Her Brilliant Cowboy Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Cove Book 5)

by Erica Penrod

  “All right. I’ll do that, but I’ll double-check their numbers and make sure the increase is justified. I don’t want them taking advantage of you just because they think you’ve got money to burn.”

  “Do I?” Jamon laughed. “Have money to burn?”

  “I don’t know about that.” Koven looked out the window, then turned back to Jamon. “But if you wanted to, you’ve got enough to use as kindling for the rest of your life, although as your accountant, I don’t recommend it.”

  “As long as I’ve got enough to fund the research facility, then that’s all I care about.”

  Koven walked over and took the seat across from Jamon. “And that’s why I like working for you. You’re still the same guy I knew back in college, willing and wanting to help anyone.”

  Jamon leaned forward, resting his forearms on his legs. “Don’t say that to Gemma; she’ll think she’s not doing her job well. She’s supposed to remake me into a respectable billionaire, remember?”

  “I won’t say anything.” He gave Jamon a once-over. “To tell you the truth, I thought she might have you dressing a little better by now.” Koven took his phone from his suit pants pocket.

  “What’s wrong with what I’ve got on?” Jamon pulled on the hem of his white T-shirt.

  “Nothing, other than the orange stain down the front of you. Let me guess, OJ for breakfast?”

  “Maybe I’d better change before she gets here. I don’t want to give her any reason to back out of going riding with me, like thinking we need to go clothes shopping.”

  Koven’s dark brow arched. “Miss Stonewall is riding with you?”

  “I tricked her into thinking it was part of her job requirements.” Jamon saw Gemma’s face in his mind and hoped he hadn’t imagined the flicker of interest he’d seen in her eyes.

  “Somehow, I doubt you conned her into anything. Gemma is too smart to fall for any of your redneck tricks.”

  “Then I guess she must like me.” Jamon tried to sound confident.

  Koven chuckled. “And I hope she’s too smart for that.” The doorbell rang. “That must be her. Maybe I’ll ask her myself.”

  “Ha, ha.” Jamon got up. “I’ve got it, thank you, Sophia.” For once, he beat his maid to the door. His stomach danced like young fillies in a field. Jamon didn’t want to admit to himself how much he looked forward to seeing Gemma every day, but with the frolicking ponies running around inside, he couldn’t ignore the fact that his day was made better with her in it.

  Jamon opened the door. “Hi—” The words caught in his throat, and his heart dropped. It wasn’t Gemma at the door; it was his brother.

  * * *

  Gemma spent an hour in her closet. Her wardrobe lacked casual clothing as it was, but trying to find something suitable for horseback riding had her in a panic. If she had time to do research and order something online, she’d have felt much better about the situation. She was dressed in blue jeans, a light blue button-down, and a pair of sneakers, and figured that would have to be good enough. With a lift of her shoulders, she headed for The Cove. The drive wasn’t long. She heard Jamon’s teasing remarks in her head as she walked up and rang the bell of his mansion.

  Sophia opened the door. “Hello, Miss Gemma,” she said, her gaze on the tile. She pulled the door back and waited for Gemma to enter.

  “Hi, Sophia.” Gemma went in. “You’re not your usual smiling self today. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes.” Her expression didn’t change. “Mr. West is in the great room with Mr. Kent and his brother.”

  “Mr. Kent’s brother?” Gemma shifted her laptop bag on her shoulder.

  “No, Mr. West’s brother, Waylon.”

  Gemma swallowed the lump in her throat and considered leaving. Jamon didn’t know she was here yet, and if she left now, he might not find out she had been there until she was safely outside of The Cove’s big iron gates. She didn’t know why Jamon’s brother affected him the way he did, and didn’t know if she wanted to know. An emotional confrontation was never something she liked to be part of. On the other hand, Gemma wanted to see this brother for herself. She took the hallway that led to the great room and paused at the entryway.

  “I guess we need to let the guys at the gate know that their security isn’t up to par. Mr. Moreau

  will hear about this.” Koven’s hands were jammed in his pockets. The muscle tensed along his jawline. “How did you get through?” he asked the man standing next to Jamon.

  “Easy, Koven.” Jamon looked at his friend. “I gave him clearance a couple days ago; I just didn’t know he’d be here today.”

  “You didn’t say anything about Waylon coming.” Koven paced back and forth. “Any time.”

  “Because I don’t need your permission.” Jamon glanced up and saw Gemma. Her heart sank when she recognized the same sad expression he’d worn the night of the auction: lines etched in his forehead, haunted dark eyes, and his mouth pulled in a tight line. “Come in.” He motioned for her to join them.

  She chided herself for not following her first instinct and running away. Gemma leaned on the molding for support as Koven, Jamon, and the man she assumed to be Waylon West all stared at her. Give her a stage and a few hundred people watching her and she was fine, but not here. Not with a palpable tension in the air so thick she found it hard to fill her lungs. “Uh … uh … that’s okay. I can see you’re busy. I’ve got work to do in my office.”

  “Gemma, this is my older brother, Waylon,” Jamon said in an even voice.

  In situations like this, Gemma relied on what she knew best: push everything aside and be professional. She held out her hand to the man and investigated his face. “I’m Gemma Stonewall. I’m Jamon’s personal assistant and public relations coordinator.”

  Waylon’s eyes met her gaze for a second, then glanced down to the ground. She drew in a breath. Rarely had she ever seen eyes that hollow, yet they were so much like his brother’s in shape and color that the differences sent a chill up her spine. His shoulders hunched. Even if he stood up tall, he wouldn’t meet Jamon’s height. His skin was pale, with moisture collected along his brow. His hair, a light brown shade, was long but combed into place, and he was clean shaven. Even though he was dressed in a nice button-down shirt and slacks, the way he fidgeted, he would’ve been more comfortable in a corner, out of sight.

  “Gemma, I hope you’ll excuse me; I’ll need to spend some time with my brother. Please forward me any pertinent information concerning my schedule, and I’ll address it as soon as I can.” Jamon turned to Koven. “I trust you’ll let me know what you find out about the budget increase on the facility.” It wasn’t a question.

  A shiver rippled through Gemma’s body. She’d tried for the last few weeks to get Jamon to sound businesslike and professional, to leave his cowboy ways behind in public, but now she fought to keep the tears from filling her eyes. Jamon left the room and Waylon followed. Koven exhaled, and Gemma wondered why she’d ever thought Jamon needed to change in the first place—he was perfect the way he was.

  * * *

  Gemma sat in her office and stared at the wall. Jamon had the painting from the auction hung where she could see it perfectly from her desk. She’d stopped getting swept away every time she looked at it, but the sense of being cherished never quite subsided.

  She didn’t know if it was her blue jeans or her broken heart that kept her from working, but she couldn’t focus.

  Koven appeared in the doorway. “Mind if I come in?”

  “Please.” Gemma gestured to the chair on the other side of her desk. “Have a seat.”

  “I’m sorry you had to walk in on that this morning.” Koven sat down and ran his fingers through his hair. “Jamon’s like a brother to me, so when I see the way his biological brother uses him, it drives me mad. Jamon is one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever known, except when it comes to Waylon.”

  “Jamon’s got a big heart.” Hers warmed at the thought.

  “Too b
ig for his own good.” Koven glanced up, and his hazel eyes reminded her of a tropical storm. “No matter how many times Waylon lets him down, steals from him, or causes him anguish, Jamon always takes him in. Heck, Waylon is the reason Jamon moved to Seattle. He had to get away from him, and now he’s followed him here.” Koven’s nostrils flared and he shook his head.

  “Jamon hasn’t told me anything about Waylon. Maybe he doesn’t want me to know.” Gemma shifted in her chair. The idea that Jamon kept something from her was hard to process. Then again, she was the one always saying he needed to be more professional and putting up boundaries of her own. How could she expect him to open up to her when she kept him at arm’s length? It wasn’t like she hadn’t already told him more about ballet than she’d told her own mother or anything.

  “You should know. If your job is to keep Jamon’s image intact, then you should know what you’re up against.” Koven closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them, the anger seemed to have subsided. “Waylon is a drug addict.”

  * * *

  Jamon didn’t know what to do. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to find Gemma and get lost in her oceanside eyes, but that wouldn’t be fair to her. His life was complicated at best when his brother was around. And Waylon was a wild card. Jamon never knew where or when he’d show up in a deck.

  “May I come in?” Gemma stood at the doorway to his office.

  “Of course.” He stood up as she entered. “Please, have a seat.”

  “No, that’s okay. I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You looked upset this morning.”

  He chuckled. “I’m not sure what you call it. When it comes to my brother, I’m never sure about anything.”

  “Is he still here?” There was hesitation in her voice.

  “Yes, in the guest suite on the south end of the house.” Koven would never understand why Jamon would allow Waylon to stay here. If it were up to him, Waylon wouldn’t have a place to lay his head. Jamon couldn’t do that to his brother. Did that make him weak? Maybe. But wasn’t unconditional love a strength? That’s what the Bible said. Something about the power of love overcoming all evil. Waylon had a lot of evil in his life. Jamon hoped that he continued to come back because some part of him recognized the love, maybe even yearned for it. “But just for a couple days.”

  She nodded and pressed her lips together. Gemma was too polite to ask too many questions. He was counting on that, not ready to share his full family history with her.

  “How about we go out to the barn?” The idea of horses and Gemma seemed like the perfect remedy for his aching head.

  “Isn’t it too late? It’s almost dark.” Gemma glanced out the window. “And I know you’ve had a long day.”

  “That’s exactly why we should go. There’s plenty of outdoor lighting, and as long as it doesn’t start to rain, the round pen will be perfect to ride in.”

  “Round pen?” Gemma raised a brow.

  “A small, circular arena, usually used for training. It’s a good place for a beginner to start.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Jamon smiled, even though Gemma’s fixed stare and slightly parted lips looked like he’d asked her to go bungee jumping off the Space Needle. “I’ve got something for you.” He walked over to the wall cabinets, opened the door, and took out a large box. “Here.”

  She gave him a slighted look. “I can’t accept anything else from you. The painting was a gift enough to last me several lifetimes.” Color blushed her cheeks. “And it looks amazing in my office. Thank you.” Gemma smiled, and his burdens felt lighter than they had all day. “Although I feel selfish, keeping something like that to myself. It should be in an art gallery.”

  “It should be wherever you can enjoy it most, and you said you didn’t want to keep it at your condo.”

  She put her hands in her pockets. “Of course not. I don’t have the Bravo security team to keep it safe like you do here at The Cove. I’d never be able to enjoy it without constantly worrying about someone trying to rob me.”

  He laughed. “You mean you think there are other people out there, besides you, who think that squiggly lines are art?” Jamon handed her the cardboard box.

  “Very funny.” She narrowed her eyes and tried to sound stern, but a smile tugged on the edges of her lips.

  “Besides,” he pressed, “this isn’t a gift. These are for work.”

  Gemma set the box on his desk and lifted the lid. One of his favorite scents, the smell of leather, filled the room. “Cowboy boots?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Luccheses.” Jamon lifted one from the box. “Straight from Texas.”

  “These look too nice to ride in.” The deep russet ostrich leather complemented her auburn hair, just like he’d known it would.

  “Of course you’re going to ride in them, and then, if you decide you want some to wear out on the town, we’ll get you another pair.”

  “Yeah, right.” She held up a boot and ran her fingers over the hand-tooled design.

  “Stranger things have happened. Look, you wore jeans to work today; I bet you never thought you’d do that.” Jamon checked out the dark wash denim. “Which look very nice on you, by the way.”

  “I thought I was supposed to be the one changing your style, not vice versa.” She put her nose next to the boot and inhaled. “They smell wonderful.”

  “Like Christmas.” Jamon loved this part about having money—giving gifts to the people he cared about.

  Gemma looked over at him like mistletoe sprouted from his ears. “Christmas?”

  “Yeah.” He gestured for her to sit down. “At my house, the best Christmases were the ones where there were a pair of new boots in the house.” Jamon knelt and took the shoes from her feet. He helped her slide a boot onto her left foot. “Now grab the bootstraps right here and pull. Your heel should slip inside.”

  She nodded, and with her eyes wide with wonder and her cheeks flushed, she looked more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her before. It was as if she’d completely let her guard down. Gemma put on the other one, stood up, and inspected the boots on her feet. “I love them. Thank you.”

  Jamon got up and jammed his hands in his pockets. It took everything he had not to take her in his arms and kiss her until the earth stood still. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her in tight jeans tucked into a pair of Luccheses. But he’d made her a promise. He wouldn’t do anything like that until she asked him to, and oh, how he prayed the time would come soon.

  Chapter Eight

  “And you’re sure this horse is nice?” Gemma swung her leg up over the saddle. Jamon stood beside her, holding the reins.

  “The nicest. His name is Butterscotch; how bad can he be?” Jamon looked up and grinned as she adjusted herself in the saddle.

  “What’s the last half of his name?” Gemma took the reins from Jamon. “Poison, or Kicker? I noticed that most all of the horses have two names.”

  Jamon chuckled as he straightened the reins. “That’s their registered names, but not all the horses go by that, like Butterscotch here. I’m not sure what his registered name is.”

  Her insides felt like she was riding a bronc at the rodeo, but she wanted to be brave. She wanted to know what it was about horses that made Jamon love them the way he did. “What is registered?”

  “Registered with the American Quarter Horse Association. The horse has one name from its sire and another from the dam.” He put his hand on her leg as their eyes met. Gemma forgot about the horse and relished the feel of his touch.

  Jamon snatched his hand away. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Gemma released the air from her lungs.

  “Anyway.” Jamon cleared his throat. “Just follow me and we’ll work on a few basic commands. These horses are very well trained and respond to the slightest touch.”

  “What about my quivering legs?” She laughed, but inside, she really was quivering. The ground was so far away.

  “Just r
emember: to stop, you just have to pull back on the reins.” Jamon hopped onto the saddle of his horse. “Let’s go.”

  Butterscotch followed Jamon’s horse, and Gemma tried not to move in case she accidentally gave the horse misguided directions. They walked through the barn, passing by the nearly completed indoor arena and out through the back side.

  “You probably ought to breathe.” Jamon glanced back over his shoulder. Gemma rolled her eyes at him, but when he turned around, she drew in a deep breath. They followed the gravel road until they came to the round pen. Twilight filled the Seattle sky, and the air was cool but not cold. Spring still had the weather by its coattails, but summer was ready to suit up any time. Gemma tried to focus on the beautiful surroundings and not about falling to the ground.

  Inside the pen, they walked in circles several times as Jamon explained the different terminology to her. Then he told her to stop Butterscotch in the middle of the pen. She pulled back on the leather reins, feeling the weight of them in her hand. Butterscotch stopped as if it weren’t a big deal. But it was a huge deal to Gemma. She felt seeds of happiness grow inside of her chest. Jamon demonstrated what trotting was and then what galloping looked like, using the outside of the pen.

  “I’m not sure I’ll be ready for any of that today.” Gemma reached down and stroked Butterscotch’s yellow neck. “But I’m not as scared as I was. You’re right, there is something about being on the back of a horse that makes you feel good.”

  A grin spread across Jamon’s face, like she’d just given him a million-dollar piece of artwork he’d actually enjoy. Gemma loved the way she felt inside. She wasn’t fooling herself; there was nothing job related to the effervesces of excitement floating throughout her body when Jamon smiled like that.

  “I told you. Just you wait: you’ll be wanting to ride almost as often as you want to organize and schedule my calendar.” He winked at her, and her heart skipped.