“You ever wonder why someone with this much money would stay in a place like Arbor Bay?” Brady appeared at her side, eyes straight ahead to the main house on the Robertson property. The family had been in Arbor Bay since its founding in eighteen-whatever, but the estate’s pride-and-glory manor had been built custom for Missy and Donavon, Marcus and Carol’s parents, and had been added on to throughout the years.

The house’s exterior paid heavy tribute to the Robertson patriarch’s love of everything mountain cabin, while the family matriarch had won the country-modern war for the interior.

“Think HGTV’s Chip and Joanna Gaines inside but cabin in the woods if you had a million dollars on the outside,” Emma had told her after a field trip to the garden had given her rare access to the main house a few years before. “Ship lap, statues, and exposed beams everywhere.”

Now, standing at the crest of the circular drive, Sloane knew that it didn’t matter what anyone described the house as, because it was forever one thing first.

Intimidating.

“A throne is still a throne no matter where it sits,” Sloane replied after sweeping her gaze across the wide, three-story structure. Brady raised his eyebrow at her. She expanded on her theory. “Ruling over a small town is better than not ruling at all. That’s why I think the Robertsons stay. I mean, this is only the main house. Carol has a custom build a golf-cart ride away from here. Marcus lives in a house on the bay. Why would they give all of this up?”

Brady didn’t argue her point. “If we’re the ones always calling the Robertsons royalty, then is it our fault when they act like it?”

That got Sloane.

It must have shown on her face. He snorted.

“What? You’re not the only one who can sound like someone doing a voiceover for a movie trailer.”

“I was actually going to say you sounded like a fortune cookie.”

He did that wink again. The one he’d done in the car that had nearly made her panties burst into flames.

“Bartenders have just as much room to surprise you as internet bloggers. I can be surprisingly insightful. You’ll see.”

So far, Brady had proven to be a good listener, and as far as Sloane knew, he wasn’t telling her secrets because it benefitted him. Not that Sloane could say much about that. Their arrangement helped her out tremendously. Pride-saving and possible career-helping.

At least after calling Rizzie back that morning.

Sloane had had every intention of feeling out the situation to see if there was still a way to tell the literary agent that it was all a joke—that Brady wasn’t actually Guy—yet Rizzie had immediately exploded after answering the phone.

“And it looks like our girl gets the guy in the end! What a wild ride!”