by Gaelen Foley
Bea shrugged. A wary glint in her eyes said, Whatever. “It’s fine.”
Still, Harry didn’t like it. Something isn’t right here, he thought, but he did his best to brush off his misgivings. After all, Tammy was still technically the agent of record for the Palmer Family Farm. She’d still get her commission if the sale took place before her contract expired—in September, he recalled. Plus, she had a personal stake in Curt’s resort plan.
Maybe he just wants to get her input on the conversation, he thought, only half convinced. But the truth was, Harry was suddenly a little worried. Because he knew that his sly boss understood the value of surprise in negotiations.
In any case, Bea obviously shared his irritation at this unexpected wrinkle, but she was holding steady, much to his relief. Harry gestured to her to go ahead of him to a comfy white leather sofa, and there they waited to be called into the cowboy’s den.
As they sat together in silence, Bea crossed her legs, her toe bouncing, the movement hinting at her slight jumpiness. Admiring her ankle and shapely calf in the high-heeled shoe, he tried to banish the distracting memory of her in his bed, but it was useless.
Their chemistry together this afternoon had utterly blown his mind. The image of her perfectly plump breasts, her long, lean legs wrapped around him was emblazoned onto his senses forever. Something very powerful was happening between them, and he was almost starting to feel a little freaked out by it. He never let himself grow this attached.
His rule about never mixing business and pleasure had been blown to smithereens. But the next half-hour would tell whether he was going to regret it.
Beyond that, he strove to focus on the here and now.
His role in all this would be tricky. Though he was willing to do whatever it took to protect Bea, he couldn’t have Curt wondering whose side he was on, or cast aside his own interests. He hadn’t spent the last few days thundering down a tumultuous river and surviving the eye of a tornado for nothing, after all.
True, the farm assignment had broken his winning streak, but that just made him more determined to fix things for all parties involved.
Making Curt happy again would bring him back into the lead among his competitors for the role of Diamond Enterprises’ next CEO, and the Palmer family would be made whole, too.
As for his standing with Bea, he couldn’t help but worry that his chance of this turning into a lasting, meaningful relationship would be shot if he failed her.
It kind of shocked him to realize that that was what he wanted. But he could truly see the tough, beautiful, warm Beatrice Palmer as a serious girlfriend. In a pinch, he could admit that he’d fallen for her, hard. But he felt responsible for her, too. He was the one who’d gotten her into this, and he was determined to shepherd her through it safely to the end.
Just then, a cloud of lavender and bubblegum wafted upon them.
“Uh-oh,” said Bea with a twinkle of wary amusement in her eyes.
Harry stood as soon as he saw Tammy appear in the doorway.
Though he’d never met her in person, he couldn’t have imagined her more accurately. A shiny necklace strung with big gold balls jumped out at him first. She was petite, wore a mauve suit, and had her hair twisted upward at the back into a shiny platinum pouf.
Seeing Harry for the first time, Miz Tammy practically lunged toward him with a huge grin. “Well, goodness me! If it isn’t the infamous Harrison Riley,” she chirped, taking him by both hands. “I’ve seen your picture in the hallway, but gosh, you’re even more handsome in person.”
Tammy bounced her shoulders up and down as she exchanged a cutesy smile with Dana, who already had the phone in her hand.
“I’ll let him know you’re here, Ms. Reese.” Dana pressed a button on the phone.
“Holy moly, Beatrice Palmer, is that you? Don’t you look sharp. Wow,” Tammy simpered, joining them in the waiting area. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in real clothes before.”
Harry lifted his eyebrows, Dana swallowed a chortle, and Bea just looked at the woman, who was clearly a master of the passive-aggressive barb. He wondered if he should say something, but Bea managed a courteous smile.
“Gee, thanks, Tammy. Nice to see you, too.”
Tammy cocked her coiffed head to the side. “Looks like we’re gonna finally be able to help your grandparents out, huh?” she asked with a patronizing grin.
Harry could see why the woman annoyed the hell out of Bea. He squeezed Bea’s forearm on the sly—partly to hold back the temper he could sense building in her. At his gentle touch, Bea pursed her lips and gave him a look that seemed to admit she was tempted to lunge for the woman’s throat.
“So how was your trip in from Harmony Falls?” Tammy asked brightly, alighting on the edge of a plush seat nearby.
“Quick,” said Harry.
“Oh, good for you. I hit awful traffic.” Tammy shook her head. “It took forever to get here with the bridge out. I mean, can you believe that we had a tornado? I hope your crops weren’t too badly damaged in the storm, hon?”
Before Bea was forced to answer that most uncomfortable of questions, Dana interrupted, phone in hand: “Ms. Palmer? Mr. Culpeper is ready to see you now.”
Harry rose, taking Bea by the elbow to escort her in, but Dana stopped him.
“Sorry, Harry,” she said, hanging up the phone. “He wants to talk to Beatrice alone.”
“What?” Harry laughed, taken aback; Bea sent him a brief look of panic.
Tammy furrowed her brow, puzzled.
“Curt says he’ll call you and Ms. Reese in for the meeting after he’s had a moment to speak to Ms. Palmer privately first.”
“Is that right?” Harry stood there in shock. This is bad. This is very bad, he thought. What the hell is he up to?
“Harry?” Bea’s glance darted around the room, as though searching for an exit.
Harry braced himself. A hundred suspicious possibilities stampeded through Harry’s mind, but he gritted his teeth and ordered himself to stay cool. Surely he knew by now that this was par for the course.
Culpeper was unpredictable. Kind of a Texas tornado. And like Bea, he could be a force of nature. The cowboy did what the cowboy wanted.
But Harry looked at Bea and, in a heartbeat, knew she was up to the challenge. Hell, if she could best a raging river…
Go along with it for now, he told himself, and ask questions later. He trusted Bea, and he trusted Curt—more or less.
With a reassuring smile, he turned to her, saw her frightened gaze, and infused his own confidence into her with a forceful stare. “Piece of cake.”
CHAPTER 15
Bea took in Harry’s no-nonsense expression and felt her panic recede a little. Her deer-in-the-headlights moment turned to a scowl, but at least she’d recovered her backbone.
Piece of cake, my ass, she wanted to grumble at him. But so be it. She could do this. She took a deep breath, smoothed her borrowed skirt, then walked, chin high, toward the door to Culpeper’s office.
As Dana opened it before her, Bea steeled herself. All right. Go for it.
As she passed the hostile, overly sexy secretary, who’d already snarled at her like a jealous ex-girlfriend, she told herself that at least this would let her escape the cloud of Tammy’s overpowering perfume.
At the threshold of Culpeper’s office, she recalled her brief but pointed meeting with Vanessa Montclair. Forewarned was forearmed, and having heard that this guy was a wild card, a grab-ass, and something of a drunk, she already knew to stay on her guard.
“Sir: Miss Beatrice Palmer,” Dana announced.
“Well, come on in, darlin’!”
Bea plastered on a confident smile and marched into Culpeper’s office.
Seated at a grand mahogany desk with a glorious view of Pittsburgh’s three rivers behind him, the renowned Texas oilman rose to his feet, with his good Southern manners. “There you are, m’dear young lady. We meet at last.”
Curt Culpep
er was a wide-shouldered heap of a man; he reminded her of a tired grizzly lumbering out of its cave for the first time all winter. He was about sixty, with thinning hair, rimless glasses, and a pot belly.
Bea shook the big paw he offered from across his desk. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Culpeper.”
“Aw, call me Curt, dear. I thought we might as well take a minute for a little informal chat before we get started, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” she said smoothly.
“Good. Please, take a seat.” He gestured to the chair across from his desk, his demeanor pleasant and even warm. His personality filled the whole room.
Bea thanked him and did so, taking a discreet glance around the room. Sure enough, there was the life-sized portrait of the man, hanging on the wall opposite his desk, just as Harry had described in their talking points. In the painting, Culpeper wore a cowboy hat. As Bea settled into the chair, she spotted the real one hanging on a brass coat rack in the corner.
Meanwhile, the sunset blazed over the glistening rivers outside, turning the mirrored glass of the PPG buildings pink. Apparently, it was happy hour as far as Culpeper was concerned. A half-empty bottle of Jim Beam Black sat next to his closed laptop.
“Bourbon, Miz Palmer?” Culpeper lifted an empty glass from a beverage tray on the deep windowsill and looked inquiringly at her.
Harry had told her to accept this standard offer of hospitality because it was a test. Otherwise, Culpeper would judge her a prissy little girl and treat her accordingly.
“Oh, I probably shouldn’t, but why not?” She offered a charming smile, and he nodded in approval.
He tilted the bottle. After letting the copper-colored liquor splash into her glass, he studied her closely as he sauntered around his desk and handed it over.
“Thank you,” she said, ignoring his curious perusal.
Culpeper held up his glass. “Here’s to us reaching, shall we say, an amicable arrangement, Miz Palmer?”
“I’ll drink to that,” she said, keeping her smile firmly in place as he clinked his glass against hers.
Then she sipped her bourbon. It burned her throat, warmed her belly. At least this should take the edge off her nerves, she thought wryly.
Culpeper remained near her, leaning his hip against his desk, rather than going back around to his large leather chair. “So. Farmer, eh?”
“Yes, sir. It’s in my blood.”
He smiled, peering over the line of his bifocals at her. “Is that right?”
She talked a little about her grandparents’ field corn and cows operation, and her own interest in growing organic fruit and vegetables. “Harry mentioned you own a cattle ranch?”
“Grass-fed beef, that’s right. Much healthier that way.”
After a few minutes of idle chitchat, during which they both sized each other up, Curt got down to business. “My boy Harry tells me you have given him quite a run for his money, young lady.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’d say that.” She blocked out a quivering memory of rolling around in his bed with him. “But I do think we’ve managed to sort out a suitable working relationship. Mr. Riley is one skillful negotiator.”
He leaned closer. “And yet, somehow, I’ll bet you got him wrapped around your little pinky finger, didn’t ya?” He winked knowingly. “Naw, don’t feel bad,” he said when she frowned in confusion. “I respect a lady who can hold her own against the big boys.”
“Sir, I think you’ve misunderstood—”
“Aw, I understand plenty, honey. Especially now that I’m seeing ya for m’self,” he said, smiling, swirling his drink in the glass. “Riley, he’s a red-blooded young man, sowing his wild oats… That’s a no-brainer. But you charmed ol’ Monty, too.” He lifted his glass to her with a sardonic twinkle in his eyes, like a devious Santa Claus. “Hooo-weee, wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall for that one! Must’ve been hilarious.”
While he laughed, Bea sat there, heart pounding, suddenly unsure of how much Culpeper knew.
She got the sense, though, that he was toying with her, and that he was much shrewder, much sharper than his folksy-folk routine let on. Routed, she took another trembling sip of bourbon to buy herself some time and tried to think. Of course, it was no secret that Harry had taken her to dinner at Apex.
But she doubted he’d have discussed the particulars of their date with his boss. So how did Curt know about Peter Montclair visiting their table and ogling her the whole time? Was it possible Curt had a spy on the wait staff or something? Or maybe he’d simply heard it through the grapevine…
Maybe Monty himself had called to tell him he could come back to the club.
It was impossible to know.
All she knew was that this was a major monkey wrench, and she could feel her fear ratcheting up. Harry and she had been working under the assumption that Curt was still unaware that he was welcome back to Silver Oaks, that he was forgiven for goosing Vanessa.
Harry was going to tell him, of course—but later. For now, he’d been keeping that ace up his sleeve. First, he wanted Curt to agree to the deal. Only afterward did he mean to tell him that Monty had said he could come back.
Admittedly, it was a little underhanded, but Harry had brushed it off and said it didn’t matter. That Curt’s ego wouldn’t let him change his mind, back out on his plan to build the resort. She had been surprised that Harry could be so ruthless, but he had said it was just business; this was simply how the game was played.
Now the cynical amusement dancing in his boss’s bleary eyes suddenly had Bea wondering if perhaps she and Harry had just walked into a trap.
Culpeper chuckled at her discomfiture, sighed, took another drink. “Don’t look so skittish. I ain’t gonna bite ya. To tell the truth, looking at you, I can’t say I entirely blame the boy for this little act of disloyalty.” He shrugged it off, but Bea was suddenly sick to her stomach, her suspicions confirmed.
Good God, Harry might’ve jeopardized his own job trying to protect her.
She did not know what to say, because this twist was not something they had practiced for, not something she’d foreseen. If Harry was in trouble with his boss, she didn’t want to open her mouth and make it any worse.
Culpeper studied her intensely.
The only bright side was that he seemed to find Harry’s weakness for her kind of entertaining. “Eh, don’t sweat it, Miz Palmer. But I’ll tell you what.” He ran a frank gaze over her. “I can certainly see how you’d catch ol’ Monty’s eye. You know, he fancies himself something of a connoisseur in all kinds of things, including pretty ladies. And here you are. Sweet young thing. Farmer’s daughter, too. Just as fine as they come, ain’t ya? No wonder Tammy hates ya.”
He chuckled while Bea shrank back in her chair a little, her pulse skittering with uncertainty. It was only because he was Harry’s employer that she hadn’t already thrown her drink in his face and told him where to go.
“Would you believe Tammy never even told us Ed Palmer’s grandkid was a she? Let alone that you had such sparklin’ eyes…and tan, pretty legs.”
Bea froze because Culpeper was openly inspecting her now, like she was a filly he had half a mind to purchase. She strove to focus on her talking points, but her whole speech faded from her mind. Then Culpeper leaned down and smiled covetously at her with bourbon on his breath, and Bea finally caught a clue as to the real reason he had wanted to see her alone.
And it had everything to do with the longstanding rivalry between the two tycoons.
Somehow, unwittingly—forget the farm, the dueling resorts—she had become the latest absurd bone of contention between the two aging playboys. Culpeper must’ve heard Monty had ogled her, so Culpeper meant to have her instead.
Surreal as it seemed, the fact became crystal clear when Harry’s boss reached down and laid his hand boldly on her knee.
Everything in her wanted to punch him, but Bea sat immobilized, aghast, acutely aware that one wrong move could get Harr
y fired.
While she floundered, heart pounding, Culpeper stared right down into her eyes, gloating—an old, rich, powerful wild card of a man long used to getting exactly what he wanted. “Now then, let’s talk about that farm of yours, darlin’,” he said with a wink. “Between the two of us, I’m sure you and I can come to a real satisfyin’ arrangement. Don’t you agree?”
# # #
Harry thought he might die if he had to listen to Tammy ramble on for one more minute about the traffic, the weather, or her daughter’s internship, when, suddenly, a muffled shout and what sounded like a chair falling onto the floor came from Curt’s office.
“Take your hands off me!”
Harry shot to his feet, the blood draining from his face. Oh, shit. In a heartbeat, he was across the waiting room, his hand on the doorknob. Nobody knew the boss’s antics better than he did, but surely the old man…wouldn’t.
Barging into the office to see what was wrong, Harry couldn’t believe his eyes. Curt had Bea by the arm in front of his desk, where the chair had been kicked over.
Harry’s jaw dropped—then he simply snapped. “You son of a bitch.” Fury blasted through his veins as he stalked into Curt’s office.
Curt laughed but let go of her arm. “Aw, settle down, Riley. We’re negotiatin’.”
The minute he released his hold on her, Bea headed for the door. “I’m out of here,” she declared in a shaky voice. “I’m not selling him one inch of my farm under any circumstances. I’d rather face foreclosure.”
Harry flicked a searing glance over her. “Did he hurt you?”
“Oh, give me a break,” Curt said.
“I’m all right,” she said through gritted teeth, moving behind him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Harry barked at him.
Curt scowled and waved off the question, as if shooing a fly. “Only that I’m surrounded by incompetents—namely you.”
“What?” Harry asked, since Curt’s answer had come out of left field.
“Aw, don’t play dumb, Harry. You think I don’t know how you been jerking my chain the past few days? You think I’m stupid?”