Page 8 of The Love Lie
When Trish first called to offer him a spot as one of the suitors, he laughed in her face. He couldn’t take six weeks off to play Prince Charming for some Hollywood executive who didn’t know the first thing about his life. It would be fall on the ranch. There were calves to wean, fences to mend, and endless preparations to make before winter buried them in snow. She could find another cowboy to play hero on TV, one of those assholes with shiny boots that had never seen the inside of a pen. He wasn’t interested.
“I don’t want another cowboy,” she told him. “I want you.”
“All due respect, ma’am, I don’t really care what you want.”
“You should.”
“And why’s that?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she took a deep breath, clearly pivoting the conversation. “There are thousands of cowboys in this country, Cooper Kelley. Aren’t you curious how I found you?”
“I know how you found me.”
That fucking video had become the bane of his existence. He’d been in town running some errands when a summer thunderstorm struck, soaking him through by the time it was done. Before the drive home, he stripped off his shirt and tossed it into the bed of his truck. The second he settled his hat back on, a series of catcalls filled the air. Cooper had turned to find a tableful of his mother’s old friends outside the local coffee shop. The women in town had teased him ever since he was a boy, and they’d keep doing it until he was an old man, he was sure. It was easier to roll with it, he’d learned, than to fight it. So with a roll of his eyes, he offered them a friendly grin and tipped his hat.
“Morning, ladies.”
And that would have been it, had a scream not pierced the air. Cooper spun. A young woman chased after a baby carriage. It rolled into the street. A car sped closer. He acted on instinct and jumped for the stroller. What he didn’t realize as he hastily pushed the baby out of harm’s way, was that one of the teenagers who worked in the coffee shop was filming the whole thing. She posted it to some app, and forty-eight hours later, every news station in the country was calling him, asking for an interview with the “six-pack savior” as he’d been dubbed. And hell if he’d ever live that name down. He said no to all of them, just like he was going to say no to Trish. Until…
“I know you think I don’t know anything about your life, and maybe I don’t, but I do know this,” Trish said before he could find a polite way to hang up the phone. “Last year, the cattle industry had a three percent decline, and it was the smallest herd size in over sixty years. Reports predict a total collapse of the industry by 2030. And even if it doesn’t fall apart, every article I read in preparation for this phone call says cattle prices are declining while maintenance costs are rising. Now, I don’t know much about your ranch, but my guess is you’re feeling the squeeze right alongside everyone else.”
“I don’t need your insights into how to do my job.”
“Of course not, but can you answer one more question for me? And then I’ll let you go and never call you again.”
“All right. One more.”
“Do you know how much someone with five hundred thousand followers on Instagram can charge for a single post?”
“What does that matter?”
“Ten thousand dollars. For one post. If you arrange a sponsored post every week, that’s half a million dollars right there. Not to mention brand partnerships, paid appearances, podcasts, book deals, and more.”
“I still don’t see your point, ma’am.”
“Five hundred thousand is the average number of followers a top-four suitor on the show walks away with. If you make it to the finale, that bumps to seven hundred and fifty thousand. And if you get selected as next season’s lead, it jumps to two million. Think about that, Cooper Kelley, before you turn down my offer. Your ranch needs money? Longevity? A new angle in a failing industry? I can give it to you. All you need to do is take a six-week vacation around the world. Are you still sure you want to say no?”
“What makes you think all those people would have any interest in me?”
“I’ve been doing this a long time. I know a leading man when I see one. The real question is do you?”
No, he didn’t.
He still doesn’t. But that hardly changes the facts. She caught him hook, line, and sinker with her argument. Numbers started spinning the second she finished talking, and weeks later, they’re still there dancing across his thoughts, impossible to ignore. Anyone willing to spit in the face of an easy million dollars for posting a few photos is a fool, and Cooper isn’t that. He can do a lot with that sort of money, for the ranch, for his family. His father will never understand, but that doesn’t matter. Results matter. Which is why he agreed to the deal with Emily, especially after the producers made it clear he would be handed the role as the next lead on a silver platter.
And now he’s gone and ruined it.
Well, shit.
Cooper is so in his head he hardly realizes time passing. Suddenly, the beach is gone, the boat ride back to the resort is over, and he’s outside the front door of a very familiar over-ocean bungalow—Emily’s.
Except it’s not Emily’s anymore.
It’s Sam’s. And his.
It’s theirs.
Because they’re engaged. And supposedly in love. Why wouldn’t they want to spend the next five days in paradise sharing the same room together?
