“If he’s golden, why has he been losing so much lately?” I asked the question quietly, worried I might offend her and her megasize crush.
I didn’t know much about the sport, but I’d started keeping an eye on Crew as soon as he took the advance my father threw his way for agreeing to be the face of my product line. I had been clueless about anything rodeo related and still was, for the most part, but it was easy enough to read the headlines and follow the commentary about how the Texas-born cowboy had gone from the top of his game to the bottom of the barrel after each consecutive ride. Speculation ran the gamut from drug use to problems in his personal life. His concentration and dedication were both in question, and more than one article heralded the end of his, up to this point, stellar career. He couldn’t afford to keep losing, and I couldn’t afford for him to take my brainchild down with him.
The glittery woman shifted uncomfortably, as if the man we were discussing might be able to hear her speaking ill about him. After an awkward pause, she sighed and pushed some of her curly blond hair over her shoulder. “No one really knows why he’s riding like shit. At first, we all chalked it up to a few bad days. He likes to party and tends to be a little wild, plus he’s getting older, and this sport is brutal on the body. Those of us who follow him just thought time was catching up with him. But each ride is worse than the one before it. It’s like he’s not even trying to stay on anymore. He won’t answer questions when he’s asked about what’s going on, but he’s passed all the mandatory drug screenings before each event, so it’s not that.”
I huffed out an annoyed sigh, which was immediately followed by a flurry of sneezes. I swore under my breath when they subsided and swiped angrily at my messy face. Of course, it couldn’t be drugs or something else overtly obvious. There was a proprietary clause in the contract Crew signed with my father. If it had been something like an addiction, I would have been able to oust him with no fuss, but my luck wasn’t that good. It never had been.
My new friend glanced over at me with genuine concern brimming in her eyes. “If he finishes anywhere out of the top three today, he won’t be able to compete in Nationals. He’ll lose his endorsements and so much money. It’ll be a tragedy after how much work he’s put into getting to this level.”
I thought tragedy was a bit of an exaggeration, but the woman really seemed despondent over the possibility of how this might be the end for this infamous cowboy.
I was going to ask more questions, because I found her far more informative than Google, but she suddenly leaped to her feet, hands clapping, as she screamed Crew’s name from the top of her lungs. Pretty much everyone seated around me climbed to their feet and followed her lead. Reluctantly, I also stood and tried to focus my blurry gaze on the arena floor below.
A hush fell over the crowd and there was a loud clang as metal hit metal when the chute opened, and man and beast were released. The horse was black, so dark it almost looked blue under the lights. The man perched precariously on its muscular back had hair to match. It was currently trapped under a dark gray cowboy hat, but it was long enough for the wild strands to be stuck to the back of his neck as he strained and fought to stay on the bucking horse’s back. I’d researched enough to know he rode both with and without a saddle, depending on the competition. Today there didn’t seem to be anything between his tight Wranglers and the glistening coat of the furiously thrashing horse underneath him.
People cheered, chanting his name over and over again. I knew the goal was for him to stay on for eight seconds and to encourage the roughest, toughest ride possible in that time frame. He had to keep one hand lifted above his head and make it all look impossibly effortless as a thousand-pound animal did its best to toss him to the ground. I could see why people were enamored with him. In the flesh, there was an air about him. It spoke to the recklessness of his profession, and the courage it took to climb up and ride day in and day out. He seemed fearless and impressive, even from this distance. I could clearly see the swagger my new glittery friend mentioned. I could also see why my father thought we should use his face to sell my products. He was mesmerizing, and I, like everyone else in the arena, couldn’t tear my eyes off him as he writhed and rolled in a continuous glide with the horse. It was almost like a dance, graceful and elegant, but tinged with a hint of danger and brutality. I suddenly understood why Sparkles made it a point to follow him around, anxious for any of his attention.
Then, just as quickly as the excitement and exaltation began, it died a quiet death as the beautiful man seemed to suddenly lose all coordination and form. One second he was sitting tall and proud, owning the chaos he was tied to, and the next he was flying through the air and landing in an undignified heap and a cloud of dust on the ground. The horse continued to buck and thrash, while a murmur of disapproval and dissatisfaction worked through the crowd. Everyone sank back in their seats, but I stayed standing, watching as the dark-haired cowboy climbed to his feet, dejection evident in every line and curve of his muscled form.
“I can’t believe he lost,” I heard, and looked down at my seatmate. I was slightly horrified to see she had tears in her eyes.
With a sigh, I pushed a hand through my wavy blond bob and muttered. “I can.”
Crew losing was why I was here. If he couldn’t be the untouchable cowboy my father wanted, then I was determined to turn him into the debonair gentleman I wanted. I just had no clue how much work I was going to have cut out for me.
And I didn’t think for a second that the sullen, rebellious man, who was walking away with his head down and his shoulders hunched in defeat, was going to make it easy on me.
Chapter 2
Crew
I threw my hat across the length of the RV. It served as my home away from home while I was on the road. Luckily, the luxe vehicle belonged to one of my sponsors, so I hadn’t had the opportunity to gamble it away along with everything else of value I used to own. I kicked the wood of one of the kitchen cabinets and plowed my hands through my sweaty hair.
I lost.
My season was ruined.
So was my name.
And my career, for all intents and purposes.
It was all over.
I knew what people were saying. I’d lost my edge. Something was going on with me, and a lot of folks thought it was drugs, but they couldn’t explain away my clean drug screens. They were all way off base. I was losing because I had to. I tossed away every single thing I’d ever worked for because that was the only way to keep Vargas away from my family in Loveless, Texas. He was stacking huge bets against me, knowing I was going to throw each and every ride for the rest of the season. Each ride I lost, Vargas took fifty to a hundred thousand off my debt, and won twice that from his unfair odds. He was making a fortune on my misfortune, and the entire situation left a sour taste in my mouth. The upside was that this situation finally dulled the gambling itch that lived under my skin.
When my older brother warned me I was on a dangerous path, I didn’t listen. I never did. My younger sister was worried about me. But I brushed her concern off and went right on pretending that I was on top of the world. I was good at acting like I had my shit together. I was good at putting on a song and dance when the reality was this…me on the brink of paying the ultimate price for every bad decision I couldn’t help but make. Sometimes I felt like I was compelled to fail, to screw up. At times I wondered if it was hardwired into my DNA. But then I remembered my perfect, heroic, and faultless older brother and realized it was just me, the only Lawton destined to be on his knees about to get his face permanently rearranged because I couldn’t resist making one last bet.
The thing that pissed me off though was that even after the humiliation and horror of these last few rides, Vargas still wasn’t calling us even. He insisted I still owed him over two hundred thousand dollars. Just the thought of it had me pulling at my hair in frustration and aiming another useless kick at the interior of the RV.
I was swearing up a storm,
cursing myself and every move I’d made over the last five years when the door behind me swung open. Even though I was a loser, a failure, a man caught in a spiral downward, it hadn’t seemed to hurt my appeal with the ladies. After every ride, no matter how poorly I did, there was still a line of willing women waiting outside my trailer, eager to do their best to try and cheer me up. I hadn’t been in the mood for frivolous moments that stroked my missing ego. I was too tired, too disgusted with myself to keep the mask of the carefree cowboy in place. The real Crew, the man who was vulnerable and incredibly damaged at the moment, was too close to the surface for me to spend time trying to charm an expectant stranger.
Without turning around, I laced my fingers behind my neck and looked down at the dirty, scuffed toes of my boots. Typically, after a ride, I was full of adrenaline and excitement. Even after a genuine loss, I could revel in the sound of the crowd and the determination to do better coursing through my blood. Now, all I felt was remorse and disgust. I was an embarrassment to the sport and to myself. I definitely wasn’t fit for any kind of company at the moment.
“I’m busy right now. I don’t have time to entertain guests, sorry.” I was anything but. I wondered if my manager had let the woman in. I knew it was a woman without looking up because I could hear the click of her heels as she entered the RV, a light floral scent fighting to overtake the smell of sweat and horse that clung to me. My manager was under strict orders to keep everyone away from me after the event. I was too close to the edge and way too unpredictable to mingle with the masses right now. But the guy was sick of me losing and probably realized he was going to be out of a job soon, since my career was in the toilet. He might have let the intruder in as payback.
“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not here for entertainment, Mr. Lawton. I’m here to talk business.” The woman’s voice was sharp, direct, and had a hint of an accent. Her words were also followed by a less-than-delicate sneeze, which had me turning around to face her.
She definitely didn’t look like the women who normally circled my trailer looking for a way in. In fact, she didn’t look like the kind of woman who ever crossed my path. No, she looked like the kind of woman who purposely walked to the other side of the street when she saw someone like me coming.
Who came to a rodeo in a pinstripe business suit, complete with a silk blouse and spiked high heels? Who lingered in a place full of dirt and dust with a face painted like it was going to be on the cover of Vogue, and with hair that had to cost a fortune to look that artfully messy and tousled? She was so incredibly out of place it was laughable, not to mention each time she sneezed it made her eyes water and turned her nose red under her flawless makeup.
She was so obviously miserable, I couldn’t hold back a grin as I asked, “What kind of business could someone like you possibly have with me?” Because it was clear she wasn’t here for a quick roll between the sheets. She looked like she didn’t have a clue what sweaty, wild, uninhibited sex was like, or how good it could feel. I’d bet good money she was a strictly missionary type of girl, one who wouldn’t let a man touch her until all the lights were off. Only, there would be no more betting, and I didn’t have any money left.
I heaved a sigh as the woman moved farther into my personal space. She cast a look around the RV, her tiny nose wrinkling in obvious distaste. The place wasn’t tidy, but it was far from a pigsty, and this particular model of RV was top-of-the-line and tricked out in all the best ways. It cost more than some people’s houses, but it was clear, this woman was unimpressed with both the accommodations and the man who called them home.
“My name is Della Deveaux. I believe you know my father, Max.” At my blank look her elegant, if somewhat messy, face pulled into a fierce frown. “He is the president and CEO of the Deveaux beauty empire. Recently, he signed you to an exclusive contract to represent our new line of products, Sophistiqué.”
I blinked at her and lowered my hands to my hips as I wracked my brain, trying to remember doing business with anyone named Max, or talking to anyone who had anything to do with makeup. Those weren’t the types of endorsement deals I attached my name to. I liked to represent only products and companies I actually had a use for. Sure, there was a random underwear ad here or there, and an occasional cologne or watch endorsement I sold out to represent when I started to get really desperate to pay Vargas back, but makeup…no way would I have agreed to anything like that. No matter how desperate I was for some quick cash.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady. I’ve never heard of you, your father, or his company.” I watched as she blinked at me in dull surprise and shifted nervously on those ridiculous shoes of hers. Reluctantly, I noted she had a pair of really nice legs underneath the tailored suit pants she was wearing. In fact, all of her seemed to be shaped very sweetly under the stuffy, inappropriate clothing. I was so used to flashy and in-your-face women, the type who knew they were sexy and did everything in their power to remind the world they had it going on. This woman’s subtle, hidden appeal was a refreshing change of pace. When she wrinkled her nose at me again, I noticed she had a smattering of freckles across the bridge that she appeared to try and hide away, but they were too dark for her makeup to conceal. I found those little dots entirely more appealing than I should. They made her seem less stiff, less uptight and put together.
“Mr. Lawton…”
I lifted a hand and shook my head at her. “Crew. You can just call me Crew.” Mr. Lawton was my old man, and Officer Lawton was my older brother. I was Crew, nothing more and nothing less.
She tilted her head to the side, and her slightly reddened eyes narrowed at me a fraction. “Fine, Crew, we’ve already paid you a sizable advance on the contract you signed. I have concerns about you being the right person for this campaign, and even though my father is convinced your face is perfect, I doubt your ability to follow through with a project of this scale after watching your performance today. I’m here because I want you to understand that every move you make, every word out of your mouth, every second of your day belongs to me now. You are my living, breathing paper doll until this campaign is under way. You are going to earn the balance remaining on your contract. It will not be handed to you.”
It was my turn to blink at her in shock. “How much was the advance you paid, and how much is the remaining balance?”
Wordlessly, she bent and reached for a leather bag I hadn’t noticed sitting at her feet. After a few seconds of rummaging around, she handed me a thick stack of papers with a fancy letterhead on the top and her last name in bold. Apparently, Deveaux was a name I should know, and I was starting to get an uneasy feeling as I flipped through pages and pages of legal speak, all of it initialed and signed by me. Only, it wasn’t my signature—close, but not exact.
“Did my manager let you into this trailer?” I asked the question quietly, trying to keep my cool as I noticed the amount of the advance, three hundred thousand, and the remaining balance, seven hundred thousand. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to flinch when I noticed the account information on the contract wasn’t mine, but the one where my manager’s cut of my winnings and public appearance fees went. The man must have known he was on a sinking ship and taken the steps he thought necessary to keep his head above water while he watched me drown.
“No. I met a woman in the stands who had an unnerving amount of knowledge about all things Crew Lawton. She pointed me in the direction of this trailer. No one was around, and the door was unlocked, so I let myself in.” She had the grace to blush over her clear lack of manners and decorum. “I wanted to make sure I had a chance to talk to you face-to-face. I apologize for being pushy.” She didn’t sound like she was sorry in the slightest.
“Did your father never once question why we never met in person when this contract was being negotiated?” I lifted an eyebrow, knowing the answer already. According to the paperwork in my hand, the US branch of the beauty empire was in New York, but the business was actually based
in Paris, which explained her slight accent, a smooth hybrid between East Coast and Parisian. At least that’s what I would guess, since I’d only been to New York once and had only heard someone speak French on TV.
She huffed out a breath and crossed her arms over her chest. “Your manager said you were too busy. He negotiated the contract with your lawyer and ours. My father appreciated how dedicated you were to your previous engagements. After watching your performance today, I have to question how wise he was to sign you without meeting you first. He was determined to bring you on board. No amount of arguing or persuasion would change his mind.”
We’d all been had.
My manager, Marty, was good at his job and knew how to work a deal. He’d been with me a long time and knew I would probably turn down any offer coming from a froufrou company like Deveaux. It looked like he’d taken it upon himself to sign my name on the dotted line and commit me to the contract without any input from me, making some nice pocket change for himself along the way if he’d banked the advance. If he wasn’t outside my trailer, I figured he was long gone after that final loss of the season. I could go after him for the money he stole if I wasn’t in the poor house, and really, how could I walk away from something that very well might be the only way to get Vargas off my back and out of my life for good?
Colorado Cowboy Page 28