Paige stared at the impossibly tall, broad, and extremely handsome man standing across from her like he was some kind of gunslinger—feet spread, arms dangling at his sides like he was about to quick draw on her, catlike reflexes primed and ready to explode—and felt a wave of despair crash over her.

It had been a long day. First, the network had announced the show was going on hiatus for the foreseeable future. She’d been this close to signing a deal to manufacture her own line of clothing—a deal her father had nothing to do with—and the company backed out when the show’s prospects changed. If there was no American Princess, then where would she showcase her designs?

Without that guaranteed exposure, Hardy Manufacturing felt the venture was too risky. Paige had literally gone from a meeting in which she was about to shake hands on contract negotiations to sitting alone in the restaurant when one of the executives got a call from a friend at the studio.

They’d known the fate of the show before she had. It still grated, especially since she’d had her dream in her grasp. The show was merely the vehicle to get her where she wanted to go—but now the vehicle not only had a flat tire, it might very well have blown an engine too.

As if her day couldn’t get any worse, Paige had discovered a new letter from the man who called himself her biggest fan in her pile of mail. She was used to weird fan mail, but getting it at her home was alarming enough that she’d called the studio. They’d gotten the police involved, her father had stepped in, and now here she was in Nowheresville.

Wyatt William Chandler—according to his driver’s license—was tall, sexy, and taciturn. He didn’t display even an ounce of pity in those amber eyes. He truly expected her to get a luggage cart and load Mr. Fluffypants onto it. Then he probably thought she’d slip over to baggage claim and get her own suitcases while he watched. Did he expect her to load them into his car as well?

Anger roared through her. This was not how an employee was supposed to behave. She was tired and upset. She wanted a hot shower and a bed.

But this man insisted on being difficult in a day of difficulties. She wanted to fly at him—but it would get her nowhere. He was stronger than she was, and he didn’t look inclined to respond to her fury.

Paige sucked in a deep breath. Let it out.

Sucked in another. Let it out.

She pasted on a smile. It shook at the edges. “I’ll pay you two hundred dollars to get the cart and load everything for me. Cash money. You don’t even have to report it to my father.”

His frown deepened. A muscle at the corner of his jaw flexed. A prickle of alarm began to tingle in her belly.

“A thousand,” she said before he could speak. “Surely that’s enough incentive.”

“No.” One word, clipped and angry.

Paige blinked. What was she missing here? In her experience, people wanted to be paid. Name the right price, and most people would do what you asked. It was tiring in a way, but it worked. She’d learned that lesson early in life, and she’d never been wrong.

Wyatt Chandler’s eyes blazed hot as he glared at her. His nostrils flared and she thought he might be on the verge of losing his temper. She shot a glance over her shoulder, hoping beyond hope that Bruce might have returned, but of course he had not.

When she met Wyatt’s gaze again, his brows were drawn low over those stormy hot eyes. He stalked past her and picked up Mr. Fluffypants.

Apparently, he could be bought. Somehow, that disappointed her.

But then he opened his mouth.

“Get this straight, Miss Spencer—I’m here to protect you, not fetch and carry for you. Ask nicely, and I’ll help you every time. But I don’t take bribes and I damned sure don’t respond to haughty looks and snapping fingers from pampered princesses who think they’re better than everyone else. Got it?”

“I wasn’t bribing you,” she protested. “I was bartering for a service. There is a difference.”

“Come on,” he growled, turning on his heel and striding off. Paige hurried to keep up, scooting along in her Louboutins faster than she’d thought possible. They were pinching her feet, but she didn’t dare slow down to slip her flats from her bag. Not that she expected Wyatt Chandler would get away from her. She’d never been to Eagle’s Ridge, but if the airport was anything to go by, it wasn’t precisely a large metropolis.

More like Podunk, USA. Daddy liked to fish and hunt, and he’d bought a retreat here. She didn’t like any of those things. She liked food delivery, spas and salons, shopping, and culture. Therefore, she’d never visited Eagle’s Ridge. Daddy said they had winter sports, but she’d rather go to Aspen or Tahoe. Not to mention, she wasn’t going to be locked up with Melanie, Daddy’s third wife, for any length of time if she could help it.

Paige was winded by the time she caught up to Wyatt at baggage claim. The only suitcases still spinning around on the small carousel were hers. He set Mr. Fluffypants down and retrieved a luggage cart.

“I’m assuming those fancy things are yours.”

“Yes.”

He stacked the two Louis Vuitton suitcases on the cart, put Mr. Fluffypants on top, and started pushing the cart toward the door. Paige followed wearily. He crossed the parking lot to a very large and shiny black truck with four doors.

“Go ahead and get in,” he told her as he unlocked it.

Paige thought about putting on her flats again, but vanity won out. Besides, she’d already walked a mile in the damned heels, and now she was about to sit down. She opened the door and climbed inside, arranging herself on the seat. The interior was big, like the man. She didn’t think she’d ever ridden in a pickup truck before.

Wyatt loaded everything and shut the door. The instant he did so, Mr. Fluffypants started meowing. After all his silence throughout the trip, Paige was almost shocked to hear his kitty voice.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she said. “Mama’s taking you somewhere safe.”

Wyatt returned from where he’d gone to take the cart back, flipping his keys on his finger, and climbed inside. He turned whiskey eyes on her, frowning hard.

“Jesus, that cat is loud. Can’t you shut him up?”

Paige’s protective instincts flared. “He’s been cooped up for hours and it’s still not over. He’s probably hungry and needs to pee. No, I can’t shut him up.”

Wyatt regarded her evenly. “Then I guess we need to get him where he can do those things.”

“Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”

The streets were dark by now, so Paige couldn’t see anything of the scenery. Not that she wanted to. She imagined it was mostly wide, empty spaces with wild animals lurking around every tree and rock. She knew there was a town, but Wyatt didn’t take her through it. He drove down a dark road, his headlights cutting through the inky night.

Once, a deer lifted its head as they drove by. Paige squeaked. She’d never seen a deer in real life.

Wyatt glanced over at her and her cheeks heated. Yes, she was definitely the city mouse visiting the country. It was bound to be entertaining for him over the next few days. Or maybe just annoying.

“Tell me about your fan,” Wyatt said, and her heart throttled into a higher gear.

“There’s nothing to tell. The letters started coming after the sixth episode of American Princess. I assume you’ve seen the letters?”

“Yes.”

“The most recent one arrived at my apartment this afternoon. Did you see that one?”

“I haven’t, but I heard he sent a picture of you leaving the building that was taken this morning.”

“Yes.” Paige’s fingers trembled as she smoothed them over her dress. That had been downright terrifying. “He wants me to know he can get to me.”

“I’d say you’re right about that. Did anything happen on the show that could have made him mad?”

The police had asked her the same thing. It was comforting in a way to know that Wyatt Chandler thought like the police did. That meant he had experience, unlike the bodyguard the studio had hired to accompany her to appearances. A man had walked right up to her at one of them and lifted her in his arms before her protector could react. Needless to say, he hadn’t lasted. He’d been fired the next morning—and the man who’d picked her up was arrested and later let go.

He’d been investigated at the time, according to the lead detective in charge of her case. It was unlikely he was sending the letters, but they’d check him out again just in case. At the time, they’d determined he was just a college kid who’d been acting on a dare from his friends.

“In the last episode of American Princess, I had a date with Donnie Warren—he’s an up-and-coming actor. It was staged, as so much of the show is. But King didn’t like it.” Her fan called himself King and her his queen. She hated it. “He took it seriously. He thinks we’re destined to be together, so he accused me of cheating on him. He, uh, threatened to kidnap and torture Mr. Fluffypants to teach me a lesson.”

Wyatt’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “He threatened your cat?”

Paige swallowed a knot of tears. She could take a lot of vitriol directed at her—but to threaten Mr. Fluffypants? No.

“Yes.” A single tear escaped to slide down her cheek. She dashed it away before he could see it. But he knew somehow.

His voice was hard and soothing at the same time. “Don’t worry, Miss Spencer. I won’t let the son of a bitch anywhere near you… or your cat.”