Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Blair
W ho was this asshole?
By the expression in his eyes and the tone in his voice, I knew he was misdirecting years of rage over something in his life that wasn’t my fault.
If he thought he could get me to back down, he had another thing coming. I hadn’t gained my position by being a doormat, sitting on my ass, and letting everyone walk all over me.
“This deal has been run through analysts and strategists who have decided it is best for Mr. Portman’s portfolio,” I said.
“For him,” Donovan the Second spat, his jaw tensing, his eyes glinting, the dark making them gleam gray. “But not for the town. Again, take your deal and go to?—”
“Dallas,” Warrick stopped him. “Stop. I know it sounds lopsided?—”
“Because it is,” Dallas interjected.
“But it is the only way to get this plant off the ground,” Warrick said. “The town does not have the funds to cover it, and the previous investor, Drayton Inc., has gone belly up.”
Dallas' eyes shifted. “Drayton Inc.? What? What happened there?”
Warrick sighed and rested his forearms on his scuffed table. “It’s a long story, but the Cliff Notes version is that one of the top men in the corporation was here and deeply involved in some fraudulent activities. We exposed them, which started the dominoes tipping, and now the whole crop is toppling.”
Dallas clamped his lips tightly, but his eyes darkened. The blue and gray of his eyes were smoky like the clouds before a storm, and I felt the fight approaching in the same way that a thunderstorm does. I could feel his energy skittering over my skin, raising goosebumps all the way.
In my private life, I love a decisive man, somewhat stubborn, always confident, assertive, and in control, someone who could go toe-to-toe with me in the boardroom and the bedroom. Tall, rugged, handsome as the devil himself, with sharp cheekbones and a hard jawline, with a pulsating energy that would send delicious shivers down my spine.
It sucked because Dallas checked off all those boxes, and besides the irritation brewing in my chest, a strong attraction was building in my belly. As a result, my morning became frustrating.
“Is there—” Mr. Donovan, the one I was working with, frowned at his brother. “Is there something going on?”
Donovan the Second flexed his jaw. “Yes, but not here. What is happening with this deal is not right.”
“Listen, Dallas,” Warrick said. “I know Mr. Portman, and he is not some corporate bigwig who takes everything for himself. When you think about it, this is a dangerous investment for him as well, and it only makes sense for him to earn back what he puts in. I’m sure we can get the deal to grow lighter as the quarters go by, but for a startup buy-in, he’s right on the money.”
“Let me see that contract.” Dallas strode by me, and I got a whiff of something woodsy.
He took the document and spun it, eyes flying over the sheet. “Starting amount: two point five million, after two years, return rate: six percent, compound annually, end balance: two point eight million and change, with interest three hundred thousand and odd.
“No. It’s a start-up; the rate needs to be dropped to three percent, and then we can increase it as the company grows. Who in their right mind goes for the top-down instead of the bottom-up? I know it’s a startup, but that doesn’t mean rip-off .”
I turned to Warrick. “What do you think, sir?”
“I—” Warrick rubbed his face. “I think… no one is in the wrong here, but maybe we can come to a compromise. Maybe we can drop the ROI down to three percent for the first year and then grow from there. We have to take it one step at a time because we don’t know what might happen with the cattle. We need to have a steady, stable ship before we sail it.”
I thought it over. Maybe there was some wiggle room here. “I will confer with Mr. Portman, and we’ll go over the terms.”
“Good,” Warrick replied. “I hope the room Marie gave you is okay.”
Dallas’ head snapped at us, eyes narrowing. “What? She’s staying with us?”
“How else am I to oversee the building and the construction?” I asked pointedly. “I can’t see the ins-and-outs by video chat, can I? ”
His mouth flattened, but I ignored him. “I have some calls to make, so please excuse me.”
“Sure, we’ll see you at dinner. Dallas, stay a spell, will you?”
With a curt nod, I left the room, barely brushing by Dallas; his nostrils flared like a pissed-off bull. I couldn’t care less; let him be pissed off. Hell, I was pissed off. Who did he think he was, walking into the room like he owned the place and busting my chops? He blew apart a deal I’d worked on for sleepless nights and endless days, and now I had to go back to the drawing board.
My loaned bedroom had a soft dove gray color and a crisp ultra-white for all the trim and crown molding, gray and white curtains, and a bed covered in a dark gray coverlet and white sheets.
I toed my Lombardi heels off and tugged the bun out of my hair, letting my hair fall to my waist. Putting it into the hairstyle appropriate for work was a pain, but I could not let it down and let people think I was some floozy sorority girl who used her looks to get to the top.
I shifted my heels to the side and sat the file on the table-and-chair set near the window. I changed into jeans and a blouse, got my calculator, pens, and a pad out, and began to rework the contract, knowing how Mr. Portman would like the terms.
When I had the terms down, the investment was the same, but the time was two years, which didn’t coincide with the lowered returns. I would type it up later, but for now, I had a hard craving for coffee in any variety I could get.
Slipping my new boots on, I left for the lower floor, where lady Marie had told me I could find her and get a cup. She was right where she said she would be, puttering around the kitchen, humming to herself.
I’d never seen myself as a homemaker, even though my family was from the south; we were old money south. My family had not jumped on the planter aristocracy; we’d built railroads and shipping convoys. It was a good thing, too, because slavery was a horrible thing, and it was why I had aligned myself with a company that did not outsource to companies with unethical labor.
“Miss Cullen.” Marie smiled. “Welcome to Montana. Have you had a chance to look around yet?”
“No,” I shook my head. “But I am intrigued. I have flown around the world in lieu of Mr. Portman himself to see all his worldwide operations, but I’ve mostly stayed in the offices, not the ranches. Do you think you can make me a coffee, please?”
She nodded and dropped some heavy cream into a pan before getting the coffee maker going. “I see. You know, there are three more ranches around here, and they all have something unique to them. The town is as unique as they are, too, and I think you’d love to see it, if anything, to get a feel for what it is like to live in a ranching town.”
“I see,” I replied while gazing out the window to the pasture beyond, covered with roaming bulls on one part, and the others had horses. I spotted a few men on the pastures with them, their distinct hats not that much different from the guys I’d seen in Texas on Mr. Portman’s ranch. “Do you think you can get anyone to show me around this ranch too?”
“Not in those boots,” Dallas’ gruff voice interrupted. “You’ll twist your ankles in those.”
Asshat.
“I was told they were fitting for a ranch.”
“Where?” he said gruffly. “At a ranch-themed party? Because that is what they looked like.”
I ground my teeth. “Do you have any suggestions for anything better?”
His eyes trailed over me, slower than molasses on a winter day. I stopped myself from shivering. I should not be attracted to this asshole. He fixed himself a cup of coffee, black with a single splash of milk, leaning on the counter behind him. His long, lean-muscled body was on display, especially those muscled legs of his bulging under his jeans.
He sipped his drink. “How much did those boots cost?”
“Three fifty,” I said. “They were on sale.”
Dallas snorted. “You’d have been better off spending three hundred on leather and rubber to make a nicer boot. I think Hanks General might have some better choices for you.”
My skin itched with the thought of something… general.
He snorted. “And that’s what I thought.”
I clenched my jaw. “And what is that?”
“You’re ready to break out in hives at the mere thought of touching something that does not have a name brand on it, specifically a European brand I’d never heard about,” Dallas said.
I kept my cool. “You’re right. Brunello Cucinelli, Cesare Attolini, and Salvatore Ferragamo are my favorites.” I took another sip. “You look like you shop at The Gap.”
“I don’t have eighty bucks to spend on a pair of jeans,” he replied. “I’m surprised you drink black coffee. I’d take you for one of those silk almond milk, mocha choca crap with extra cold foam and some caramel drizzle on the top.”
I wanted to bait him, like dangling a hunk of raw meat in front of an alligator or a hungry hyena .
“You forgot the extra chocolate syrup,” I smiled. “Black coffee is a taste I acquired years ago in college.”
“Ivy League?” He said, and why did he sound so… judgy about it?
“Rice University and Yale,” I added. “My B.A. was from Rice, M.A., and MSc from Yale.”
He crossed his legs, cup to his lips… and my eyes strayed to his jaw, his stubble dark even though his skin looked just rough enough for me.
If he kissed me, I’d feel that delicious rub against my skin…
I nearly choked.
Where had that thought come from?
“You grew up around here?” I asked. “Where did you go to school? Helena?”
“No,” he looked around the cupboard and took out a travel mug. “I studied in San Francisco, attending night school and working sixteen-hour days. It took me six years to get it, but I got it—” he took out the cup and poured his drink in while looking over at me. “—what about you? Where are you from?”
“My accent hasn’t told you already?” I baited.
His lip curled. “It has, but I didn’t want to make any assumptions. You’re from down south, Georgia, the Carolinas, Tennessee on the outside. You’re old money and have never had to work anything but a curling iron or a computer keyboard in your life. You probably have a mama who told you to attend Cotillion and went to some fancy sorority house with a five-star chef.”
“Cotillion is outdated; I never went to that…” I said, pausing. “…mama did hire a slew of private tutors for me and my twin brother, though. He went on to take over the family company, and I found my way to Portman Corp. ”
“Ah, that’s why,” he said smugly.
For once, in the back-and-forth, I had my backup. “And what do you mean by that?”
“You’re overcompensating for not being picked for your brother’s job,” he said. “You hate patriarchy and want to show that even if you don’t have that job, you can do much better. Does your brother have your degrees?”
“No.”
“What does he have?”
“A B.A. and in-house training,” I said, keeping the bitterness from my voice— or so I thought.
“That's my point,” he laughed and turned to the door.
Aggravated, I glared at his back, and it pissed me off even more when he didn’t seem to realize it. Even worse, I would have preferred it if he turned and glared back at me.
I didn’t know where he was going— but I didn’t care either. I needed to keep my composure, keep my head in the game, and not let that prick get under my skin. I may have been born into money and rubbed elbows with the crème-de-la-crème in New York, DC, and Los Angeles, but I could hold my own.
The door opened again while I was topping off my coffee, and in came two cowboys, a tall one with dark hair and a shorter one with light brown hair; they were talking, arguing, about a horse.
“You can absolutely get a horse to swim, and it’s easier to break him in that way,” the younger one said.
“Or, or hear me out,” the taller one held up his hand. “You could do it the old-fashioned way by starting with halter and bridle training. You don’t have to—” he paused, seeing me. “—oh. Who are you ?”
I knew that tone, the guy-across-from-you-in-the-club tone .
“Blair Cullen,” I said. “I am here on behalf of Portman Corp to oversee how this new plant is going.”
“Frankie Ortiz,” the taller one replied before jamming a thumb over his shoulder. “And that is Isaac West. Let me just throw this out there: you’re drop-dead gorgeous, and if you’d like, I can show you around town.”
He was a playboy; I could see it a mile away. Sadly, this was a business trip, and I could not get diverted from the reason I was there.
“Don’t even try it,” Warrick said as he strode behind me. “She’s not here to be your arm candy, Frankie.”
Frankie pressed a hand to his heart, and his face twisted comically. “Drive the spear in, won’t you?”
I liked him; he seemed to be a happy guy, not like the surly son-of-a-bitch who had walked out the door five minutes ago.
“When you yank it out, I’ll add salt, too,” Warrick teased while making his coffee. “Don’t you have some calves to be looking after?”
“Santos and the rest of the guys are already out there, but I had to get some joe. I run on coffee and its fumes.” Frankie jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Since you shot me down on being my lady friend here, what do you say about a tour around the ranch? Can you ride?”
I couldn’t make it awkward.
“I can ride horses, yes,” I nodded. “But according to someone, my boots are not going to hold up on a ranch.”
His eyes dropped to my feet. “I think your boots are sexy. Who told you that?”
“Mr. Sourpuss,” I nodded out the door. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”
Warrick leaned on a counter. “Dallas is a hard nut to crack. Even as a teen, he was bullheaded, and I can only imagine that it has worsened.”
Marie, whom, I hadn’t realized had slipped out of the room, entered with a pile of mail, one she waved in Warrick’s face. “I think this is the letter from the FBI you were waiting for. And this is from the Town Council, which I think is probably the seventh reminder of the Secret Santa exchange on Christmas Eve.”
Warrick rolled his eyes and asked, “Does the mayor think we need a million reminders? It’s mid-November, and we’re already preparing for Christmas. We have almost a month in between, and my prerogative now is getting this plant started. The ground is broken, and the architects are drawing up the plan.
“It's 175 square feet and has 21 sections to start,” he said. “I think we need to focus on that and getting the workforce, about 125 people, to run all stations.”
While they talked, I looked out the door; where was Mr. Douchface?
“You know, we can lend you Connie’s boots if you don’t want to get those dirty,” Isaac piped up from the table while he nursed his tea.
I nodded. “Sure.”
Normally, I’d not want to try someone else’s boots— erm, foot fungus— but I would be fine as long as I had some socks on. “What size is she?”
“Eight, I think,” Isaac replied.
“I’m seven; it can work,” I said. “As long as she is cool with it.”
“Connie is a soldier,” Frankie added. “She’d probably tell you to have ‘em.”
I didn’t know any girl who would relinquish her boots that easily. Then again, the boots I was thinking about were two-thousand-dollar Balenciaga kicks with heels sharp enough to be used as murder weapons.
“Give me two minutes,” Frankie replied.