2. Alfie

2

ALFIE

“ I ’m… sorry?” Mika says, her expression flickering from guarded to stunned, “when you say you’ll buy the barn, are you talking about just the racing horses? Or all of them? I just—I’ve never?—”

She’s unprepared for the idea, which amuses me. A full buyout might be rare in this world, but I’ve done my research. The filly isn’t the only thing of value here. The Carvers have a prized stud, cutting-edge breeding facilities, and a prime property. All of it is worth the price.

“Not just the racehorses,” I say.

Her face is a dance of disbelief and frustration, her emotions flitting too quickly for her to hide.

“The herd, the stables, the house, the land. Everything.”

“Mr. Bonetti…” Her tone tightens, as if fighting to stay composed. She doubts the Carvers would sell, but I know better.

“I don’t think the Carvers are looking to sell their entire property,” she says finally, glancing toward the track. The filly is easing into a lope, her jockey guiding her with steady precision.

Mika whistles sharply, signaling the rider to bring the horse back. Then her attention snaps to me again, her wariness palpable .

Reaching into my jacket, I pull out my phone. “Everyone has a price. The Carvers are no exception. Would you like to call them, or shall I?”

Her arms cross as she lifts her chin, her voice hardening. “Look, Mr. Bonetti, you might not understand the horse world, but people like the Carvers dedicate their lives to building stables like this. They don’t sell on a whim.”

I don’t correct her assumption that I’m out of my depth. Instead, I scroll through my contacts until I find Roger Carver’s number.

“Perhaps. Then again, I doubt you’re familiar with my world either.”

Fire flashes in Mika’s eyes, her full, wide lips pressing into a disapproving line as I bring the phone to my ear.

“Mr. Bonetti, Millie and I have been waiting for your call. How did you like our Cosmic Fate? Quite the young athlete, isn’t she?” Mr. Carver’s voice, though cracked and warbling with age, carries an enthusiasm that makes him sound young at heart. Though I haven’t yet met the Carvers in person, I’m glad to be doing business with them—it’s a refreshing change from my usual dealings.

“Please, call me Alfie. And your filly is exactly what I was looking for.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Mr. Carver replies.

“In fact, your entire property has captured my interest. I’d like to buy it.”

A feminine gasp from the other end confirms I’m on speakerphone. I picture the older couple huddled together, processing my unexpected proposal.

“You want to buy the stable?” Mr. Carver asks after a long pause.

“Yes.”

“I… I don’t know what to say. Millie and I hadn’t discussed selling more than a few horses this year.”

“I understand, Mr. Carver, but I assure you my offer is serious, and I’m willing to discuss whatever price you deem fair.” The property is likely worth around thirty million, horses included. But I intend to leave today with the deed to the entire estate—and I’m prepared to pay whatever it takes.

Mika raises her eyebrows, her expression a silent, I told you so. I wink at her, entertained by the daring defiance in her gaze. It matches the wild, golden curls pinned atop her head, the proud tilt of her chin, and the fierce glint in her blue-green eyes—a goddess commanding her domain.

“I imagine your offer would be more than fair, Mr. Bonetti. I’ll consult our estate lawyer and have him run the numbers,” Mr. Carver says, his tone more amenable now than Mika’s earlier protests.

“There’s no need. I’ll have my team draft a formal offer. You’re welcome to involve your lawyer, of course, but I’d like to finalize the agreement today.”

Mika’s expression shifts from disapproval to shock. Her arms fall from their crossed stance, planting her hands firmly on her hips as her defiance falters.

“Oh, well… we’re in Westport. I’m not sure we can make the trip today,” Mr. Carver replies, a hint of anxiety creeping into his voice.

“If you’re willing, I can send my pilot to pick you up. He’ll be there within the hour.”

I’ve never actually witnessed a jaw drop before, but when Mika’s does, I can’t help but to think what it would be like to have her lips stretched around my cock. I’m thoroughly enjoying myself—getting under her skin might be my new favorite pastime.

“That would be lovely,” Mrs. Carver chimes in for the first time, once again confirming my suspicion about the speakerphone.

“Great. I’ll see you soon.”

As I hang up, I glance over my shoulder at Marco, who gives a curt nod before pulling out his phone to contact my pilot, Salvatore. Turning back to Mika, I catch the tense set of her jaw as she watches the red filly return to the barn. Though her gaze is focused on the horse, I know her attention remains on me.

“Well, Miss Harper, it seems I have a few hours to kill before my meeting,” I say, flashing her a grin. Her sharp skepticism returns as she snaps her eyes to mine. “Maybe you can show me around while I wait. I’d like a closer look at what I’m buying.”

“I’m not a tour guide,” Mika snaps. Then, realizing she might have crossed a line, she adds more evenly, “I’m a trainer . I have responsibilities to attend to.”

Her frustration is obvious, and her fiery resistance is entertaining. Still, I’m not accustomed to disrespect—even from a beautiful woman. Closing the space between us, I loom over her, making sure she feels our height difference. A thrill runs through me as she stands her ground, her chin lifting in defiance.

“Well then, Miss Harper, you can show me the rest of the horses I’ll be buying,” I insist, leaving no room for refusal.

“Fine.” She turns on her heel without another word, her long strides eating up the distance as she heads for the barn.

Amused, I follow. I think I’m going to like this arrangement. Winning over this impetuous horsewoman might be the most fun I’ve had in years—and Nina is going to love the surprise. Owning a racehorse was exciting enough. A whole stable? She’ll be ecstatic.

Marco and Vincent fall into step behind me.

Mika glances over her shoulder, her face tight. “What’s with the Men in Black?”

“They’re here for my protection.”

“Protection from what?” Her brows arch.

“My enemies,” I reply smoothly, enjoying the subtle shiver that ripples through her. “And the overly ambitious fangirls desperate to fuck me.”

Her deadpan expression makes it clear she’s unimpressed.

I chuckle lowly. “So, how long have you worked for the Carvers?”

“Four years,” she replies curtly.

“And how long have you been a trainer?”

“Is this a formal interview?” she quips, her sharp tone unyielding.

I grin. “I thought I made it clear—you’ll be working for me now.”

Mika takes a deep breath, her pace slowing as we step into the barn. At first, I wonder if she’s summoning the patience to deal with me. But soon, I notice her body language shift. The tension that seemed to coil around her dissipates almost immediately, as if the presence of the horses brings her a sense of calm.

Her serenity is almost infectious. When she draws another slow breath, I instinctively do the same. The familiar scent of alfalfa, dirt, and manure floods my senses, sparking a wave of nostalgia. It’s been years since I paused to appreciate that earthy aroma. The memory of summers spent ringside at equestrian events stirs something inside me—remnants of my mother’s passion, one of the few things my father would step away from business to indulge in.

“I’ve worked in racing stables since I was fourteen,” Mika says, pausing by the first stall. A gray mare stretches her pink-tipped nose over the door, and Mika greets her with gentle strokes. Her touch is calm, practiced—intimate, even. “I’ve done just about every job you can imagine in a barn and worked under several prestigious trainers before the Carvers brought me on.”

There’s a hint of defensiveness in her voice, like she’s steeling herself against any skepticism I might throw her way. But she doesn’t need to. The fact that the Carvers trusted her as a head trainer, despite her youth, says plenty. She can’t be more than twenty-five, yet she exudes competence.

“You were a rider?” I ask.

My question seems to catch her off guard. Her guarded expression softens briefly, revealing a flicker of vulnerability that sparks something unexpected in me—a need to protect her. Mika doesn’t seem like someone who wants, let alone needs, protection. Perhaps that’s why I feel compelled.

“Yes,” she replies. “I still ride occasionally, but not professionally anymore.” A shadow of disappointment flickers across her face before she focuses her attention back on the mare. She whispers something I can’t quite hear, and the horse’s ears flick forward as if responding.

“Why’d you stop?” I press, my curiosity piqued.

For the first time, she smiles. It’s a small, bittersweet curve of her lips. “I’m too tall to be a jockey, Mr. Bonetti.”

Now that she mentions it, she must be at least five-foot-eight—tall for a woman, though still a good six inches shorter than me. My eyes trail down her long legs, and I imagine her lean frame underneath me before my eyes snap back to her face. She stiffens, sensing the scrutiny, and I resist a smirk.

A soft thrum builds in the distance, and Mika’s expression tightens as the unmistakable sound of my helicopter grows louder. She turns toward the barn door just as I catch the dark silhouette of the chopper approaching.

“I’ll show you back to the house,” she says, her voice clipped.

I follow her out of the barn, Marco and Vincent trailing behind us like silent sentinels. As we step into the open air, the chopper lands gracefully in the gravel lot, its propellers slowing. Nearby, the crunch of tires on loose stones signals the arrival of my lawyer.

“Perfect timing,” I remark, catching Mika’s subtle eye roll. I slide on my aviators and stride toward the Carvers, suppressing a grin.

Salvatore, my pilot, is already at the base of the chopper, helping a white-haired Millie Carver navigate the narrow steps. She’s followed by her husband, Roger, who accepts Salvatore’s assistance with a steadying hand. They make a charming pair, their arms linked as they shuffle toward me, their faces alight with warm smiles.

Behind them emerges a third figure—a clean-shaven Black man in a sharp blue suit. With his poised demeanor and the streaks of gray in his curls, I peg him as the Carvers’ lawyer. They’re clearly taking today’s meeting seriously.

“Mr. and Mrs. Carver,” I say, offering a firm handshake to each of them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”

Millie’s hand is soft, adorned with delicate rings, while Roger’s is gnarled with age but no less firm.

“And this is our attorney, Marcus Mead,” Roger adds.

I shake the lawyer’s hand, nodding politely. “I hope Mika has been helping you familiarize yourself with the property,” Roger continues, casting a fond look in her direction.

“Yes, she’s been quite the—” I glance sideways at Mika, who levels me with a warning look. I suppress a laugh. “Hostess,” I finish smoothly .

“It was my pleasure,” Mika says dryly. Her tone makes it clear the experience was anything but.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she begins, “I’m sure you have important matters to discuss. I’ll return to the horses?—”

“I insist you join us,” I cut in. “After all, you’re the one who inspired my offer.”

Mika’s fiery glare locks onto me, daring me to push further. I relish the challenge. She may loathe me, but I have every intention of making her mine, and I’m not ready to let her go just yet.

“If Mr. Bonetti insists,” Roger says gently. “You wouldn’t mind, would you, Mika?”

Caught between her irritation with me and her loyalty to the Carvers, she relents. “Yes, alright,” she mutters, shooting me one last smoldering look of defiance.