Her Brilliant Cowboy Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Cove Book 5)

by Erica Penrod

  * * *

  The wind blew, but Gemma’s hair, coiled in a neat bun at the nape of her neck, stayed in place. Her raincoat was securely fastened around her waist, and she snapped shut her leather tote protecting her laptop from the elements before she closed her car door. There wasn’t much time before they were expected at Mr. Tavio’s, and Gemma planned to use every second wisely.

  She turned to march to the doorway of the West mansion, but a thundering noise caught her attention and she froze in fear. Gemma braced herself against the car and watched as a black horse galloped by and took off towards the opening to the street.

  “Ah, crap.” Someone appeared in her peripheral vision, running. Gemma blinked and turned towards Jamon.

  “I’ll never catch her now.” Jamon stopped in front of Gemma. “Oh, hey, Gemma. Go in the house, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.” His chest heaved as he spoke. The white T-shirt wasn’t anything new, but the bright yellow boxers with pink flamingos, accompanied by a pair of cowboy boots and a straw hat, were anything but expected. “I’ve got to find that mare.” He took off again, apparently unaware he was about to run through the neighborhood in his underwear.

  “Okay?” Gemma raised a brow, baffled by what she’d just witnessed. A smile tugged on the corners of her mouth, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. A grown man running down the driveway in bright yellow boxers was funny.

  Right on the heels of the giggle, a nervous bubble floated in her belly. She was the one who had to rein in that cowboy and turn him into a respectable billionaire. A knot formed in her throat. If she didn’t succeed with Jamon West, her reputation would be ruined. Right now, the odds of her career surviving this job were as likely as Gemma climbing onto the back of the runaway horse.

  * * *

  Jamon’s boots skidded to a stop as the black sports car screeched to a halt just inches away from catastrophe. He raised his hand in apology; he hadn’t looked before he darted out into the street. His mind preoccupied with the runaway horse.

  “Are you alright?” A man climbed out of the car.

  “I’m fine. Sorry, I’ve got a horse on the loose and I wasn’t paying attention.” Jamon’s heart pounded against his chest, and he struggled to catch his breath. He glanced over and noticed a teenage girl sitting in the passenger seat, scrolling through her phone.

  “You’ve got horses?” the man asked.

  “Yes. Just a few right now, but once my barn’s finished, I’ve got several more coming from Texas.”

  “Really?” The man closed the door and walked towards Jamon. “I’m from Texas—just moved in the neighborhood.”

  Jamon remembered his attire and felt like a clown in the rodeo as he offered his hand. “Fellow Texan, Jamon West.”

  “Jetton Bolt.” His handshake was firm. If he was bothered by Jamon in his boxer shorts and boots, he didn’t act like it. “That’s my daughter, Ingrid.” He gestured to the girl in the car who hadn’t looked up from her phone.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’ve got to take off before my horse makes it to the security gate. If I don’t, I’m going to hear about it at the next HOA meeting.” He laughed on the outside, but on the inside he was cringing. “If you ever want to come see the horses or go for a ride, let me know. I’d be happy to have you.”

  “I’m sure my kids would love that, especially Ingrid.” Jetton glanced at his daughter. “Right, kiddo?” The teenage girl rolled her eyes and looked out the other window. Jetton’s lips stretched into a tight line, and he shook his head. “It was nice to meet you.” His voice quieted, and his eyes dimmed.

  Jamon got the feeling there was more to the story than just a moody teenage girl. He’d seen the same pained look Jetton had on his face in his own reflection from time to time, when Jamon thought about losing his parents or about watching his brother drown in addiction. Maybe Texas wasn’t the only thing he had in common with the man.

  “You’re welcome anytime.” Jamon took off after his runaway horse as Jetton Bolt got in his car and drove away. He caught up to the mare, who’d stopped to nibble the grass on an island of landscaping that divided the road. “Easy, girl.” Jamon approached cautiously, afraid she might take off again. While he considered himself in good shape, he was in no condition to outrun a spirited filly.

  And then there was Gemma to consider. She’d almost been run over by his horse. He didn’t want her getting hurt. Of course, judging by the look on her face when he’d run past in his underwear, maybe the impression he’d left her with yesterday wasn’t so bad after all.

  He’d planned to present himself to his new assistant in a more professional light, or at least dressed in a clean shirt and jeans. Despite his joking about getting to know her better before he let her see his underwear, bright yellow boxers wasn’t the initiation he’d had in mind. For all he knew, Gemma might’ve gotten back in her car and dashed away in the opposite direction. The thought tied his stomach in knots even as he took hold of the lead rope hanging from the horse’s halter. Something inside told him he needed her. He was grateful he’d caught the runaway horse, and he prayed he wasn’t too late to get the girl.

  * * *

  Gemma sat on a chair in Jamon’s office, tapped her toe on the floor, and watched the door for any sign of Jamon. Her stomach felt like one of those twisted breadsticks from her favorite pizza place back in NY. Granted, she’d only allowed herself carbohydrate indulgences once or twice a year for special occasions, but still it was her favorite. A knotted stomach certainly wasn’t how she wanted to remember the place. There were few things in life that upset Gemma more than being late. Tardiness simply wasn’t acceptable and said a lot about a person. If Jamon didn’t appear within the next five minutes, they were going to be late for their appointment.

  As if reading her mind, the door to the office opened. To her surprise, Jamon wore pants. For the briefest second, it disappointed her that he looked so presentable. The man had surprisingly attractive legs. She shifted in her seat while she reprimanded herself, forcing the heat in her cheeks to disappear.

  “Sorry about that.” Jamon pulled the chair from beneath the desk. “I was looking out the window in my room when I saw the horse go galloping by. Of course, that never happens at the right time—”

  “Like when you’re wearing pants?” Gemma said stiffly. If Jamon was like any other professional man she knew, she wouldn’t be chiding herself over missing the sunny yellow boxers, even if the color did look good against his tawny complexion.

  “Yeah, like that.” He sat down and smiled, seemingly unaware of her frustration over missed time. She’d emailed Jamon about the appointment late yesterday afternoon to confirm the fitting would work with his schedule, since she’d yet to receive his calendar. “When I was a kid, there were a couple times my brother and I needed stitches or broke a bone, and my mom complained that we never seemed to have an accident when her hair and makeup were done. One time, I jumped out of the swing at school and landed on my arm. She came bursting into the nurse’s office with her hair in curlers and mascara on one eye. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.” His dark eyes softened as his gaze drifted from her.

  Gemma glanced at the watch on her wrist as the knots in her stomach continued to tighten. With Mr. Moreau, who was a private person, Gemma felt comfortable. Even though she had been involved in many of his day-to-day dealings, he’d kept his personal feelings to himself. She had no idea how to handle this man, who she’d already seen in his underwear, sharing a cherished childhood memory. Gemma preferred rules and boundaries. If she’d been prepared, given the pertinent information, and had clear expectations set to navigate her, she had no doubt she’d be successful.

  “Mr. West, I … I … I mean, Jamon.” Gemma squared her shoulders. “I was hoping to go over several items of business and discuss my responsibilities as your personal assistant, but I’m afraid there isn’t time if we want to make it to your appointment with the tailor. Shall I ask Sophia to have your
driver bring a car to the front while you change?”

  Jamon leaned back in his chair and grinned. His skin was smooth, and the tiny cleft in his chin drew her eye. “I already changed. Look, I’ve got a clean T-shirt on.” He glanced down and ran his hand over his chest as if he were double-checking for stains. “And I don’t have a driver. We can take my truck, although whoever designed the streets of Seattle must’ve believed everyone drove a Prius or rode a bike.”

  Her mind whirled, and she’d no idea which point to address first. “Jamon, I think I need you to explain to me what you’re hoping I can help you accomplish.”

  His dark brows furrowed, and he sat up. “I’m sorry. I thought you understood why I’d hired you.”

  “My understanding is that you’d like to become a respected man in the wealthy community.” Maybe she’d gone too far, but if she was going to do her job and do it well, she needed a clear vision of Jamon West’s goals. “I don’t know if you’d like me to voice my opinion unless you ask for it, but I feel like I can’t help you unless I’m able to do so.”

  “Your opinion is always welcome.” The lines in his forehead relaxed, and he smiled. “But I can’t promise that I’ll always take your advice.”

  Gemma drew in a breath. “Well, if that’s the case, I’m going to give you my opinion now.”

  She didn’t miss the twinkle in his eye, and the little spark fueled her frustration. “I think you need to be mindful of how you present yourself, whenever you leave the house. In many ways, you’re a celebrity, and the press will pop up in places you’d never expect. You need to consider what you wear out in public, even if it is just a trip to the tailor.”

  “So, you’re saying you don’t approve of what I’ve got on?” Jamon’s smile widened. “That’s cool, and that is why I hired you. The research facility I’m building is very important to me, and I’m willing to do almost anything to make sure it succeeds.” Jamon pushed the chair back and stood up. “I’ll go put on a button-down, but I’m afraid there’s something you should know.”

  Gemma stood up. “What’s that?”

  Jamon walked around and stood in front of her. He looked directly into her eyes. “I wear cowboy boots with everything, even with this new fancy tux we’re about to buy. That’s nonnegotiable.” He winked at her, and the room swirled.

  Her forehead beaded up, and she put her hand on the desk to steady herself. Cowboy boots with a tux? Her eyelids fluttered, and she exhaled. “I think I’ll refrain from giving you my opinion just now.”

  “Good.” He opened the door and waited for her to pass. “See? You and I are going to get along just fine, like Miss Kitty and Marshall Dillon.”

  “Like who?” She looked back at him.

  “Never mind. Wait for me in the front entrance, and I’ll be there as quick as I can.” Jamon took off.

  Gemma exhaled. It was a good thing Jamon was as handsome as he was. If he could get away with boxers and boots, a tux and boots shouldn’t be that hard, should it?

  Chapter Four

  “Ten thousand dollars?” Jamon rotated his neck, trying to loosen up the noose otherwise known as a bow tie. “Even if I were the richest man on earth, why would I pay ten grand for a monkey suit?” He stood on a small platform and looked in the three-way mirror. The material was nice and smooth but didn’t look much different to him from the suit he’d rented for his high school prom. He stretched his arms back and forth, and even though there was plenty of room, he still felt like he’d been handed a straitjacket. Nothing compared to the feel of a favorite pair of jeans and an old T-shirt. Gemma sat on a wingback chair with her laptop across her knees.

  She glanced up at him. “Because you need a nice tux, and believe me, this is a fraction of what the cost will be once we place an order for your suits.”

  “Suits? How many do I need?” One black tux was plenty, and maybe a couple casual suits. Any more was a waste in his mind, but he had to trust Gemma’s recommendations—that’s why he’d hired her.

  “Several, and the company in Italy where Mr. Moreau purchases his wardrobe is excellent. They’ll fly in someone to take your measurements, unless you have business in Italy and you’d like to go to them.”

  Jamon turned back to the mirror and tugged on the coat sleeves. “No, I don’t have business in Italy.” He chuckled. “And I think I like this style of jacket. Do you?” He spun around and faced her. The longer he looked in the mirror, the more he noticed how the cut and fit showed off his athletic frame.

  She looked up. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed. “Uh … yes, I think the jacket fits you well.” Gemma’s eyes darted back to the screen on her lap. “I’ve given your RSVP to the fundraiser, and your tux will be ready the day before.”

  “Cool.” Jamon undid the tie, relishing the way she shifted in her seat and had a hard time keeping eye contact. “I hope you added a plus-one.”

  “You’re bringing a date?” A notch appeared between her brows.

  Jamon didn’t know why, but he liked the uncertainty in her voice and imagined there was a little flash of green in her eyes. “You. I want you to come with me.”

  “Me?” She glanced up, and their eyes met. Jamon remembered the blue Texas sky on a summer day, and his body relaxed, thinking of home. “Jamon?”

  He blinked and brought himself to the moment. “Yes. I need you to come with me. There’s no way I’ll get through the night without a social faux pas unless you are there to keep me in line. Heaven forbid I pick up the wrong fork or pull out my pocketknife to cut my steak.”

  “Of course, that would not be fortuitous.” Gemma smiled, but the gesture never seemed to reach her eyes. In fact, Jamon wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her give a genuine smile. “I’ll let them know immediately. I’ve also spoken to the event organizer, who is an acquaintance of mine, and asked for a list of attendees. That way, you can be prepared to speak with those whom you would like to discuss the research facility with.”

  “You mean I can’t just fly by the seat of my pants.” Jamon chuckled when Gemma glanced up, tilting her head, with a confused look in her eyes. It wasn’t a smile, but he was getting closer.

  “Although I’m not entirely sure I know what that means, I do know preparation is the key to success in most any situation, and that is our goal here, right? To make the research facility a success.”

  Mr. Tavio appeared again and helped Jamon remove the jacket. “Thanks. This one will work just fine.”

  Jamon looked down at the man, who had a tape measure hung around his neck like a scarf.

  “Wonderful, Mr. West.” Mr. Tavio’s thick black brows rose like an exclamation mark, punctuating his wide toothy smile, as if Jamon just complimented the tailor’s masterpiece. “I will get right to work.”

  “Thank you.” Jamon turned to Gemma and stepped down. “Ready to go?”

  “Yes.” She closed her laptop, stood up, and tucked the computer into her bag.

  “I’m starving.” Jamon pulled his phone from his pocket. “Want to go down to the pier and get some food?”

  “Actually, I hoped to get back to your house and get to work.” Gemma adjusted the strap over her shoulder. “There’s still so much to do. Do you have a name for the research facility?”

  Her thought moved quickly from one subject to another. “Not yet, although I’d like it to include my family’s name, maybe my mother’s.”

  “Your mother?”

  Jamon nodded. “Yes. She was a huge advocate for education, and even though I loved living on the ranch and horses, my mother never let me neglect my schoolwork. Without her, I might not have discovered my love of chemistry.”

  “Then I think that would serve as an appropriate name.”

  “I do too, just haven’t nailed it down yet.” Jamon walked towards the exit and held the door for Gemma. “And if you insist we need to get back to work immediately, we’ll have to hit a drive-through and pick up some food to bring back with us.”

  “A drive-through?”
>
  “Yeah. I won’t be able to concentrate if we don’t eat.”

  “You do know you have people to prepare your meals?” Gemma’s eyes narrowed as they stopped in front of his truck. “You don’t have to waste your time on such menial tasks, so you have more time to accomplish the important things.”

  Jamon opened the door and helped Gemma into the truck. Her tight skirt flattered her figure but made climbing into a lifted 4x4 truck more of a mountain than a molehill. Not that he minded helping a damsel in distress. The view from where he stood was gorgeous. Although his late mother would be proud of his building a research facility, she might not be as happy about him admiring the backside of his assistant. Jamon cleared his head and reminded himself that while Gemma Stonewall was beautiful, she wasn’t his type. He needed her public relations skills and nothing else. It wasn’t appropriate to think of her outside of a professional relationship. Maybe he should have added a line to her contract … something about wearing baggy clothing.

  “Thank you.” Gemma situated herself in the seat. She looked at him, and he amended his thoughts. Even if she wore a burlap sack, there’d be no hiding the fine features of her face, her pixie nose and full lips. Nor would a sack disguise the longing for home he felt when he gazed into her eyes. He’d have to be careful to separate the two. Although he ached for Texas, he shouldn’t linger in the pale blue space of Gemma Stonewall’s eyes, where he might have the notion to make himself right at home.

  * * *

  A green salad, loaded with fresh vegetables and dressing to the side, waited for Gemma beside her laptop. She and Jamon had compromised on lunch and settled on a little place just a few blocks south of the tailor’s. The deli offered a variety of items, and they took their order to go. There wasn’t a drive-through. Had there been one, Jamon’s monster of a truck wouldn’t have fit through anyway.