sure her dream home on Instagram always included a nursery. Alimony was one thing, but child support was guaranteed for eighteen years. Never trust anyone outside the family when it came to money, his dad had warned him before he’d died, but Will had been too young and naive to understand. Mia had worked the same sweet and innocent con on him, and it had almost been too late when he’d realized. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let Web suffer the same nut punch of betrayal.
His phone vibrated in the pocket of his stupid-tight jeans. No shock at the name or the text.
Web: Be nice to my friend.
Yeah, he’d be just as nice to her as she was to him.
Will: What, no hello? No how was your flight? No don’t get gored by a rogue bull?
Web: Again. Be nice to my friend or I’ll tell her to lock you in the barn with the…what in the hell lives in a barn? Horses? Could a pissed-off horse hurt anyone?
City people? He and his brother? Oh yeah, most definitely. They were Harbor City born and bred with only the trips to the fully manicured and well-staffed upstate country compound as “roughing it” experience.
Will: When am I not nice to dear, sweet Hadley?
Web: Any time you two are in the same room.
No lies detected there—not that he’d admit it.
He weaved around another person in the crowded airport while he kept one eye on Hadley’s ass as she marched through the terminal and the other on texting his brother back.
Will: I’ll be so damn charming, her whole family will fall in love with me.
Web: Can you live stream that? No one will believe it otherwise.
Will: Very fucking funny.
Also, probably more than a little true. He wasn’t exactly the Holt twin everyone wanted to hang out with, which was how he liked it. The Prickly Bastard Holt Twin label fit him fine.
Web: Just remember you are a fake boyfriend. Help Hadley maintain her sanity this week WITHOUT getting into her pants. The last thing I need is for my brother and my best friend to be hate fucking.
Web’s words gave him a moment of joy. No jealousy at all implied. As much as Hadley might be after Web, his brother really did seem immune to her wiles. But that didn’t mean he’d remain immune forever.
Will glanced up from his phone. The woman in question had finally slowed her power walk to a still-quick strut. Sure, he noticed that sweet peach of an ass of hers—he’d have to be dead not to—but that didn’t mean he was interested. He wasn’t, no matter how often he’d thought about that kiss. It had been unexpected, that was all. Who’d have thought the devil would have such soft lips?
He grimaced and typed a response.
Will: Not an issue. Trust me.
It wasn’t. It wouldn’t be. Hadley was the enemy.
Web: Have a fun drive out to the ranch.
Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. He fucking hated car rides, had since he was a kid. The only thing that would make it tolerable was the uninterrupted opportunity to annoy the ever-loving shit out of Hadley—for a good cause, of course.
As if she could read his thoughts, she stopped by the baggage carousel and looked over her shoulder, her lips curled in a scowl that didn’t do a damn thing for him. Really.
Then why do you keep thinking about that kiss?
It was an accident. A onetime fluke. A what-the-fuck-is-the-universe’s-problem-with-Will-anyhow fuckup. It wasn’t like he’d gone in there expecting to kiss his nemesis. Hell, he’d gone in that coat closet to get away from all the forced cheer of everyone glad-handing for donations. All he’d wanted was five minutes of peace and quiet.
Instead he’d ended up with Hadley kissing him as if he were the man she’d been dreaming about for her whole life.
Then it got worse.
Hadley had looked at him and said one word. “Web.”
Yeah. That had been a shot straight to the balls.
“Slow down, darling,” Will said when he finally caught up with Hadley near the edge of the crowd encircling the baggage carousel. “You don’t even know what my suitcase looks like.”
“I’m assuming as black as your soul.” She stopped next to a couple holding hands and glared at him. “And what’s with the ‘darling’ and the outfit? Are you making fun of people who live out here?”
He glanced down at his clothes. Jeans. Boots. Hat. He’d turned down the pearl-button Western shirt the on-call stylist at Dylan’s Department Store