Page 92 of Tempting Wyatt

“Never said anyone was off-limits. You just have work to do—that’s all.”

Lots and lots of work. So much work.

I intend to make damn sure of it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ivy

WYATT MUST HAVE BREWED A pot of coffee for me before he left at whatever ungodly hour he went to work. I drink a cup in the kitchen, staring out the window and thinking.

Of him. Of this place. This family. The way they all just fit together, soothing each other’s frayed edges. Even though I can see the signs that the ranch is struggling everywhere I look.

Words swirl in my mind, images accompanying them. A broken-down tractor, an old pick-up truck with an open hood, a gate falling off the fence.

It’s not quite the paradise promised in the Airbnb ad. And yet, the sun is just starting to stretch across the field, golden paint strokes brushing over frost-tipped grass. It’s quiet except for the distant lowing of cattle and the comforting hum of wind through the trees. The air smells like woodsmoke, pine, and something else I can’t name but already associate with Wyatt.

This place is a writer’s dream. Cowboys, wannabe cowboys, honky-tonks, pool hustlers, bar fights, threesomes—it’s a playground of inspiration, and I’m as inspired as I’ve ever been.

It truly is paradise. A plane of existence I never knew and never would’ve known if I hadn’t come here.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more awake. Not in LA after three double-shot lattes. Not at some glittering wrap party with champagne in hand and compliments in the air like perfume. Certainly not sitting across from Malcolm pretending I didn’t notice the way he flirted with other women when he thought I wasn’t watching.

My phone buzzes on the countertop where Wyatt must’ve plugged it in to a charger.

I glance at the screen and contemplate declining the call.Devyn Whitaker—Agent Extraordinaireis how I have her contact saved.

Answering it feels like dragging a silk dress through a muddy field, but I do it anyway.

“Hey, Dev,” I say, still watching the morning unfold over the ranch.

“Ivy. Finally.” Her voice crackles through the line, already laced with caffeine and exasperation. “Tell me you have something. Anything. The production company is starting to ask uncomfortable questions.”

“I’m working on something.”

“You were supposed to turnsomethingin a week ago.”

“I know.”

She’s quiet for a beat, then, “Where are you?”

“Would you believe Montana?”

“And why exactly are you in Montana of all places?” Before I can respond, she continues. “Actually, let’s start with why did I find out about your engagement being off by seeing pictures of Heidi Holloway plastered on Page Six with Malcolm at the freaking Chateau Marmont? Ivy. Please tellme that girl did not steal your fiancé and now has the lead role inCaptive?”

My chest tightens but I suspected this would happen. “I don’t think anything is definite withCaptiveyet. I’ve been avoiding Malcolm’s calls. I, um, caught them together a week ago. ”

“Oh, honey.” Devyn sighs, softer now. “I’m so sorry. There’s a buzz around town saying she’s got the lead part. Probably her people putting it out there. From the looks of it, she’s also playing house with Malcolm.”

It should hurt.

But all I feel is. . . nothing.

Maybe not nothing. Maybe just the kind of clarity that comes from finally stepping far enough away from the chaos to see it clearly. From realizing you were never really in love—you were justconvenient. Familiar.

I was Malcolm’s favorite new toy until the shine wore off.

I think about Wyatt’s hands. Rough, capable. The way he touches me like I’m too good to be true. It’s not a performance. I’m not merely an accessory to him.