT team, and I take a seat at the long, polished table like I belong. My boots scuff the tile, and my back is straight, with my pulse thundering—but I don’t let it show.

We sit and wait.

And when Sterling Atwood walks in, holding a sleek leather portfolio and a fake little customer-service smile, he freezes when his eyes jump from Weston to Jack to Tucker, and then to me.

Finally, he tenses.And for the first time, Atwood's gaze doesn’t drop to my chest. He doesn’t leer. He looks nervous.

Good.

“Gentlemen,” he says with a stutter-step and then adds, “And Miss Kendrick.”

I arch a brow.

Atwood clears his throat and takes a seat at the head of the table, clearly thrown off by the testosterone in the room, and the fact that I’m not alone.

Weston leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, voice calm and razor sharp.

“Let’s not waste time. We’re here because we know you’ve been talking to a few investors around Bridger Falls. Quiet little backroom chats about opening up a business venture on the edge of town. A boutique farm stay experience. Horse rides. Dinners under the stars. Guest cabins.”

My stomach turns to stone. That’s my plan.

Atwood starts to object, but Weston lifts a hand, casual and terrifying. “Don’t insult us, Sterling. Weknow.”

Jack and Tucker both fold their arms across their chests like synchronized cowboy bodyguards. The energy in the roomshifts—like a thunderstorm just rolled in and decided to join us at the table.

I stare at Atwood, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. “You stole my business plan?”

He stammers, “Now, I would say there were some good ideas there, but Cami, you didn’t have the?—”

“Don’t.” My voice slices through the air.

Everyone goes quiet.

I feel rage bloom in my chest, hot, full, and old. “This is a small town. We’re supposed to support each other. Lift each other up. But you? You’ve done nothing but dismiss me, belittle me, and now steal from me?”

His face reddens. He tries to gather his composure, but I’m not done.

“You’re a thief, Atwood. And if you think I’m just gonna let this slide—” I lean forward, locking eyes with him, “—you picked the wrong woman to screw over.”

He opens his mouth. I beat him to it. “I’ll be looking into litigation. And today, right now, I want all of my money withdrawn. Every account. Every cent. I want all my accounts closed.”

I feel Jack go still beside me. Then he nods in approval.

Weston lifts his chin. “Ours as well.”

Tucker adds, “We’ll find a new bank. One that doesn’t get in bed with crooks.”

Weston looks right at Atwood. “As of this moment, Wilder and Jessop Ranch have no ties to you or this institution. And we will be pursuing legal action against you for sharing confidential client business plans with other businesses.”

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