The Rival. Joanne RockЧитать онлайн книгу.
that different, since Devon’s single mother had moved back in with her old-money family after Alonzo Salazar had abandoned her shortly after Devon’s birth.
“Agreed.” He would find a way to make the launch event work on his own. He would bring in more staff, for starters. “But you realize the bigger issue right now is not the launch, but trying to contain the fallout from whatever new scandal Dad’s book could cause.”
Hammering out an agreement for the future of Salazar Media—and who would take the helm of the business—would have to wait.
“But for now, no one knows about that. If the secret comes out somehow, we’ll deal with it when it happens,” Marcus assured him, checking his watch. “In the meantime, I’ve got to pick up Lily so we can head to the airstrip. We’re flying out this afternoon.”
Devon resisted the urge to argue. The ramifications of the secret leaking out were bigger than they knew. But Marcus had been the one to nail down the ranch as a client, and he’d kept the situation under control with the owners until Devon had arrived, so he’d done his part. Now Devon would have to find a way to keep any revelations about their father’s book from ruining everything they’d both worked so hard for.
“Good luck,” he told him simply, extending a hand.
Marcus stared down at it for a beat too long, but he squeezed Devon’s palm in the end. “Thank you. And you’d better get moving if you want to make that meeting with Weston Rivera. It’s almost noon.”
Devon swore as he shoved his phone in his pocket and headed toward the coatrack to retrieve a fitted black parka. “I won’t bother you unless all hell breaks loose.”
“I can give you a ride over there—”
“No need.” The main lodge was in the opposite direction from Marcus’s cabin. “You added the ranch to our client list. I’ll make the rest of it work.”
His brother gave a clipped nod before stepping out into the December chill, a burst of cold air lingering in his wake when he closed the door.
Devon shut his laptop and hunted down a hat and a pair of gloves, already mulling over how he was going to juggle orchestrating the kickoff party with digging deeper into their father’s secrets. He hadn’t wanted to share with Marcus his own reasons for needing to keep the Salazar dirty laundry out of the headlines for at least two more weeks. Devon’s socialite mother was set to wed an international banker on Christmas Eve in a highly publicized ceremony. She had found happiness at last, and Devon refused to let a scandal about his father overshadow her well-deserved spotlight.
Maybe Devon’s paranoia about his father’s secrets leaking now were misplaced, considering Alonzo had kept his double life as an author on lockdown for eight years. But Devon’s gut told him that his dad’s death was going to bring everything to light.
The papers Alonzo had left for his sons here at the ranch revealed all the details. Under the pseudonym A. J. Sorensen, Alonzo had released an international bestselling novel about Hollywood power brokers and scandals. The book had caused an uproar a year after its release, when a Beverly Hills gossip columnist cracked the code on the identities of the people who inspired the characters.
Real people had been hurt by the book. A Hollywood marriage had been torn apart. A daughter disowned.
Devon pulled a gray knit cap over his ears and tugged open the cabin door just as a light snow began to fall. He spotted a woman on horseback heading toward him. She had a dark Stetson pulled low on her forehead, and it was difficult to see her features through the swirl of snowflakes, but Devon recognized her as the trail guide employed by Mesa Falls Ranch. She’d approached him two days ago about taking a tour of the property to familiarize him with the ranch, an idea he might have jumped on another time, but he’d been reeling from the news about his father’s secrets.
Regina Flores had made an impression, though.
With her silver-gray eyes and dark hair, she’d captured his attention right away. She had a thoughtful, brooding air about her; she seemed to be a woman of deep, mysterious thoughts. Until she smiled. She had a mischievous, quick grin that made him think wholly inappropriate things. Today she wore a black duster that flared over her horse’s saddle and a purple scarf tied around her neck. She held the reins to a second mount, a sturdy chestnut quarter horse.
“Hello, Mr. Salazar.” She flashed a smile his way, two deep dimples framing her lips as she drew to a stop in front of the cabin.
He wasn’t a man easily distracted by physical attraction, but something about this woman’s ease in her own skin called to him in spite of his looming worries. It made him very aware of how long it had been since he’d shared his bed. He’d been so focused on growing the company he hadn’t made time for anything but the most fleeting encounters over the past two years.
“Good morning.” He stepped down the deck steps to ground level as the snowfall began picking up speed. “And call me Devon.”
Her mustang whinnied a greeting, shaking its mane. Devon stopped near the horse’s head to stroke the muzzle, noting the flurries melting on its nose. Safer to look the animal in the eye than its appealing rider.
“I heard from Mr. Rivera that the two of you have a meeting, so I thought I’d offer you a lift.” She jutted her chin in the direction of the chestnut mare behind her. “Nutmeg is saddled and ready to go if you are.”
“You came all the way out here on the off chance I’d need a ride?” His gaze skimmed up her denim-clad thigh, over her feminine curves, to study her expression. Was there a chance Regina Flores felt the same pull he did when they were near one another?
The idea revved him up.
“I didn’t have any trail rides scheduled for today and both these animals were due for some exercise, so my offer isn’t quite as generous as you make it sound.” Her smile was self-deprecating this time. “I had to get Nutmeg out either way.”
She might well be telling the truth.
But the alternative—that she harbored a personal interest in him—was far more intriguing. Especially during a tense week, with his business hanging in the balance. He could see the potential benefit of a distraction.
“To tell you the truth, I’d be grateful for the company,” he said at last, reaching up to take Nutmeg’s reins from Regina.
He briefly caught her hand in his, leather on leather, before sliding the horse’s lead free.
Regina’s quicksilver eyes tracked him, her smile fleeing as awareness flickered between them. At least, he’d like to think that she’d felt it, too.
“Do you need a hand up?” she asked even as he slung a leg over Nutmeg’s back.
“I’ll be fine.” He urged the chestnut forward two steps so he was beside Regina.
Close enough to touch.
“Suit yourself.” Her gaze darted around, as if unsure where to land. “Just keep in mind some of our horses are more spirited than others. It’s a good idea to get acquainted with their quirks first.”
“In that case, anything I need to know about Nutmeg?” He was far more interested in getting to know the trail guide than the gentle mare.
“She’s a follower.” Regina shifted in the saddle and her horse eased back a step from his. “She’ll be more comfortable letting me take the lead.”
“Fair enough.” He opened his hand with the reins still balanced on his palm, giving the horse her lead. “But since I’m most definitely not a follower, next time feel free to give me something feistier.” He allowed his words to sink in before leaning fractionally closer. “I like a challenge.”
Her swift intake of breath, a soft and sexy gasp, was the most pleasant sound he’d heard in days.
And just like that, he had something to look forward to during an otherwise hellish week.