Buch lesen: «The Fortunes of Texas: The Rulebreakers»

Chapter One

“Holy cow. Is that who I think it is?”

Grayson Fortune heard the whispers start the second he walked into the office of Austin Elite Real Estate. He should have known better than to head straight there after the press conference. But going back to the hotel to change would have made him even later than he already was.

He hated being late. It was a product of his early years hustling from one rodeo to another, when being late could mean missing the event altogether. Wasted miles. Worse, wasted money.

“Ohmygawd. Is that Grayson? I just saw him on the news at noon. He’s taller than I expected.”

He didn’t bother trying to locate where in the office the whispers came from. He just pulled off his black Grayson Gear cowboy hat and strode toward the stylish woman seated behind the reception desk. He’d had lots of practice ignoring whispers, and gave the receptionist his usual grin.

She was probably about his mom’s age, and if she recognized him when she looked up at him with a friendly smile, there was nothing in her expression to say it.

“Welcome to Austin Elite.” Her eyes were bright behind her black-framed glasses. “How can I help you?”

He heard another muffled laugh that might have been inaudible had the modern office possessed actual walls instead of a sea of glass partitions. “I know how I’d like to help him.”

He’d asked his mother to find a real estate agent for him, and she’d set up the appointment. Otherwise he’d turn around and leave. He was used to public attention, but it was often a pain in the caboose.

“Do you suppose he’s as good in the sack as the saddle? Imagine him tossing you down on the bed like—”

He focused harder on the friendly receptionist. “I have an appointment with Billy Pemberton. Sorry I’m late.”

The receptionist consulted her computer, tapping a few keys. “Ah. There you are, Mr. Smith.” She pressed a button on her phone. “Billy, your client is here.” She looked up at him again with another smile. “Would you like something to drink while you wait?”

“Water would be great, ma’am.”

“My pleasure.” She came around the desk. “Make yourself comfortable.” She gestured at the white chairs situated around an enormous world globe that sat right on the floor. Since the chairs looked like they came from outer space, he figured it made a weird sort of sense.

Two of the chairs were occupied and he took the one farthest away, nodding when the other people gave him sideways looks. Because they recognized him? Or because they’d heard the chair groan when he sat on it?

More than comfort, right now he just hoped he wouldn’t end up on the floor.

He also hoped the real estate agent wouldn’t keep him waiting long. But considering Grayson’s tardiness, he didn’t have much of a leg to stand on if the guy left him cooling his heels.

He’d expected a bottle of water, but when the receptionist returned, it was with a real glass filled with water, several sliced rounds of cucumber, some narrow ribbons of green stuff threaded on a wooden swizzle stick, all topped with a curl of lemon rind. A little overdone, but a nice touch, he supposed.

If you happened to like cucumber and unidentifiable green stuff. He did not.

He took the glass. “That’s real kind of you, ma’am. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” She started to turn back to her desk. “Oh, there’s Billy now.”

He wished the globe were a coffee table, so he could have set aside the water. Instead, he stood, turning in the same direction.

The real estate agent smiled at him, approaching with a hand outstretched. “Mr. Smith, I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting.”

Not a Billy.

But a Billie.

And what a Billie she was. From the top of her gleaming hair to the shine on her shoes, every inch was...amazing.

He juggled the glass and his hat, and stuck out his hand, anticipating the feel of her palm against his.

Bam.

No disappointment there. No, ma’am. Her skin was as soft and smooth as kid leather.

“Darlin’, you weren’t the one making someone wait. That’s all on me.”

Her rosy smile looked a little nervous and she tugged her hand free. “Don’t be silly. I’m Billie Pemberton.”

He wondered if his mom had chosen the attractive real estate agent deliberately.

Considering Deborah Fortune’s lament lately that he needed a good woman in his life? Probably.

“Let’s go back to my office, shall we?” Billie’s straight hair was long and deep brown, and she tucked one side of the sleek strands behind her ear. No earrings on her earlobe. Just a tiny sparkling stud high inside her ear and two equally tiny gold rings around the top edge.

He realized he was staring, as if he’d never seen an ear before. “Yeah.” He gestured with the upturned brim of his hat. “Let’s get on it.”

She smiled again. Definitely a hint of shyness in those appealing eyes.

Too bad she also looked like she was young enough to still be in high school. She was a real estate agent, so he knew she couldn’t be that young, but still...

Grayson liked women. Young women. Old women. Anything-in-between women. He liked the way they thought and the way they smiled and the way they smelled.

But he didn’t mess with girls. Especially ones who looked like they came complete with starry-eyed visions of picket fences and babies.

So no matter what his mom was thinking when she’d set this up, if she’d set this up, she was on the wrong track.

Despite all that, he told himself there was no law against appreciating how the fat silver zipper running the entire length of the back of her short white skirt worked its way up from the hem an inch as she walked ahead of him.

“He looks older than I thought he was.”

The whispers started up again as the two of them made their way along a glossy hall between glass panes. Or maybe they’d never stopped. He’d quit noticing anything when Billie had smiled at him. The whispers floating in the air. The aches and pains left over from his run a few days ago in Silver City, when he’d earned nothing but a bruised rib and a face full of dirt.

Billie stepped into a cube on her right. “I’m sorry it’s so tight in here.” She slid onto a rolling chair at the desk. Using the toe of one tall, neon-yellow high heel, she swiveled to face the two narrow chairs positioned adjacent to her. Her sparkling eyes met his, then danced away. “Sit wherever you like.”

He chuckled and dumped his hat on one of the acrylic-and-steel contraptions, then took the other. It seemed sturdier than the chairs in the reception area, at least. “D’you mind?” He lifted the water glass slightly. She didn’t have anything on her desktop other than a computer screen, a stapled set of papers and a desk pad that looked like clear glass.

He had a desk that he rarely used at the Grayson Gear office. It was nowhere near as neat.

“Not at all.” Her eyes danced to his. “Nasty stuff, if you ask me. I have a drawer full of plain bottled water if you prefer.”

He grinned. “If you’re sure you don’t mind sharing.”

Those eyes danced away again. “I’m sure.” She moistened her soft-looking lips as she leaned over to open the bottom drawer of a short cabinet wedged into the only free corner. Beneath her silky black tank top there was a glimpse of a black bra strap, but what kept drawing his attention was the translucent creaminess of her skin.

It made him almost thirsty enough to drink the cuke crud.

She moved his water glass from the desk to the top of the cabinet, nudging aside several photo frames to make room. Then she held out the slender water bottle.

When he took it, their fingers brushed.

She quickly swiveled back to face her desk and slid her papers squarely in front of her with one hand, touching the computer screen with her other. The blank screen leaped to life, showing the same logo that was on the front door of the office. She glanced at him. “I understand you’re looking for a new home.”

“Yup.” He waited a beat. What the hell? “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“I guess that depends,” she said warily. “Will you answer my questions?”

He spread his palms. “I’m an open book, darlin’.”

As he’d hoped, her expression lightened. “Somehow I doubt that. But what’s the question?”

“How old are you?”

Fortunately, she didn’t look offended. “Twenty-four. I have a college degree and I’ve had my real estate license for several years. I assure you, I am perfectly qualified to represent your interests and—”

He lifted his hand, cutting her off. His mom wouldn’t have sent him to an unqualified agent. “I’m not going anywhere. I just thought I’d ask.” At least she wasn’t quite fresh out of high school. But she was still too young for him to be as attracted to her as he was, even though he appreciated her ambition. “So, let’s get on with your questions.”

Her lips twitched faintly. “How old are you?”

He couldn’t help grinning. “Thirty-seven and feeling every minute of ’em, darlin’.”

Her eyes twinkled. Then she looked past him for a millisecond and sat straighter in front of her computer. “All right.” She slid her fingers on the glass desk pad and the logo on the screen folded away, to be replaced by a form. “Do you have an existing home now?”

“Nope.”

She slid her fingers again. The screen morphed again.

“Fancy desk pad you got there.” The glass clearly acted as a computer mouse pad. “How do you type?” There was no visible keyboard.

“Here.” She leaned back in her chair slightly so he could see her tap the corner of the glass. The faint outline of a keyboard appeared in it. She moved her fingers across it as if she were typing on the keys, and a line of gibberish streamed across the screen. “It’s cool, but it took me quite a while to get used to it.” Her smile stretched, looking more than a little impish again. “Nothing but the best and cutting edge here at Austin Elite.”

He shifted on the chair, staring for a second at his water bottle. Damn. She was prettier than a spring filly. He took a healthy swig from the bottle, took his time capping it, and focused on the computer screen once more. “That’s what my mom said when she made the appointment here. You were the best.”

“Your mother?” She’d turned her attention to the screen, as well. “Will she be living with you also?”

Not unless he could change her mind. “I doubt it. She’s my business manager.” He waited for Billie to ask what his business was, because she’d given no sign that she knew who he was.

“Is there anyone else you’ll be consulting with on your choice of a home?”

“Like who? A wife?”

“Or a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Psychic?”

He laughed silently. “Only one I’ve gotta please is me.”

For a second, she looked disbelieving, but she moved on. “Are you working already with a lender, by any chance? I can give you a list of excellent choices if you’re not.”

Outside the clear cubicle, a steady parade of people kept going past, most sneaking a look their way. “No need. It’ll be a cash purchase.”

She was obviously accustomed to hearing that particular answer. “That makes things very simple. Is there some area of Austin that particularly interests you?”

“No, ma’am.” Grayson Gear had claimed its headquarters in Austin since the start, though most of his involvement was conducted from wherever he was on the road. He’d competed in plenty of rodeos in the area, though he knew only certain parts of town, and generally liked what he knew. “My personal knowledge of the city is limited, actually. I’m not from here.”

Her gaze slid his way again. “Is your relocation for business purposes?”

“Mostly.”

She looked back at her computer. “And where are you coming from?”

“All over.” That was true enough. His actual home was Paseo, Texas. But few people had heard of the minuscule town, much less knew where it was. Ever since news had gotten out that Gerald Robinson aka Jerome Fortune was his and his triplet brothers’ absentee biological father, though, the journalists and the Grayson groupies had been getting too damn close to ruining the peace there that he was determined to protect. His employees at Grayson Gear had been operating just fine for years despite his frequent absences, but they could always be counted on to keep interlopers away from his door when he was there. Especially Gerald Robinson, despite him being a fixture on the Austin landscape.

Grayson’s lack of a precise answer didn’t seem to bother Billie. Her finger continued sliding on the glass as the form on the screen slowly filled. “Then you haven’t looked at any houses already?”

“Nope.” He shifted and hitched one boot on top of his knee. They were brand-new Castletons, and as fine as the custom boots were, he preferred the ones he tramped around in at the ranch in Paseo where he and his brothers had grown up. They were Castletons, too. Bought nearly twenty years ago out of his first big win and just getting real comfortable now.

He and his Grayson Gear manager, Jessica Monroe, had been working on establishing a line of Castletons specifically for the company. But progress was slow. Castleton was an old family business and getting in the door was difficult. Considering his numerous endorsement deals, the challenge with Castleton had only made Grayson more determined. He’d even enlisted his mother’s help. Though she’d been managing his rodeo career since the get-go, she generally left Grayson Gear business to him. Always said she had enough keeping her busy without adding that to her plate. But since she happened to think Castleton was the best bootmaker around, he’d talked her around to it.

“Haven’t worked with any other Realtor?”

His eyes drifted past his boots to land on the curve of Billie’s hip where she sat. The chair was black, making the white of her skirt seem even whiter. Below the hem, her smooth thighs were golden. “No, ma’am. You’re my first.”

He caught a wisp of blush rise in her cheeks and saw her moisten her lips again. He couldn’t help smiling a little. Women often blushed around him, but none quite as charmingly as she.

Blushing or not, she stayed on course. “You’re probably anxious to get on with properties to view, so we can finish up the rest of the details along the way.” She tapped her glass-driven mouse and tiny images filled the screen. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for? You want your forever home? Or something more short-term?”

Until Gerald Robinson came calling, he’d considered Paseo to be his home. “Forever.”

Her smile deepened, as if his answer pleased her. “What kind of home? Single family? Condo? Any particular square footage in mind? Number of bedrooms? Lot size?”

“No condos. Only bedroom I care about is mine.” But logic made him consider. He’d need more bedrooms if his brothers came to visit. Jayden and Ariana didn’t have kids yet, but considering they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, it was only a matter of time before they did. And Nathan and Bianca already had her little boy, EJ. Then there was his mom. He’d need a room for her, or even a guest house that she could call her own. One appealing enough to keep her safely away from Robinson.

“I guess six bedrooms ought to do. A guest house would be a plus.” He banished Gerald Robinson from his thoughts. He was enjoying Billie’s company too much to ruin it thinking about the bastard.

“Any deal breakers? Something that would rule out a property right from the start?”

“No property. I need acreage for my horses and stock. I can always build my own barn, but I’ll need the land first.”

“Would you consider undeveloped land? Build your own house, too?”

“I’m hoping for something that won’t take that long. I’d like this wrapped up before summer’s done.”

She nodded. “Any particular features in the house that you require?”

“Like what?” He saw the same ripe blonde who’d already passed Billie’s office several times make yet another round. Bolder than most, she gave him a direct smile and pressed her hands together over her heart. He automatically grinned a response and she stopped dead in her tracks. At least until an older man with a frown passed her, and she scurried away.

“If you prefer single-story, or must have a wine cellar, fireplace, pool,” Billie was saying. “Things like that.”

“I’m more beer than wine.” He shrugged. “No particular preference. Just want a place I can put away the bedroll.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Bedroll?”

“Figure of speech,” he said dismissively. Though it wasn’t. He still traveled between rodeos with a bedroll in his truck. He could afford hotels now, but sometimes it was easier to bed down with the horses in the trailer, or under the stars. “I’m on the road a lot. Just need a place to land. And not too close to the city.” He would never be able to replicate the ranch in Paseo, but he could try. “I like my space and my privacy. As for the house, I guess a fireplace for cold days. AC on hot.” He grinned. “Running water and electricity.”

Her smile edged toward impish again. “I’ve always thought they were convenient.”

“’Course, that’s when the fireplace comes in handy...good place to keep warm. ’Specially with the right company.”

Her cheeks pinkened again. “And your budget?”

Did he have one? He supposed he should. He kept his eye on the broad levels, but Deborah kept her finger on all of the finer points. He knew he could walk away from rodeoing tomorrow and all of his resulting endorsements without personally missing the money a speck. Grayson Gear had become far more profitable in the last decade than anything else he did. But he had rodeoing in his blood. It kept Grayson Gear’s name prominent, and as a result, he was able to keep his charitable efforts funded.

Which meant as long as he was physically able to rodeo, he would. Even if the rest of the rodeo world was starting to consider him ancient.

Billie was still looking at him inquiringly. Her hair had slipped free of her enticing ear and she tucked it there once more as she waited.

He felt thirsty all over again.

He tapped the toe of his boot. “Darlin’, when I find the right one, no price’ll be too high.”

Her eyes did flicker at that. Still the model of decorum, though, she looked back at her screen and glided her fingers on her glass pad again.

“Does it get to you, working in a fishbowl like this?” He gestured at the clear, short walls, and the middle-aged redhead who’d been passing Billie’s office with the speed of a snail suddenly picked up her pace.

Billie looked wry. “Everything here takes some getting used to. Particularly knowing the boss is always watching. He has a very strict code of ethics that I guess he wants to ensure we’re all following.”

“What does he expect to catch y’all doing? Stealing cucumbers and water?”

She smiled. “One of these days, I’m sure I won’t even notice all this glass at all. But it is very disconcerting when you first experience it.”

“No kidding.” His working life was fishbowl-ish, too, though it sure hadn’t started out that way. Like a lot of the guys and gals competing in rodeo day in and day out, he’d done so in obscurity until a championship buckle was on his belt, and suddenly he had endorsement offers landing at his feet. “Probably not easy to get used to.”

“No, but it’s like what you’ve done in rodeo. You have a job to do and you get on with it.”

His toe stopped tapping. “You do know who I am.”

“It’s hard not to know who you are. You’ve been on the news a few times this week. And then there are the Grayson Gear billboards around town.” She smiled slightly. “Despite the impression of our local lookey-loos, you’re not the first celebrity who’s chosen to work with Austin Elite. All I care about is finding a perfect property for you, Mr. Smith.” She waited a beat. “But if you prefer a more experienced agent—perhaps Elena. She’s the blonde who has traipsed by a dozen times and she’d be entirely—”

“God, no. You, uh, you just surprised me for a bit.” Bemused him, more like. “And it’s not really Smith. It’s Fortune.”

She looked only mildly curious and he almost wished he hadn’t said anything. Grayson Smith was simply the name he used on his professional bio. But at least his real last name hadn’t raised any obvious flags for her.

Considering the way the Fortune name had been in the news since the revelation that Austin icon and bazillionaire Gerald Robinson was actually Jerome Fortune—an heir to even more millions who’d supposedly died a lifetime ago—it was a relief.

It was time to leave the subject of his name well enough alone. “Mind if I pull my chair a little closer so I can see better?”

“Please do.” She rolled her own chair a few inches over so he could edge nearer to the desk.

Nearer to her.

“I apologize again for the close quarters. I’m still the smallest fish in the pond here, so I don’t get the pick of offices just yet. Or the pick of clients, so I have to thank you again for requesting me specifically, Mr. Fortune.”

His mother had requested Billie, but who was he to correct her now?

“Just Grayson,” he replied. He hadn’t set out to be known only by his given name any more than he’d set out to be a celebrity. Over the years, it had sort of cemented itself in the public eye. But ever since his mother had admitted that she hadn’t simply decided to use the last name Fortune because of her good fortune when she gave birth to healthy triplets, but had actually given them their father’s name, he’d been increasingly happy not to use it.

Which was a line of thinking certain to put him in a bad mood.

And Billie—young or not—was too much of an unexpected pleasure for him to be in a bad mood thinking about the bastard who’d sired him and his brothers.

He maneuvered his chair almost next to her. It meant he had to stretch one leg out her office door, where someone might trip over it as they dawdled and gawked, but he didn’t much care. “And I’m not complaining about the tight space.” He nodded toward her computer screen. “All right, darlin’. Show me what you’ve got.”