Fortune's Homecoming. Allison Leigh
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“The earnings don’t count toward the standings. Cowboy Country’s will. So that’s where I’m planning to be. You gonna make it over for the rodeo?”
Her fingers paused on the glass. Cowboy Country USA was a popular Western-theme amusement park in Horseback Hollow, where their mothers had grown up. It was a good five to six hour drive. “Depends on work.”
Max made a sound. “Everything depends on your work. You’re gonna get old and dull, Bill. You need to get out and have more fun. And by fun, I mean sex.”
Her fingers paused. “And the last time you had some fun?”
He snorted, laughing. “About a week ago. A chick I met at Twine.”
“Obviously, you’re not still brokenhearted from Bethany.” Bethany Belmont was the barrel racer Grayson supposedly stole from Max back in March. Max claimed Bethany had been the love of his life until Grayson lured her away. It was then that Max had made it his goal to unseat the reigning rodeo champion.
“Being brokenhearted ain’t got diddly to do with sex.” Max’s voice had gone flat.
She rolled her eyes and started typing again. If Grayson were still involved with the woman, he’d given no indication of it that morning. And she found it difficult to believe that her cousin had been as gung ho over the barrel racer as he claimed, since Max fell in love more often than Billie bought shoes. “I can’t believe that of the two of us, you are the romantic.”
“Yeah, well, you ought t’ try it sometime. At least go out and drink a little. Dance a little. Never know where it might lead.”
“Yeah, well, you know how I feel about that,” she returned calmly. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in love. Her parents had been inseparable since being childhood sweethearts. Billie just wasn’t willing to sacrifice everything she wanted out of life because of it. She wanted her high-rise apartment that she could barely afford. She wanted her nice clothes and her interesting career and—one day—a bank account that allowed for more things than just the minimum daily requirements. So far, any relationships she’d had of the romantic variety had been decided letdowns in comparison.
“Look, Max, I’ve got stuff to do. Don’t forget to bring Selena an appropriate gift. A bottle of hooch for a thirteen-year-old won’t cut it.”
“You give me no credit. Last time I did that was for Audie’s eighteenth.”
“Eighteen was still underage, Max,” she reminded him before hanging up and turning her attention fully to the property listings once more.
When she met with Grayson in the morning, she wanted to be completely prepared. She’d been told to close the deal quickly, and that’s exactly what she intended to do.
When the phone rang a few seconds later, she grabbed it up again. “If you’re calling to ask me to buy Selena’s gift for you, the answer is still no.”
A feminine laugh answered her. “Actually, I was calling to see if you were going to be in Houston this Friday.”
Billie’s fingers relaxed on her glass keypad again. “Well, if it isn’t the soon-to-be Mrs. Zach McCarter.” She grinned. “Or after enduring Schuyler’s wedding last month, are you calling to tell me you and Zach decided to forgo all the hoopla and elope to Vegas?”
Maddie Fortunado laughed in her ear again. “We’re still planning a wedding,” she assured her. “So don’t think you’re getting out of attending. But I guarantee it won’t be quite as over-the-top as my sister’s come-one, come-all grand affair. So, are you going to be in Houston on Friday? We’re trying out a new restaurant and I wanted to let you know in case you’re able to join the gang.”
Maddie was the newly crowned president at Fortunado Real Estate in Houston along with her fiancé, Zach, where Billie had gotten her start. She’d also been the one to invite her to join the “gang”—a group of young real estate professionals who met routinely to talk business and socialize.
“I hope to be,” Billie told her. “I’ve still got a couple loads of stuff to move from my old apartment.”
“Some people would just hire a moving company,” Maddie pointed out.
Some people didn’t have the extra money to do that. Billie kept the fact to herself. “I’m still helping the Montanegros navigate their home purchase in Houston,” she said, which was true. “So I still have to be there occasionally, anyway.”
“Oh, right. Your old neighbors. The ones you’re forgoing your sales commission for.”
“The ones who are storing my stuff in their garage,” Billie added humorously. “It’s the least I could do. So where’s the meeting place?” She made a note when Maddie told her.
“How is business going at Austin Elite? Any new listings?”
It was all too easy to conjure Grayson’s face in her mind. “No new listings. But a new client looking to buy came in today specifically asking for me.”
“That’s great, Billie! I knew it wouldn’t be long before you were right back in the swing of things. Word gets around when you’re a good agent. So what size fishy cracker are we talking?”
Billie chuckled. “He’s a big one, if I haven’t just jinxed everything by admitting it.”
“He?” Maddie’s voice piqued with interest. “Is he single?”
“Maddie! I don’t know who is worse—my cousin with sex on his brain, or you with romance on yours.”
“May I just say that those two elements can work quite well together? I’ll take your nonanswer as the affirmative, though. So is the male big fish eligible? Do tell.”
She could imagine Maddie’s reaction if she knew just how eligible. “There’s nothing to tell!” Particularly when DeForest Allen walked past her office again, giving her a close look. “I’ll tell you as much as I can on Friday if I can make it. Right now, my boss is giving me the stink eye. And I’ve told you what he’s like.”
“That’s what you get for defecting back to Austin,” Maddie said humorously. “Fine. But I’m holding you to it, my friend. So be prepared with details the next time I see you!”
* * *
Grayson slid the key card over the lock on his hotel suite on the top floor of the Kimpton and pushed open the door. His mother, seated on a couch positioned to take in the lake view, looked up at him. She had her usual calendar spread in front of her, along with her phone and a foot-high stack of glossy Grayson publicity stills that she was signing.
“How’d it go?”
He dropped his hat on the table next to the stack. “Did you know that Billy with a y is actually Billie with an i and an e?”
“Don’t let your sexism show, son.” The fact that Deborah followed his statement at all was proof enough that she had known. She signed another photo with a flourish. “I can’t help what you assumed.”
“Then did you know how young she is?”
Deborah leaned back against the couch. As usual, her long brown hair hung over her shoulder in a thick braid, and she had another pen tucked behind her ear, almost hiding the few sprinkles of gray she possessed. “Everything I’ve heard about Billie Pemberton when she was in Houston is that she is an excellent agent. Astute. Hardworking, and most importantly—according to your specifications—very discreet. Why would you care whether she’s twenty-one or ninety-one?” The fine lines at the corners of her eyes crinkled. “Or was she attractive, too?”
There was a price to be paid for having his mother act as his manager. When most men were off on their own, catching grief for not calling home often enough, Deborah Fortune handled almost every detail in Grayson’s life. With finesse and grace