Page 49 of Total Jane Wreck

I let that sink in. “If that’s true, then why are the world’s wealthiest men still so greedy?”

He shrugs. “Can’t answer you that.” Chet stands and slides his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans. “Tell me who to call. Let’s get Betty here, with you, where she belongs.”

“Thank you.” I suck in a breath, careful not to dissolve into tears of gratitude.

Minutes later, Chet raises his phone, thumb already tapping. Reed’s number is dialed up. Chet tilts his head, waiting for the line to connect. “I’ve put it on speaker,” he whispers.

Reed picks up. “Hello?”

With zero preamble, Chet starts talking. “This is Chet Edwards. I’m calling regarding your mare, registration number ending 2268. You just sold her to a man in Palm Beach, correct?”

I pace in tight loops, hands pressed to my mouth, as Chet leans against his living room’s built-in bar. His voice isn’t unkind, but there’s no mistaking that Chet fully expects to get what he wants.

Meanwhile, Reed’s voice is fuzzy. Confused. “Yes. Who is this again?”

“Chet Edwards. Jane’s boss.” He glances at me, quick. “But that’s not important. I’m calling to offer a buyout on Betty.”

I hear shuffling on the other end, the sound of Reed’s breath all static and superiority. “Sorry, but Betty’s spoken for. The buyer’s wiring funds as we speak.”

Chet interrupts, chuckling. “Yeah, except you’re going to cancel that transaction, because Betty’s coming here, to Resilience Ranch. Don’t fight me on this. Otherwise, I’ll sic my legal team on you.”

“On what grounds?” Reed says. “Betty is my horse—”

“Oh, Reed.” Chet’s tone is a potent mixture of condescension and impatience. “Jane took care of Betty, not you. And Betty loves Jane, not you. In my book, that makes Betty Jane’s horse. In addition, Jane was unethically forced out of the family business, where she only ever acted in good faith. Now you think you’ll sell Betty off to be mistreated? Think again.”

“Look here.” Reed huffs. “Legally, you don’t have a leg to stand on.”

“Perhaps,” Chet answers. “But I sure as hell can slow down Betty’s sale and present mountains of red tape. My lawyers could temporarily halt and then delay things so long that the buyer loses interest. Or you could just be happy that I’m doubling whatever the polo player is putting up. Wire transfer. Immediate.”

For three full seconds, there’s only Reed’s breathing and the ticking of the wall clock. “Jesus Christ,” Reed says. “Fine. I hope Betty’s worth it. Or,” he mutters wryly, “that my sister’s worth it.”

“Don’t test me, Reed,” Chet barks, his cold tone making my skin pebble. “We both know Betty’s value. But if you don’t understand your sister’s value, that’s your problem. My advice? Take the money and run.”

Silence. “Deal,” Reed says, voice sour milk, and then the line pops dead. Chet punches a button, spins on his heel, and fixes me with a look that is both a question and an answer.

It’s so matter-of-fact and unshowy, like he’s just secured a dinner reservation instead of saving my entire reason for living. Some part of me wants to collapse from relief and sob again, but the rest is giddy and loose, floating in a post-adrenaline fog.

“I’ll send people to pick her up tomorrow,” Chet says, “a team that will take good care of her while on the road. You’ll have Betty here by Monday.”

I’m still standing, numb, bourbon on my tongue and hope flooding my blood. How is it that in the space of an hour, my entire life could fall apart and be put back together, better than before? Not sure. All I know is that I want to kiss Chet until I’m dizzy for days.

Perhaps the bourbon’s gone straight to my head.

“Gee,” I say, jaw trembling, “that was—impressive.”

His lips barely move, but his eyes do. “That was nothing,” Chet murmurs. “Not compared to how impressive I find you.”

That’s all it takes. I jettison myself toward him, colliding with Chet’s chest, knocking half the air out of us both.

“Jane . . .” he murmurs my name, once, twice, then just a ragged sigh. His hands snake around my waist. I snake myself around him.

Our kiss is fast and a bit messy, but I don’t care. Not at all. It’s verging on violence, how much I want him. I pull at his T-shirt, fingers latching onto that tech conference logo until the shirt gives, just a little, and then I’m clawing my way underneath it to the skin and the ridges of his back.

“Jane.” He tilts back, blinking. “You don’t have to—”

“Yeah. I do,” I breathe. “Chet, I want this. I want you. Don’t push me away.”

Chet closes his eyes. Opens them again, a darker shade of dark than before. “You’re emotional. You’ll regret it.”