Flawless (Chestnut Springs, #1)

by Elsie Silver

Dad: I meant the cowboy. Summer: Oh, him? He hates me. Dad: You’ll win him over. Just make sure he keeps his dick in his pants. Summer: I’ll pass the message along. A sure way to win him over!

Men are so fragile. I told Rhett to keep up, and I’m almost positive he stood in that field sulking just to prove a point.

Eventually, I hear the back door slam and heavy footfalls traveling in my direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of his frame. His broad shoulders, his unruly hair, and dark scruff. You’d have to be dead to not appreciate a man like Rhett Eaton. He’s not pretty and polished. He’s rugged and a little rough around the edges. He’s all man. One hundred percent different from any man I’ve met.

but that doesn’t stop me from appreciating him.

“Okay. Cougar?” He towers above me and quirks a brow. “Yeah,” I sigh and lean back in the comfy chair, sensing the pressure of his honeyed stare on my body. “You definitely look like cougar bait.” He shakes his head while I bite back a grin. “This is going to be a long two months.” “You could always throw yourself down that well I saw on my way back to the house and put yourself right out of this misery.”

Fuuucckkk. Talk about stepping in it, Summer. The sinking feeling in my chest has me clearing my throat noisily. “I’m sorry,” I say. Because I really am.

“You mean before I got saddled with you? It looked pretty great.” I just nod and say a quiet, “Yeehaw,” as I twirl my finger around beside my head like I’m swinging a lasso. Because it’s not like he’s making this fun. He’s acting like I’m some sort of enemy when I’m actually just here to make his life easier.

and I make clear that he’s to behave like a good little boy that no one can find fault in for the next eight weeks. I don’t get too specific, because I’m hoping he’s picking up what I’m putting down as I speak in vague generalities about his behavior—that Little Rhett needs to stay in his pants.

to dictate a man’s sexual activities is just way beyond my pay grade. Kip can call him and break those details down himself. Rhett and I are going to need to maintain some semblance of dignity if we’re spending the next two months stuck together. Rhett responds in grunts and stares up at the ceiling like he wishes it would open up and swallow him whole. And quite frankly, I can’t blame him.

That’s the day I’ll be free of this assignment and this grumpy cowboy.

my face back up to glare at Rhett, who is sitting across from me, taking up the maximum amount of space on the couch. Long arm draped over the back of it and jean-clad legs spread wide. Man spreading. “No. Just what I’ve searched on the internet. But I bet you’d love to tell me all about it.” He glares back like he’s trying to figure out how his life turned into this, and then he asks, “Why do you need to go to law school to become an agent?”

“And what are they judging on?” My hope is that if I can get him talking about something he likes, he’ll warm up a bit.

“And if you don’t?” He clicks his tongue and tilts his head. “No score then.” I blow out a breath and tap my pen against the table. “Do or die, huh? I can’t wait to see it live.”

He eyes me up and down now, like he can’t quite figure me out. “Yeah,”—his tongue pushes into his cheek—“that’ll really be something.”

“Separate rooms.” I roll my eyes. And there goes all that positive momentum. This guy has some serious nerve. It makes all my professionalism fly out the window. “No shit.” “Just trying to keep the line clear, Princess.” He’s mocking me, but I don’t bite.

“Your dad made it seem like you were going to put me on a leash.”

“Only if you’re into that kind of thing.” The words are out before I even comprehend what I’m saying. My head snaps up to gauge his reaction. I’m so accustomed to my father’s biting commentary along with everyone else in the office that it’s a comfortable role to fall into—even with someone as un-fun as Rhett Eaton. He’s glaring at me with his most unimpressed expression

He’s a dead ringer for every other man in this family—except he smiles like his dad and his eyes are light.

“You must be Summer,” he says, grinning at me appreciatively as he leans up against the door frame. His hair is trimmed tight and there’s a polish about him that Rhett and Cade don’t have. “This is Beau,” Harvey pipes up, pulling a seat out at the oversized table. “You caught him home between deployments.” I can’t help but smile back at the older man. His pride is spilling out of him all over the floor. Harvey Eaton loves his boys with a fierceness I admire. “Nice to meet you, Beau. I’m Summer Hamilton.” I smile softly, already loving the family atmosphere here in the cozy house. Even if it is testosterone overload.

I suck in a deep breath and glance down at Rhett, whose eyes have dropped shut, a small smile playing across his features. It looks good on him. “You live here now?” Cade’s head snaps up, his face in what seems to be his favorite expression—bitchy. “Um. Just for a while.” My gaze settles on Harvey, who shakes his head and looks down like he knows what’s coming. “Hang on.” Beau’s head is swiveling between Rhett and me, amusement dancing on every feature. “Your agent is living with you? Why?” “It’s very temporary—” I start.

“Is this because you punched that guy?” Beau continues, intelligent eyes working through things so plainly.

Cade turns to Rhett, who still hasn’t opened his eyes. “Did he deserve it?” Rhett smiles now, a real big smile. “So fucking much.” “Bad word, Uncle Rhett!” Luke’s hands slap down over his ears with a shit-eating little grin. My eyes bounce between everyone in the room, living for the level of comfort here. It’s amusing. It’s charming. It’s so different from how my childhood home felt.

“Wait.” Beau’s face brightens. “Did you get assigned a babysitter?” Rhett groans and drops his head back against the couch. “I don’t like my babysitter either, Uncle Rhett.” Luke pats him like a dog and a laugh bubbles up out of me. Because Rhett called this. Harvey called this. They knew exactly how it was going to go down, and that level of familiarity is heartwarming to me. It’s chaotic in here already, and I love it. I’m starry-eyed and giddy. “Mind your manners, Lucas Eaton,” Cade says while pulling a pan out from under the stove. “Answer the question, Rhett.” Rhett glances over at Beau and says, “You can contact my agent for a comment.” Beau barks out a laugh and looks over at me, hands held up in prayer position. “Please, Summer. Make my day. Tell me he’s in time

out. Tell me he’s a thirty-two-year-old man with a full-time nanny.” I press my lips together, dedicated to not throwing Rhett under the bus—no matter how badly I’d like to.

“Yeah. She told me that too,” Cade interjects as he seasons a sizeable chunk of beef now. “I think Miss Hamilton might be full of shit though.” “Mind your manners, Daddy!” Luke shouts, right as Harvey scolds him, “Cade!” I rub a hand over my mouth to cover my smile.

going to take a seat and tell us everything over Cade’s famous pot roast. Then I’m going to take us all for drinks in town at The Railspur so you can get a warm Chestnut Springs welcome and meet my buddy, Jasper.”

And just like that, I’m sucked into a dinner of hearty home-cooked food, friendly taunting, and comfortable laughter. Even Rhett lightens up now that it’s not just us, but he still avoids looking at me throughout the meal.

Willa: I miss your face already. Have fun playing Hell on Wheels? Summer: What? Willa: Your cowboy. I looked him up. He looks like the hot guy from Hell on Wheels. You know, the one with the long hair?

Willa: You should bang him. Summer: No. Willa: Want me to print you a picture of him for your wall? Summer: I don’t miss you at all.

Because Chestnut Springs is beautiful. The main street has these adorable bricked-in sidewalks, ornate lamp posts with little town flags dangling from them, and the businesses down here have maintained the historic facades

while modernizing or adding on to the rest. Old brick buildings with dramatic archways or charming colorful awnings line each side of Rosewood Street, the main thoroughfare in town. And the pub is not some small-town dive either. It’s like . . . cowboy chic.

And I turn to him as he flings off his seatbelt, like he can’t get away fast enough. “Are you always this monosyllabic? Or is this special just for me?” “I don’t need this,” he mutters just before he slams the passenger

door in my face and storms toward the bar.

lips. I ask myself what I always do. If this were my last moment alive, how would I want it to be? My eyes flutter shut, and I suck in a deep breath, like that might help me grow some extra patience to deal with the big asshole bull rider assigned to me. Because in my last moments, I’d want to feel happy. If I step out of this car and get run down, I want to go out feeling good, not pissed off at some long-haired, broad-shouldered, round-assed cowboy. That is not how Summer Hamilton goes. Not today, Satan. Then my door is wrenched open. “Are you having a stroke?” Rhett peers down at me, lips curving toward the ground.

“What are you doing?” I ask, brows knitting in confusion. I thought he’d stormed into the bar. “Opening your door for you. Now get out.” My lips tug up and a silent giggle fills me as I realize he’s trying to be gentlemanlike while also being a grumpy dick. And with that, I step out of my SUV, patting the hood on the way past with a quiet, “Sorry.” Because that dick slammed her door way too hard. We don’t look at each other as we walk, but he touches my shoulder gently and gestures me across his body. He moves me to the opposite side of him before taking up position by the road. This man gives me whiplash. He tugs the bar door open by grabbing one of the long brass pulls that stretches almost the full length of the wood frame.

before heading to the ladies’ room to burn some time before people who actually acknowledge my existence arrive.

booties that seem a tad country to me. Minus the heel, but whatever. You can take the girl out of the city and all that. But it must be obvious to the locals that I’m not from around here, because I’m definitely garnering some looks as I weave my way through the tables. Rhett’s gaze darts to me as I ease myself in his direction, but aside from that one flick of the eyes, he doesn’t acknowledge my existence. It’s an obvious hint that he’d rather not associate with me right now, so I trail past him, catching a whiff of whatever cologne he’s wearing. There’s a liquorice note to it I’ve never noticed before now, followed by leather. I don’t know if it’s his boots, or his belt, or just that a man that rugged is destined to smell like something equally masculine. Either way, it’s a heady combination.

a deep breath on my way past, creepy as that makes me. It is what it is.

I almost snort. Boy. Maybe that’s the problem. Everyone still coddles him like he’s a little boy rather than telling him to take some responsibility for his actions. Should he be in trouble for what he said? No. But he doesn’t need a bunch of back pats over it either.

I give them that weird closed-mouth smile I often give to strangers instead of just saying hi. I know it looks pained, forced—a

a little serial-killer-y—but I keep doing it anyway. It’s a problem, and I can’t stop.

Because it’s only Day One, and I’m already going to be called upon to help keep Little Rhett in his pants.

I’m standing at the end of the bar, steeling myself to walk over there and make Rhett Eaton hate me more than he already does. I’ve racked my brain for something I can do that doesn’t involve me being an embarrassing wet blanket.

But I’m not Kip. I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman who is brand new to the job and in way over her

“Summer!” I follow the sound of my name over the buzzing sea of tables toward the back couches. Beau is there, wearing a friendly smile and waving at me. The perfect out. And I take it.

It isn’t until I get closer to the low-slung table between them that I get a good look at the other man. And even with a beard and cap pulled down over his face, I recognize him.

Everyone in this country probably does. Jasper Gervais, professional hockey player. Goaltender extraordinaire. Canadian Olympic sensation. And another one of my dad’s clients, whose name I know from spending the last several summers of my life doing paperwork at Hamilton Elite. “Summer, this is my buddy, Jasper.” Beau hikes a thumb in his friend’s direction and scootches down as I hit him with my stupid, awkward smile-greeting before I can reel it in. But I’m a little relieved when Jasper gives me a matching serial-killer smile back.

My eyes roll. These guys are having way too much fun with the city-girl jokes. The worst part is, they’re not even wrong. “Wine and tequila. But this doesn’t feel like a tequila night.”

From here, I have a perfect view of Rhett, seated on a stool where two round tables have been pulled together. He’s smiling, talking with his hands, and my eyes trail along them, the veined tops of them, catching on the glint of silver on his finger. The ring that matches the silver cuff bracelet around his wrist. Only Rhett Eaton could make jewelry look so

manly.