Can't Buy Me Love by Molly O'Keefe Page A

her own way. As if he were a dog, but her favorite dog.
    And Victoria was so nervous she could throw up, so having Jacob distracted worked in her favor.
    How much do I need?
she kept wondering. It wasn’t as though she needed to live the way she had lived with Joel. That kind of money had been a false security of the worst kind. But she needed to take care of Jacob. School. College. Medical bills. A modest home.
    The door to the den opened and Luc walked in, smiling as if he’d just heard the best joke. Victoria mighthave written that off to Luc being a jolly drunk, but at his heels was Tara Jean.
    Looking like death warmed over.
    Laughter, surprised and unchecked, bubbled out of her throat and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Celeste glanced sideways at Victoria with a wicked little smile on her million-dollar mouth.
    For a second, all those differences between them—that Victoria was the daughter of Lyle’s mistress, that Celeste hated her, that she hated Celeste—all of them were gone. Two women, in a glance, sharing a joke at another women’s expense—it was a female language born thousands of years ago.
    But Tara Jean lifted her chin and sailed past them to go stand next to Eli Turnbull, and the moment popped.
    Eli lifted an arm over Tara Jean’s shoulders and pulled her to his side. Tara Jean curled up there. Safe. Protected.
    Victoria’s heart coiled, shrinking from the pain. Not that she cared one way or another about Eli, but that Tara Jean, Bimbo Barbie, had a strong shoulder where she could rest her head during all this pissed Victoria off.
    I did everything right
, she thought for the millionth time, the vile acid of her anger as biting as it had been that first long night her life had begun to unravel.
    Ponzi scheme
.
    Thinking the words made her skin cringe.
    “We can get started,” Mr. Jenkins said.
    “Mom,” Jacob whispered, “you’re hurting my hand.”
    Victoria unclenched her fists and kissed an apology on her son’s palms while Mr. Jenkins made his way through the necessary legalese.
    “Mr. Baker made some changes to his will before he died,” the lawyer said after droning on for what seemed like hours, and Victoria tuned back in.
    In her lap, Victoria’s fingers twisted into knots.
    “Tara Jean, as agreed, will get forty percent of Baker Leather.” Jenkins glanced over the top of his glasses toward Tara Jean. “In deferment to your wishes, he has left you no money. And I … I need the …”
    Tara Jean stepped forward, wiggling the giant five-carat sapphire off her knuckle. It landed on the desk with a thunk.
    “As agreed?” Luc asked from the club chair where he was sprawled. He turned twinkling eyes over to Tara Jean, who visibly bristled. “What did you do, I wonder, to earn such a thing?”
    “Don’t be disgusting,” Tara Jean hissed, which was all very ironic considering the way she’d acted when Victoria and her brother arrived at the ranch.
    If she wasn’t chock full of nerves, Victoria might be interested.
    How much did she need? she wondered. A million, easy. If she wanted to stay in Toronto. New York was an impossibility. Too many people associated her face with Joel’s crimes.
    “Eli Turnbull, in recognition of your hard work and the years of hard work dedicated by your father, you are given control of the Angus herd and fifty percent of the profits upon sale.”
    Victoria had no idea what that meant, and Eli’s face didn’t indicate whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
    “In addition,” Jenkins continued to read, “the two hundred acres that were your father’s before he sold them to Crooked Creek Ranch is available to you for purchase, at cost and interest free.”
    In the ensuing silence, the page Jenkins turned was loud.
    “That’s it? The two hundred acres Dad sold twenty years ago? At cost?” Eli was red-faced, his lips barelymoving. Now she realized he was angry. How surprising to see him with an emotion. “What about the rest of