Winning the Cowboy

by Emma St Clair

  You don’t need to feel bad. This is the bed Elton made himself. Time to see how hard the mattress is.

  Adele shook her head. She was here alone with Easton, so why couldn’t she keep her thoughts from swinging back to Elton?

  Chapter Four

  Elton

  Elton drummed his fingers on the table in the interrogation room at the police station. Or waiting room, as the cop had called it. Yeah, right. No room with a double-sided mirror was simply a waiting room. He might make some stupid life choices, but this was one thing he knew.

  The door swung open, but before the officer could step inside, Elton called out, “Lawyer!” The man’s lips formed a tight line and he closed the door again.

  That was the second thing he knew: don’t talk to the cops without a lawyer present. He’d been barking that one word with a smile at anyone who came through the door for the last few hours.

  Where is my lawyer, anyway?

  Adele should have gotten ahold of Easton by now.

  Adele. Elton found himself torn between wanting to grin and groan at the way she’d dressed him down at the hospital.

  People always said that love and hate were closely connected. So, did that mean he could read something into how angry she was with him? Probably not, considering the only reason she ran into the hospital was because she thought Easton had been the injured one.

  She was probably with his brother right now. Jealousy tasted like stale regret in his mouth. A horrible feeling all around, but especially considering the fact that it was his twin.

  He hated everything about this whole situation. Either Easton needed to wake up and realize that Adele liked him and return those feelings, or Elton needed to get over his feelings for Adele. Being stuck in a lopsided love triangle wasn’t doing anyone any favors.

  Easier said than done. He’d always thought Adele was gorgeous, but it was after his parents died that he really fell hard for her. That’s when he became acquainted with that four-letter word for the first time in his life. Love. Not that he’d admitted that out loud to anyone. It was some kind of foolish to love a woman who didn’t love you back.

  Elton reflexively moved to pull his phone out of his pocket, forgetting that the police had taken it when he arrived. If he wanted to, he knew he could make a phone call. Maybe more than one. He didn’t really know the ins and outs when you were brought to the station, but not officially under arrest. Could he just walk right out of this room? That felt like some kind of trap, so he kept waiting for the lawyer. He really should have been here before now.

  Maybe no one would be able to come until the morning. Guess that removed the need to have someone wake him up every few hours to check on him. It wasn’t like Elton could fall asleep in the hard metal chair. But he could give it a try …

  Putting his boots up on the table, Elton crossed his arms and leaned back as far as he could in the uncomfortable chair. Closing his eyes only made his headache intensify. With a groan, Elton put his feet back on the floor and leaned forward, resting his head on his crossed arms on top of the table. He tried to keep his eyes open, not wanting a repeat of the pain he’d just felt when he closed them.

  But he must have drifted asleep because he found himself jerking awake as the door opened again. “Lawyer!” he shouted reflexively.

  The tall man in the suit smirked. “That’s me.”

  “Oh.” Elton sat up straighter in his chair, checking out the guy Davis must have sent.

  The lawyer had dark hair and the kind of stubble that looked intentional. Everything about him seemed purposeful, from the way he strode in, to the way his suit was perfect, but his hair was slightly rumpled. As though he wanted everyone to know that he had just rolled out of bed but had managed to pull himself together. The guy could have stepped right off a movie set, playing the part of the lawyer you love to hate.

  “At your service. I’m Benedict Cotton, but I go by Ben. You must be Elton. Your brother Davis called me. We went to law school together.”

  Elton stood and held out his hand. After eyeing him for a moment, Ben shook his hand, then set down a briefcase on the table. Before taking a seat, Ben shot the officer still standing in the doorway a pointed look.

  “A moment alone with my client, if you don’t mind?” His tone made it very clear that he minded.

  With an eye roll, the officer slammed the door shut again. Elton winced at the sound. The hours had done little to dull the ache in his skull.

  Ben gestured to Elton’s head as he took a seat. “Do you need medical attention? Did the cops do that?”

  Elton chuckled, which also hurt his head. “I’ve been to the hospital already. Mild concussion. And no, the cops didn’t do it. My own stupidity did.”

  Ben snorted and slapped a legal pad on the table. “Why don’t you let me know why I’m here? By which I mean, obviously, why you’re here?”

  Elton massaged his temples. What he wanted to do instead was get home where he could take painkillers and go to sleep. Ben tapped a pen impatiently on the table and cleared his throat.

  “It’s kind of a long story,” Elton said.

  Ben gave him a half-smile. “I would say we have all night, but we’re actually almost to morning now. Why don’t you just jump in? Give me the highlights. Just don’t leave out important details.” When Elton still hesitated, Ben dropped the pen and held his hands out, palms up. “I’m a good listener. Think of me as your therapist. Confidentiality, and all that.”

  “Fine.”

  As Elton started in on the night’s events, Ben leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, and looked mildly interested. To his credit, he didn’t seem surprised or judgmental about the fighting or anything else.

  “Did they read you your rights?” Ben asked. Elton shook his head no. “Did they question you?”

  “I asked for a lawyer whenever they opened the door.”

  “Smart boy.”

  The boy comment stung. Ben couldn’t be more than a few years older if he had gone to law school with Davis.

  Was that just the way Ben talked? Or was he remarking on Elton’s immaturity for getting himself into such hot water?

  Elton chose to ignore it. No reason to get bent out of shape with the one person who wanted to help him right now. Even if that was paid help.

  “Let’s see what they want. I’ll do most of the talking. I’d advise you to stay quiet unless I let you know that you should speak up. Then be very simple in your language. No embellishments.”

  Ben gave Elton a pointed look. Had he been embellishing his retelling of the story? He thought he’d been pretty straightforward. Then again, everything felt muddled right now.

  “Straight facts,” Ben continued. “Do not waver. Do not give them more than they ask for. Yes or no answers, whenever possible. If at any time you don’t feel comfortable with what they’re asking or what your answers would be, just nod at me. I’ll handle it. We good?”

  “Sure.” Good was a relative term. Elton didn’t like this lawyer much but didn’t doubt that he would do a great job. He oozed confidence and power in a way that made Elton slightly envious.

  Ben strode over to the door and stuck his head outside. “Hello!” he called in a sharp tone. “I’d love to get my client out of here sometime tonight.”

  Slamming the door, he gave Elton a wink and took the chair next to him this time. He put the legal pad and pen back inside his briefcase, then crossed his arms over his chest, schooling his features into a bored look.

  “This should be fun,” Ben muttered.

  Two men in button-down shirts tucked into khaki pants glared at Elton as they moved to the other side of the table. One had a shiny, bald head and looked about fifteen years older than the other man with a mop of dirty blond hair. Elton swallowed, trying to keep his face neutral. They were definitely detectives, not officers.

  They took their time as they arranged themselves on the other side of the table. In a louder and more annoyed tone, Ben spoke to the detec
tives. “Let’s get on with it. My client has suffered a concussion and should be at home recovering, not stuck in this room all night. Did anyone even offer to get him water or ask about his health?”

  The detectives looked sheepish and the older nodded to the younger, who left the room. “Are you feeling okay?” the remaining detective asked. He scratched his shiny head, looking somehow irritated and chagrined at the same time.

  Before Elton could speak, Ben put a hand on his chest, as though to hold him back. “Don’t answer that.”

  The detective barely restrained an eye roll, and Elton coughed into his hand to hide a laugh.

  The detective’s partner came back a moment later with flushed cheeks and a bottled water in hand. He shoved it across the table and it tipped over, rolling to the floor. Elton moved to pick it up, but again, Ben put a hand on Elton’s chest, shooting dark looks at the men across the table. The younger detective sighed heavily but got up, this time handing Elton the water.

  “That’s better,” Ben said.

  Both detectives mumbled insincere apologies. Ben opened his briefcase, pulling out several folders before snapping it shut again.

  “We have a lot to talk about. I’d like to start with rights violations.” Ben steepled his fingers together and leaned his elbows on the table. Both detectives shifted uncomfortably.

  Forget what everyone said about lawyers. Elton loved this guy.

  He loved him even more when they were walking out of the station fifteen minutes later. The detectives glared and gave thinly veiled threats, but Elton was too tired to care. The throbbing in his head had moved down to a full-body ache. He needed to get his head on a pillow, stat.

  “Can I give you a lift home?” Ben asked. “It’s the least I can do.”

  Elton managed a smile. “The least? I think you’ve already done a lot.”

  Ben waved a hand, smirking. “I owe Davis a favor.”

  “Must be quite the favor.”

  Ben snorted. “Well. I’m also counting this as billable hours.”

  Elton laughed. He didn’t even care if Ben was serious. He had the money to pay him. And hopefully that would be the last of his legal troubles. Especially since he had planned for that to be the last fight night. Not much else to worry about, other than healing up from his concussion.

  And making sure Adele wasn’t actually angry with him.

  Chapter Five

  Adele

  “Why does it have to be Elton?” Adele whined loudly enough for her voice to carry into the Bluetooth speakers in her car. “Why can’t Easton be the best man?”

  This really wasn’t the best start to her morning, which technically had been going on all night. Adele was on the way to the photoshoot, feeling exhausted, looking even more exhausted than she felt, and feeling irrationally irritated about Cilla’s choice to saddle Adele with the wrong twin.

  She had envisioned the wedding already—walking down the aisle on Easton’s arm. Getting to spend time at pre-wedding activities with Easton. Maybe it was silly, but Adele had thought maybe being paired with Easton at the wedding would wake him up.

  Instead, her best friend—maybe now former best friend? —was putting Elton in that spot. The very man responsible for her current exhaustion and bad mood.

  “Because it’s what Pax wants,” Cilla said, speaking slowly as though to a child.

  “You’re the bride. You get to call the shots. Tell him you want the best twin to be the best man.”

  “Nope. I’m not going bridezilla here. Pax wants Elton; Pax gets Elton. Sorry.” Cilla didn’t sound the least bit sorry. In fact, she sounded way more cheerful than any person had a right to at eight in the morning.

  “But that means—”

  “You’re going to be spending a lot of time with Elton in the next six to eight weeks.”

  “Six weeks?” Adele sputtered. “Did you pick a date? Can you possibly get everything done by then?”

  “No official date. And I don’t care what doesn’t get done. I don’t want to wait. We’re leaning toward the third weekend in March. I should know this week. It’s kind of one of those chicken-and-egg problems with the venue. You’ll come with me to look at locations, right?”

  “Fine. Look, I’m just pulling up and need to go.”

  She and Cilla said their goodbyes as Adele parked in the gravel lot. She could see her photographer, Danny, already taking pictures of the old grain elevators by the No Label Brewery.

  He snapped a few photos, then checked the camera settings while scratching his beard with the other hand. Adele waved, and Danny blew her a kiss, then went back to taking pictures, testing the light. Kat should have already been there, but there was no sign of her beat-up minivan.

  Adele checked her phone, only to find a series of texts from her new assistant. This did not bode well for her first day on the job.

  Kat: I’m coming but running late

  Kat: … and I’ll have Jem with me

  Kat: I’m sorry

  Kat: She had a slight fever and my babysitter refused to watch her. Something about an Ebola scare.

  Kat: JEM DOES NOT HAVE EBOLA

  Kat: Be there in five

  Kat: Make that ten

  Adele blew out a breath and smoothed a hand over her hair. She hoped that she hadn’t made a mistake with Kat. She’d never had an assistant at these shoots before, so it’s not like she couldn’t go without. But Kat had managed to secure a sponsorship with a brand and had all of the pieces they needed to photograph with her. She also planned to take more candid photos Adele could use in her Instagram stories.

  “Hey, Danny,” Adele called.

  He gave her a wide smile and a crushing hug. At first, Adele had been a little uncomfortable with his physical affection until she realized that Danny was simply a touchy-feely guy.

  “I love this location. And the light here is amazing. Are you ready to get started?” Danny knew Adele didn’t like wasting time. Which, given his hourly fees, literally meant wasting money.

  “I’ve got a new assistant starting today, but she’s running late. We could get started on some of the looks and then, when she gets here, move into a new set.”

  “Sounds perfect.” Danny pointed toward an area by a white metal building. “Why don’t we start there? The light is great, but it will be too bright in a little while.”

  He was practically jumping with energy, which got Adele focused and excited too. Great photos were more dependent on Adele getting into the shoot than covering up the dark circles under her eyes. The best pictures were always the ones where she actually enjoyed herself in the process. And Danny, with his high energy and goofy grin, made that easier. It’s why she only worked with him. He made everything magic.

  “Looking great! Why don’t you try tilting your chin just a bit and then standing with one foot up on the building? Perfect!” Danny snapped another series, paused to look at the camera screen, and beamed. “You’re going to love these! Now, let’s try over there. Do you want to lose the jacket?”

  “Let’s do a few more with a new background. Maybe just remove the jacket so we can have a slightly different look.”

  Adele was feeling more energized. Danny’s happy energy was contagious. She only wished Kat had gotten there on time. The point of hiring Kat was to make her life easier. Not add stress to an already high-stress morning.

  People who didn’t use social media as a business had zero clue how many little details she had to maintain. How many balls were in the air. She now earned a full-time income that had allowed her to quit her teaching job to do Instagram full-time.

  It was a dream that she hadn’t even thought to have. Ten years ago, having a full-time job based on a social media platform wouldn’t have even been a possibility. And Adele had never envisioned herself doing anything related to modeling.

  She’d started out with some makeup tutorials but found her stride with fashion. At a size 12-14, Adele fell right into the average size for an American woman. B
ut on a platform like Instagram that was filled with so many supermodel-esque beauties, Adele stood out.

  Now there were a lot more women of all sizes doing fashion photos, but Adele had been one of the first. She had quickly grown a following as someone promoting body positivity. She had a lot of curves, so a lot of women looked to her for clothing choices that accentuated a curvy body in a stylish way. That hadn’t ever been her goal, but if her posts helped women find confidence whatever their body type or size, she was glad.

  Of course, just the fact that she wasn’t stick-thin meant she had plenty of haters who trolled her comments. Calling her fat and ugly and much worse. But she’d seen those kinds of comments as well on thinner women. Body shaming was, apparently, an equal opportunity sport, no matter a woman’s size.

  Deleting and blocking trolls who commented was just one job she was more than happy to hand off to Kat. Adele hoped having an assistant could help free up more of her time. Maybe she’d get to bed before one in the morning sometime in the near future.

  But finding someone who understood the ins and outs of Instagram and who could work with beauty brands to help secure sponsored campaigns was tough. Without working with brands on sponsored content, Adele would need to go back to working a traditional job. And she didn’t know how she could do it after getting a taste of working for herself. By the time she’d interviewed Kat, Adele had been sure she should just give up altogether on finding someone to help.

  The other three interviews had been done remotely, using Skype on the computer. None of them lived in Texas, which was fine, but none of them had any spark. Being local gave Kat a leg up. As for spark, she was a firecracker.

  During the interview, Adele had been drawn to the flash of determination in Kat’s eyes. Even as she worked to nurse a fussy seven-month-old baby, she never faltered in answering Adele’s questions. It was like total next-level multitasking.

  “I can do this,” Kat had said. Not pleading or looking for pity. But with a fire that Adele admired. “Instagram is my jam. And I used to work with brands myself, so I know what’s required. I’ll get you top dollar for sponsored campaigns, not just one-off photos.”