Page 29 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire

“A post?”

“I need to give the social media marketing for this place the kiss of life. So I’ll be making as many funny videos as I can.”

“Oh.” Miller looks like I just told him I’m about to saw off his right hand. “I’ll be sure to keep out of your way.”

I open my mouth to tell him I was hoping he’d be an on-camera participant, but he turns away.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll go dump this load, then clean out the bigger guys.”

“I have to go pick up some hay later.” I run my finger along the chewed wood at the edge of the picnic table. “The farmer’s delivery guy is off sick and we’re nearly out. Are you, um, able to come help?”

My belly does a dance more associated with asking someone on a date than asking for help lifting a bunch of heavy things.

He spins around to face me, that bright happy-go-lucky smile back on his face. The one that goes right to his shining eyes. “Of course. Isn’t that why I’m here?”

“Yes, but since you’re a volunteer I thought it was only polite to ask. I mean, you do need to do your own work atsome point, right?”

“Yeah, but I can fit that around this. If there’s a crisis, my assistant would call. Other than that I can catch up in the evenings. I did some last night.”

“How?”

“How what?”

“How did you work without a laptop? Wasn’t it in the van when it was stolen?”

“Oh.” There’s a flash of something across his eyes that I can’t quite place, and I’d almost swear on Waldo’s life that there’s a hint of pink on Miller’s chiseled cheekbones. “I got my assistant to courier one over. It got here last night while you were out.”

“Ah, okay. Well, good luck with the rest of the cleanup. When you’ve done that, there’s a big dip in the path over there that the wheelbarrow gets stuck in every time I roll over it. Could you shift some gravel around to fill it in? Also the bolt on the shed needs to be oiled, or the rust scrubbed off it, or something. And the hose faucet in the big donkey barn is dripping. I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go for the hay.”

“Got it.” he says. “Shit first. Then hole, bolt, and faucet.”

He gives me a thumbs up, and I turn back toward the house to start a spreadsheet of ideas for my new world-dominating social media strategy. Ideas to not only boost donations and bring in visitors on open days, but that will also hopefully give me some great stories and achievements to bring up at my job interview. Dickish Darren certainly won’t have any Daily Donkey Facts posts to talk about, so it will definitely show my versatility.

Before I’ve realized what I’m doing, I’m looking over my shoulder and watching Miller head toward the rear of the shed with the poop bucket.

Just as he rounds the corner, he looks over at me.

Shit.

My insides clench, organs curling in on themselves as I immediately snap my head in the direction I’m going again.

Shit, shit, that’s worse. Because it makes it even more obvious that he caught me in the act of stealing a sneaky look. And that would mean that I…well, I can’t have him thinking that means anything at all.

“Argh.” My toe smacks into a large brick, which is for some godforsaken reason right in my path. The impact sends me so off-balance I have to flap an arm out to the side to stay upright. “Ow.”

“You okay over there?” Miller shouts.

I nod and wave for him to carry on his way.

Fuck.

My body floods with searing embarrassment, which only makes the pain in my toe hurt even more—almost as much as my pride.

Not only did he catch me looking at him, he saw me trip and stagger preciselybecauseI was looking at him.

Ugh.

I just need to focus on creating a viable plan for this place, a future for Grandpa and the donkeys. Then I can go back to Chicago, mission accomplished.