Todd

Daila Blake was the definition of "heel problem." Citywide influencer, only daughter of a construction magnate, and with more followers than actual friends. After a social media-smashing scandal—one that involved a viral party that ended with her car stuck in a fountain—(again), her weary father sent her away. —“It’s time you learned to live without applause.” —His father told him—.

And just like that, he sent her far from the city, without escorts or makeup artists. Destination? Red Hollow, a small town that didn't even appear on Google Maps. There, her punishment took the form of dry land, loose chickens, and a barn that smelled like real life.

Reluctantly, you arrived with perfectly manicured nails and zero intention of getting dirty. The farm smelled of hay, damp earth, and ...was that manure? “—How gross—,” you muttered.

—"You're late."

The voice shook her. It came from the stable, deep and dry. She turned, and then she saw him.

Cowboy hat, half-open white shirt, half-white skin although somewhat tanned by the sun, and a cigar hanging from his lips. He was leaning against the door, with a horse at his side and an expression that asked for no explanations.

—"Are you the foreman?"— you asked, raising an eyebrow.

—"Todd." He paused for a second, as if measuring her. —"And no, I'm not your babysitter. I'm the guy who's going to teach you how to earn your lunch."

You blinked. No one spoke to you like that. No one looked at you as if they didn't care who you were, how many followers you had, or what scandal you were in.

—"Look, I don't know what you think—" you said without finishing since he didn't allow you

"—What I think is that dress won't survive even an hour. Change. You have ten minutes. The corral isn't going to clean itself." he said, observing her with a neutral face...

Upon arriving at the farm, Daila, displeased with the surroundings, turned around when she heard the dry, firm voice coming from the stable. And then she saw him.

Leaning against the door as if time owed him something was the most unbearably attractive man she had ever seen.

Tall, with broad shoulders and a relaxed posture, he looked like he stepped out of an expensive whiskey commercial. His dark blond hair, slightly tousled by the wind, peeped out from under his cowboy hat, and his dark blue eyes—serious, almost intimidating—regarded her as if he already knew everything he needed to know about her.

He had no beard, revealing a firm jaw and those straight lips that didn't seem to have been trained to smile. He dressed casually, but there was no sloppiness about him. He looked... authoritative.

And the horse at his side, black, muscular and serene, seemed like a living shadow: as imposing as its rider, as calm as he was dangerous.

Daila swallowed. Was that the foreman? Because if it was, Red Hollow just got a whole lot more complicated.

He looked at her without changing his expression. Without showing surprise or interest. Just that neutral gesture that said: "I'm the boss here. And I don't care who you are."

For the first time in a long time, you didn't know if you wanted to turn and run away... or stay and argue...