Miles
“Arthur, I need you to do something for me.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes and check my watch. “Good afternoon, although it's good morning here.”
“And where is here?”
“Aspen. Collecting a couple of ponies.”
“No longer in Argentina, then?”
“Flew here from there on my way home. With any luck, I’ll be back at Burlington in a couple of days.”
There’s no doubt the landscape of Aspen is stunning year-round.
The still white-topped peaks of the mountains give way to a blanket of green trees, a fast-flowing river, and bright blue skies.
But I maintain it’s nothing compared to Valentine Nook, the place I grew up in, and no matter which exotic location I find myself in, I cannot wait to return.
It’s the most beautiful place on earth.
Peering out of the windows, I can see Ruby working in the outdoor arena with Maverick. Watching her work him around the obstacles she’s set up, I’m equal parts stunned she’s self-taught and beside myself with excitement that she’ll soon be joining my team—the Foxleigh Flyers.
She’s a natural. Sitting with a grace and ease I can’t remember ever witnessing before, even from the high-goal players—male and female.
Just like at New Year’s when I spotted her, I’m mesmerized by the rhythm she puts Maverick into—like a dressage horse elongating his gallop down the far side of the field before turning and executing a spin so perfectly it brings tears to my eyes.
It's my lucky day that no one’s noticed her before now.
“Well, Miles?” Arthur questions, interrupting my thoughts. “What is it that I can help you with?”
“Can you get a work visa set for an American I want to employ at Foxleigh?”
“Yes, I can. No problem. The same terms as we’ve had for previous international contracts?”
“Great, yes. And I need it the day after tomorrow.”
Arthur's braying, crusty laugh echoes down the phone, and I’m immediately annoyed.
“Miles,” he begins in his usual patronizing tone, “even I can't work magic that quickly.”
I bet if Lando asked him, he’d do it, such a fucking kiss arse.
“Okay. Then how long does it take?”
“Well, I mean, at a push, I suppose I could get it done in eight weeks. There's a lot of paperwork and red tape to be moved through. Visas are at a premium right now.”
Eight weeks. No, that won’t do. I’m not waiting eight weeks when the season begins properly before the month ends.
Ruby might have talent, but her style needs refining.
Therefore, we have a lot of work to get done before then.
I’d like to see her playing before the end of the season, but at the very least, I want her as a sub for the Flyers.
Once she’s got her handicap, it’ll be low enough that we won’t go over the team threshold.
“I need it next week at the latest—”
“No can do, Miles. I'm afraid—”
“Other people come over to England. It doesn’t take eight weeks for them,” I push, though truthfully, I have no idea.
“Actually, Miles, it does. What is this for, anyway?”
“I told you I found someone I want to bring over to Foxleigh to work and train with the Flyers.”
“Ah, well, that may be, but—”
“What about a tourist visa?”
“I'm assuming you want to pay this person—”
“Yes, of course—”
“You can’t on a tourist visa. They won't be covered. You are also subject to severe consequences if you’re caught. And we’re only in April, let’s try to keep you out of the papers for at least the first half of the year, if not the rest,” he adds with a laugh.
My fist clenches at his condescension.
Okay, fine, yes, when I was younger, there were occasions—possibly frequent ones—where my antics landed me on the front pages of the British tabloids.
But it was nothing outrageous, nor anything any normal boy/man in his teenage years or early twenties got up to.
The difference being I was under a microscope and subject to the predatory actions of poor excuses for journalism and media because I was born into privilege.
Unfortunately, the reputation continues to follow me.
Most of the time, I don’t give a fuck what people think because I’ve worked incredibly hard to build one of the most successful polo yards in the world, along with a multiple Cup-winning team, but sometimes, just sometimes, I wish the snide digs would ease a tad.
In the six years since I’ve taken over running Foxleigh, I’ve transformed it from a yard that barely broke even to one with a profit margin of twenty-five percent, and a turnover of six million pounds.
More importantly we don’t have to bend to the whim of greedy, egotistical patrons because it’s one hundred percent mine.
Revenue comes from tournament wins and the breeding program we run—one of the best in the world—as well as the seven-figure fee I charge in the off-season, for anyone who wants me on their team for winter polo.
Every pony is trained by me, as is everyone who works at the yard.
I handpick all employees from grooms to the office staff, because you’ll never fit in if you can’t adapt to the yard way of life. I have an innate sense for who will or won’t work out.
And that’s why I want Ruby.
“Well, I need her to come. I need her to fly home with me in a couple of days.”
There’s a pause on the line. “Her?”
“Yes, Arthur. Her. Women do ride, you know. Women do play polo.”
“I'm aware of that, Miles.”
There's another long pause, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. That my dick is making decisions for me. But for the first time in my life, I can categorically say it isn’t.
Sure, Ruby is absolutely stunning, and her snark and indifference turn me on more than they should, and for a split second when I lay eyes on her, I forget what I’m doing.
Who cares that when I arrived an hour ago and turned to see her watching me with Maverick, my chest swelled so quickly I almost couldn’t breathe.
Most importantly she rides like a dream, and there’s an untapped potential in her I want to harness.
This is business, nothing more.
I’m winning the England’s Cup this year. I’m following in my father’s footsteps, and I intend to do whatever it takes to get there.
“Are you telling me those visas that we’ve had before, or Juan and Diego, and all the Argentinian grooms, they've all taken eight to ten weeks?”
“Yes, Miles, that's exactly what I'm telling you. They’re on the international sportsperson visa, and I got those through quickly for you, too. It’s usually three months.”
Does he want a medal? “Well, I need another solution.”
Arthur starts laughing again in a way that I don't appreciate. “You could always get married.”
Stopping myself before I join in with his joke, I pause, wondering if I really heard what I think I heard.
Married. I know it was another sly dig because of all my siblings, I’ve never had any desire to get married.
I can’t deny my interest is piqued because if I’m going to marry, then what better reason could there be than polo?
“Married?”
“It was a joke—”
“Right, yes, obviously, of course, because—”
“Because,” he continues, like he’s having to explain a joke, “it goes without saying the illegalities of marriage for visa purposes. Ridiculous. Not to mention the obvious—”
“The obvious?” I know what the obvious is. I’m just wondering if he has the balls to say it.
“If any Burlington is getting married, it’s not you.”
Well, what do you know, he did have the balls. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“You're not exactly the marrying type. You've made that perfectly clear, and I have a drawer of NDAs if you need reminding.”
Yeah, he's right. I have made that perfectly clear. I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than commit to a lifetime with the same person.
It’s enough to break me out in the hives Alex used to get when he was a child.
I prefer to see myself as much more of a free bird, someone who enjoys life and everything it has to offer.
If that comes in the form of a beautiful woman or two, then so be it.
But, and it is a huge but, in the last year, Lando has found somebody he wants to spend the rest of his life with.
Alex is a father with another one on the way, and Hendricks and Story seem to be glued at the hip once more, leaving Clementine and me to hold up the Burlington singledom. And it’s got me thinking.
Being on my own has been my preference. Running a polo yard is a huge commitment, and I travel six months of the year. The last thing I want is to feel guilty about traveling, with someone nagging me to get home and not giving them the time they deserve.
And here it is—but I could see how it might be nice. Appreciate the comfort you find in sharing your life with another person.
On the flip side, I can still close my eyes and see my mother decimated by grief after our father died in a car accident. In the blink of an eye, she became a single mother to five children.
This idea, though, is not that.
“Just to be clear, my options are to wait eight to ten weeks or get married. That’s what you're saying?” I grin to myself when Arthur splutters, because I know that’s not what he’s saying, but I also like to wind him up.
“No, I am absolutely not saying that.”
“But you suggested it—”
“You know very well it was a joke, Miles—”
“Are solicitors supposed to make jokes?”
“Miles, do not get married.”
“Well, otherwise, I have to wait eight to ten weeks, and I'm not willing to do that. I don't have that kind of time.”
“Why? I don't understand. I thought you already had the team together for this season.”
“I do. But there's never any harm in adding a couple more. You know, I like to nurture talent where I see it.”
“Nurture talent?”
“Yes. Anyway, leave this with me—”
“Miles. Please don't do anything obtuse. I am begging you—”
“Don't worry, Arthur, you know me, always the sensible one.”
I hang up as he groans loudly down the phone.
Ever since I was a child, one thing has guaranteed to get me doing something: telling me I can’t. And the more I think about it, the better the idea sounds.
Slipping my phone into my pocket, I walk outside toward the practice field where Ruby’s putting Maverick through drills. It's quieter today. Not so many bored, rich divorcées on the lookout for a polo player, dragging along their reluctant daughters to make them look less inconspicuous.
Stopping at the gates, I lean over and watch. If she notices me here, she doesn’t let on, so I stay quiet and wait, observing with my professional eye.
She needs to keep her elbows tighter, and she’s sitting a fraction too far forward, and she’s too stiff with her mallet, but the way she moves with Maverick—fluidly giving the lightest instruction—reminds me of how I ride Clover, my favorite horse.
I don't know where she got him from, but he's a beautiful horse in good shape, albeit not match fit. But once he’s been through a month of hard training at Foxleigh, he’ll look fantastic.
She rounds on a series of polo balls lined in a row. All but the last three go wide.
“Tighten your elbows,” I yell. “Loosen your grip on the mallet.”
Typically, she ignores me, which makes me smile.
I've never come across someone with such indifference toward me. She does, however, take my advice, and my mouth stretches wider when she moves to the next three balls and executes a perfect contact, hitting them directly between the center goalposts. Hopefully, taking my advice will pay off in more ways than one, because I’m about to present her with my plan.
On the plus side, I’ve noticed her eyes aren’t quite so black and hate-filled on the occasions she does acknowledge me. She also doesn’t seem like the type to back down from an opportunity or challenge.
When all the balls are used up, Ruby follows up with a gallop around the field, because obviously she’s not going to come straight over and acknowledge me. And I’m not about to hold my breath for a thank-you.
Maverick grinds to a halt two feet from me, lets out a series of excited whickers, and shoves his head straight into my shoulder, leaving a long trail of saliva along my shirt.
“Sorry, buddy, no more carrots for you. If you're coming to be on my team, you need to go on a diet.”
It’s true, he does, but it was worth saying just to see the indignation in Ruby’s eyes. Fury truly makes the green sparkle.
“He does not need to go on a diet.”
“I disagree, and as it’s my yard, my team. It’s my rules.”
Her jaw pops, but she doesn’t argue. “Well, when are we leaving, then?”
Keeping my tone as casual as possible, I stroke along Maverick’s neck. “Well, that’s up to you. I have bad news, but I also have good news. Which do you want first?”
“Bad,” she says without a beat.
“A girl after my own heart,” I reply, which earns me a scowl and makes me more certain about my proposal—for lack of a better word.
It could very well be the most ludicrous idea I’ve ever had, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel like it.
“The work visa you need will take eight to ten weeks minimum, and you can’t come over to play without it—”
“That takes up half the summer,” she gripes.
“Yes, I know.”
This time, it’s not just her jaw that clenches.
Her whole face morphs with annoyance. She thinks I’ve wasted her time and got her hopes up for nothing.
But weirdly, her head drops, so she doesn’t have to make eye contact because then I’ll see her disappointment.
In our limited time together, I’ve learned Ruby doesn’t like to give anything away.
“There’s another option—”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
This time, I wait until she’s looking directly at me before I drop the bombshell.
“You marry me.”