The Texas air was thick, heavy, and utterly unbearable on her skin.
Not only was her target a hotshot lawyer, but he was also a bloody farmer-slash-real estate agent.
She had, of course, rented a place in what was advertised as his "luxury estate."
Luxury, her ass.
When her cab pulled up, she realized it was more of a house on a farm.
She was a city girl, born, raised, and bred for skylines, high-rise apartments, and designer stores. She did not do mud.
But here she was, standing in front of what looked like a mansion straight out of a 1990s commercial, complete with peeling paint and faded charm.
The heat was unbearable. Sweat trickled down her spine as she stood in the middle of nowhere, Texas, balancing on stilettos that were already sinking into the mud.
Her traveling bags were stacked awkwardly around her like misplaced luggage at a bus station.
She adjusted her sunglasses, glancing down at the address on her phone. Hawley, Texas.
A rural town known for its vast farmland, dusty roads, and a population so small that everyone probably knew everyone else's business.
"Great," she muttered, trying not to cry as her heels squelched deeper into the mud.
Before she could curse her existence further, a man jogged toward her.
His tall frame was all cowboy, from the brim of his hat to his dusty boots.
His shirt clung to his broad shoulders, damp with sweat, and his brown eyes were as warm as the barley fields behind him.
"You're the new tenant?" he asked, his thick Texan drawl softening the edges of her irritation.
"Yes, that would be me," she said through gritted teeth, trying to sound cheerful despite wanting to scream.
"Here, let me get those for you." He reached for her bags, but she froze when she noticed the dirt smudged on his gloves.
"No thanks. I'm good," she said hastily, hugging her handbag tighter.
His grin widened, and he tipped his hat. "Suit yourself. Follow me, ma'am."
As she followed him, her eyes darted over the flat he was leading her to. It had an old-style charm with a sloping tin roof and a wraparound porch.
The white wooden siding was faded but clean, and a pair of rocking chairs sat invitingly near the door.
Flower boxes lined the windows, bursting with bright petunias, giving the place a rustic coziness.
It wasn't the penthouse suite she was used to, but it looked…livable.
"This here's your new home," the cowboy said proudly, his boots thudding on the wooden porch as he dropped her keys into her hand.
She stared at the house, lips pressed into a hard line. The peeling shutters and creaking porch steps screamed rural nightmare. Holy hell.
"Well," she muttered under her breath, gripping the keys tightly, "this is definitely going to be an experience."