Page 68 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire

Jesus Christ. I’m falling for her, aren’t I? Falling for a woman I’ve given a false name to. A woman who would truly hate me if she knew that’s what I’ve done and why I’m really here.

Even my brothers could tell, and they can never tell anything.

I am such a fucking idiot. I can build a billion-dollar company from nothing, but this shit show of my own making might be un-fucking-fixable.

My phone buzzes with a message.

Even if this is the most complex work problem imaginable, I bet I can find a way to fix it. It’s just my own life I seem to find unsolvable.

Oh, it’s the Commoners’ group chat. And there are a couple of messages from earlier I must have missed while I was helping my dad and brothers load the van.

LEO

I still think we should sell him. We could get two new players with the proceeds.

CHASE

Or one player and more equipment for the Youth Academy.

Then there’s Oliver’s new message that just dropped in.

OLIVER

I can’t stop thinking that he’s a Commoners legend. A fan favorite. Is this a time where the heart of the club is more important than the economics of it?

I slump forward, elbows on my knees, head swinging like a pendulum ticking away the time to my own inevitable fate.

Oliver’s words could just as easily be applied to the very land I’m on and what it means to the Channings—and to the donkeys themselves.

It’s not a fucking commodity for Skinner to snatch up and bulldoze so he can make tens of millions more from commuter townhomes. Or a tool for me to abuse to exact my personal revenge on him.

These seventy-five acres are the most precious thing to Frankie. So precious she’s jeopardizing a job opportunity she’s worked toward for years to be here to help her grandpa and to honor her grandma’s memory.

In theory, the two sides to her shouldn’t sit well together. But, in reality, they make her the perfect whole.

On one hand, she’s the ambitious corporate marketer who’s fought her way up the ladder with her hard work, and talent.

But on the other, there’s her self-sacrifice, the warmth she extended to my family, and the way she’s spending every spare minute making amusing donkey social media posts to promote her make-or-break Thanksgiving event.

Everything about both parts of her is admirable and inspiring beyond measure.

Plus, of course, she’s as sexy as all hellfire, kisses me in a way that makes me forget my ownname—both of them—and want to take her clothes off so badly I could rip out my own teeth.

I look at my phone again and start typing.

ME

There might be something in what Oliver says. Can someone set up a video call?

I haul myself vertical, shove the phone into my pocket and grab a bale. Christ, no amount of lifting weights in a gym prepares muscles for the daily grind of farm work. Parts of me that I didn’t know existed have been aching since I got here.

To save my arms, I balance the hay on the wheelbarrow outside the shed and trundle it back to the stable.

Approaching the door, I can hear Frankie’s muted voice talking to one of the donkeys. I put the wheelbarrow down and move closer to the doors, staying out of sight.

Oh my God. She’s not talking. She’s singing something.

With my back flat against the wall, I peer around the edge of the doorway.