3. Mika

3

MIKA

I told Alfie I’m not his tour guide. He nearly called me that to the Carvers’ faces, too. And instead of letting me get back to the barn—where I belong—he’s dragged me here, still in dirty jeans and barn boots, surrounded by people in tailored suits and designer dresses.

“May I introduce my attorney, Mr. Roman Valeri, and my agent, Miss Lena Jones?” Alfie says with a sweeping gesture.

Mr. Valeri, lean and sharp-eyed, looks more like a hawk than a man. His sleek black suit with a salmon shirt and gray tie adds to the air of a predator in disguise. Miss Jones, meanwhile, is stunningly beautiful, her chestnut waves cascading over her shoulders. Her flowing baby-blue blouse and pencil skirt exude elegance, and somehow, she manages to stride confidently across the gravel in sky-high heels. I can’t fathom how.

This time, I skip shaking hands. I don’t mind dirtying Alfie, but his staff shouldn’t suffer barn grit.

“A pleasure,” Roger Carver says warmly, before turning back to Alfie. “Since you were kind enough to fly us out, may I interest you in staying for dinner? We have an excellent chef, and I could open a nice bottle of wine. ”

My heart twists. Typical Carvers—warm, Southern hospitality, even to a vulture circling their estate. The helicopter ride may seem generous to them, but I see it for what it is: Alfie’s impatience. He wants this deal sealed before the Carvers have time to consider their options.

“That sounds wonderful,” Alfie says with a smooth smile. His smirk grows when his gaze lands on me, radiating arrogance as he accepts their invitation. He rests a hand on my back to guide me inside, and I stiffen, stepping away. His amusement is unmistakable, as if my discomfort entertains him.

Is he trying to rile me? The thought heats my neck. Whether intentional or not, he has a knack for pushing my buttons.

I stomp the dust off my boots on the welcome mat with more force than necessary as I step into the Carvers’ grand home for the first time, feeling utterly out of place. It’s a space of beauty—vaulted ceilings, glossy marble floors, and opulent cream and gold hues—but I can’t appreciate it. I’m only here because Alfie wants me here. Which makes me want to be anywhere else.

Inside, the Carvers graciously introduce Alfie to their lavish drawing room, its gilded décor straight out of a French fairytale. While Millie and Roger chat amicably with Alfie, I excuse myself to freshen up. Washing the dust off my hands and face in the ornate copper sink, I catch my reflection in the mirror. My messy bun, flyaways, and barn-worn outfit scream that I don’t belong in this polished world.

When I return, Alfie’s smooth baritone drifts from the drawing room. “This is a beautiful home, Mr. and Mrs. Carver,” he says. It could almost be a compliment if it weren’t dripping with covetousness. Millie beams with pride, oblivious to his true intentions.

“Thank you. It holds so many good memories,” she says softly.

Alfie’s hazel eyes sweep the room, his expression uncharacteristically thoughtful. I take the rare chance to study him—thick dark hair that resists the chaos of helicopter winds, a casual elegance even his tailored suit can’t fully contain. But when his gaze shifts back to me, that knowing smirk resurfaces. Heat floods my cheeks .

“I can’t imagine why you’d sell it,” I blurt, glaring at Alfie.

Roger sighs. “We hadn’t considered it until recently. But we have no children to pass it on to, since Harrison has no interest in racehorses. If we do sell, we want to choose the buyer.”

The knot in my stomach tightens. They’re planning for a future without them here—a future I don’t want to think about. But why Alfie? He knows nothing about horses. He’s here for the prestige, not the hard work.

Dinner is served on fine china that looks as expensive as it does antique, and the smell of fresh crab cakes and lobster tails makes my mouth water. The kitchen staff pours us each a glass of crisp sauvignon blanc with hints of grapefruit that pairs perfectly with the buttery flavor of the lobster. While I’m baffled by how the Carvers could put together such a fancy meal at the last minute, I’m certainly not complaining. I haven’t eaten this well in longer than I can remember.

Sitting across from me, Alfie makes small talk with our hosts, joking about whether he’ll be allowed to keep their chef if he buys the property. But his gaze never strays from me for long, and I get the distinct impression he wants me here just because he knows it makes me uncomfortable.

All the while, I keep wondering if it even matters that I didn’t do my revolving door of responsibilities today because, by the time the sun sets, Alfie Bonetti might be the one in charge.

To distract myself, I keep my eyes and attention focused on the food, which is every bit as delicious as it looks and smells. I politely respond to any questions Alfie directs my way between bites of lobster meat that melt on my tongue, but I can’t wait for this night to be over. I’m practically humming with tension at this point.

Too much is on the line for me to enjoy the meal, the company, or the conversation. And Alfie’s arrogant smirk and distracting, piercing hazel eyes only make it worse.

“Well, now that we’ve thoroughly enjoyed your hospitality,” Alfie says charmingly as the plates are cleared from the table, “shall we get down to business? ”

Silence falls on the lawyers’ side of the table, and my stomach knots with anxiety.

Mr. and Mrs. Carver turn their undivided attention to him, and I swallow a rather large mouthful of wine. Cringing as the tart alcohol burns down my throat, I set down my glass and brace myself for the negotiations to begin.

“After speaking with Mr. Valeri and Miss Jones, I think a hundred million is a generous starting offer,” Alfie says, as calmly as if he’s discussing the weather. I’m so shocked that I barely register the sound of Mr. Mead’s astonished coughing, my mouth dropping open at the amount of money that Alfie has so cavalierly offered them.

The room falls silent. The Carvers exchange wide-eyed glances. My heart sinks. That’s double the property’s worth—an offer they can’t possibly refuse.

“Do you mind if we take a moment to discuss?” Roger finally says.

“Of course.” Alfie stands, his smirk brimming with victory. I rise, too, feeling utterly powerless. Alfie Bonetti has the upper hand, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.

I stand as well, suddenly feeling like an intruder in the Carvers’ corner. I certainly can’t accuse Alfie of taking advantage of them now, and any thoughts I might have on the matter would likely be unwelcome, especially after hearing a number like that. But then Mr. Carver’s hand falls on mine, his gnarled fingers tightening gently around my palm.

“No, please stay, Mika. For just a moment.”

Alfie raises his eyebrows as I reluctantly settle back into my chair. Then he’s gone, striding out with his bodyguards trailing behind, leaving me alone with the Carvers and Mr. Mead.

“Well?” Roger asks the room at large.

“It’s more than a generous offer,” Mr. Mead replies. “And he has the means to back it up. I’ll review the contract to ensure everything is in order, but you’re not going to get a better deal than this.”

Mr. and Mrs. Carver’s eyes both shift to me, and I swallow hard, nervously licking my lips .

“As far as the money goes, he’s right,” I admit. “But I don’t know what he might have planned for the horses?—”

Mr. Carver frowns, and I immediately regret saying so much.

Backpedaling, I try a different approach. “What I mean is, you both care deeply for the animals—and the people who work for you. I just don’t know enough about Mr. Bonetti to feel confident he’d be as… concerned with their well-being.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Thank you, Mika. Would you give us a moment?”

I nod, rising and quickly stepping out with Mr. Mead. As we enter the drawing room, Alfie’s sharp hazel eyes immediately find mine.

“I had a feeling you might prove useful,” he says playfully, his gaze locking with mine.

If you only knew, I think darkly. If he believes I was in there singing his praises to the Carvers, he’s sorely mistaken. But the wicked curve of his smile tells me he knows exactly how I feel about him, and that realization sends a nervous quiver through my stomach.

“Thank you for your patience,” Mr. Carver says moments later, his rattling voice pulling my attention. He and Millie step into the room, their decision seemingly made in record time.

It didn’t take them long, I note with sinking disappointment.

“Millie and I have discussed it,” Mr. Carver begins, “and we’re prepared to accept your offer, Mr. Bonetti—on one condition.” He turns to me with a reassuring wink, and unexpected tears sting the backs of my eyes.

“Name it,” Alfie says smoothly, giving the older couple his full attention.

“Mika and our employees are to retain their positions for as long as they wish. And you’ll defer to Mika’s advice on how best to care for the animals.”

I’ve never heard of anyone adding such conditions to a sale before and wonder if they could even make it legally binding. But before either lawyer can protest, Alfie speaks.

“Done,” he agrees without hesitation, his tone brimming with confidence. His smile flashes, all straight white teeth, as he steps closer to the Carvers. “I wouldn’t dream of making an offer without Mika being part of the deal anyway.”

His words are playful, drawing soft chuckles from the Carvers, who seem reassured by his easy demeanor. But I catch the possessive gleam in his gaze as it shifts to me—a silent promise that he intends to make me far more than just his horse trainer. That look, coupled with the whispers I’ve heard around the barn about the hands fearing Alfie, tightens the knots already twisting in my stomach.

Just how dangerous could going into business with this man turn out to be?