Morgan grabbed the fat-free hazelnut creamer from her fridge and added some to her coffee. With the phone cradled between her face and shoulder, she talked to Bruce about the arrangements to see another stupid horse together. She’d come up with a fucking brilliant plan to spend time alone with him. Her offer to donate a therapy horse to his program meant they had to travel around to check out the candidates. So far, he hadn’t shown the least bit of interest in her romantically, but that would change. No man had ever resisted her. She’d swear he was gay if he hadn’t been married before.
“When’s a good day for you?” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger.
“I’m booked up all week. How about next Friday afternoon?”
“I’ll check with the owner and get back to you.”
She hung up and smiled. Perfect. The mare wouldn’t work out. Morgan had already seen the horse, as usual. This one had the wrong gait for therapy according to her research. She’d never let him see a horse that could be a good match. That would end the need for them to take trips together.
She’d spend the entire afternoon with Bruce and make sure the twit at the farm knew. Time to douse some water on the sparks between Bruce and Sarah. He lost all focus whenever she came within ten feet of him. Morgan’s hand tightened on the mug. Damned if she’d let that bitch mess up her plans. Sarah could have her sloppy seconds when Morgan was good and done. And she might take her time with him. She’d earned it after suffering through two torturous years of marriage to Larry, a man older than her grandfather. At least he hadn’t lasted a month after she switched his cardiac medication with a placebo.
Her phone rang. A California area code. She frowned at the screen. When she answered, the voice on the other end brought a sour taste to her mouth.
“Morgan? It’s Robert. How are you?”
He had some nerve calling her after nine years. “What the hell do you want?”
“Nice way to say hi to an old friend.”
“You aren’t a friend. Answer my question.” She slammed her coffee mug on the counter.
“Calm down. I have a business proposition.”
“Like what?”
“A job for you. We want to run a new storyline in the soap with you coming back as a ghost. The writers think they can make use of a bitter older woman, you know, run a spin on—”
“Are you fucking serious?” She dug her manicured nails into her palms. “You kill me off on the show, replace me with a teenage bimbo, and think I’m going to come back and play the part of a shriveled old bitch? Kiss my ass.”
“I know you, Morgan. Don’t tell me that little shampoo commercial gig is supporting your extravagant lifestyle.”
“Guess what? I might have fucked you to get a spot on the show, but you’re not going to fuck me. I don’t need you or your sappy, grade-B hack show. Don’t call here again.” She hung up and paced the room. Nothing could get her to play an old woman. Screw them. She had enough money to buy the rights to the whole damn show and fire everyone, including Robert, that dick. She shook her head and huffed out a breath. Right now, she had bigger fish to fry.
She drummed her fingers on the counter. Sarah stood in her way. Every guy at the farm had a fucking hard-on for the bitch. Greg kept trying to impress her, and Bruce couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Time to find out more about Sarah and use it against her. The girl spooked easier than the Arabian horses. Oh, she had secrets all right. But Morgan had her own secrets. She’d plotted too long and worked too hard. She wouldn’t let Sarah get in her way.
No one would derail her plans to seduce Bruce.