Emily McKay - A Bride for the Black Sheep Brother

“Yeah.”

“But this isn’t risky. By the time I’m done with this resort, the best snowboarders in the world will be there. If I were a golfer building one of those golf communities, everyone would be clamoring to invest.”

“Maybe.” Matt shrugged and looked back down at his laptop. “But golf is different. Those guys know rich. You’re just a snowboarder.”

Just a snowboarder?

That pissed him off. Yeah, he knew Matt didn’t mean it personally, but it was hard not to take it that way.

Because even if Matt didn’t buy that argument, plenty of other people did. Never mind that Cooper had been running Flight+Risk for three times as long as he’d been a professional snowboarder. He had more money now than any one man could spend in a lifetime and had earned his money himself, unlike so many other rich bastards. And he’d never once made a business decision that hadn’t paid off. Never mind any of that.

In the end, the board was scared he didn’t have the business chops to know a great investment from a pipe dream. They’d pegged him as too much of a risk taker just because he’d left college to snowboard professionally. They thought he didn’t know the upscale market just because he’d had to work for every one of his successes. Because he’d worked hard to keep his relationship to the Cains on the down low. He’d never wanted people handing him things because of who his father was. He’d never wanted the Cain name to buy him anything. So sure, his lineage was out there for whoever dug around in his past—and reporters loved that nonsense—but he didn’t advertise it. He’d never taken the Cain name, even though he’d lived with Hollister and Caro after his mother had died. He never talked about his father or his family connections.

He would have laughed at the irony if it hadn’t pissed him off so damn much.

Would he have to put up with this kind of thing if he’d been in the habit of reminding the board who his father was? If he’d trotted out his father’s name, the board probably would have rolled right over.

Instead, he did things his own way and his ideas were labeled too risky.

It wasn’t fair.

Which was fine. His life had never been fair. He was the king of making not-fair work for him.

He looked up suddenly to realize that his two friends were exchanging worried glances. As if he’d been quiet too long and they were concerned he was plotting Robertson’s demise. Well, he was, but not in the way they were worried about.

So he smiled broadly and stood. “It’s all good.”

Drew stood also. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just time for Plan B.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Really? ’Cause I heard you say once that backup plans were for losers without the determination to get it right the first time.”

Yeah. That sounded like him. He shrugged. “Okay, we’ll call this Plan 2.0.”

Matt snapped his laptop closed and stood. “So what’s Plan 2.0?”

“I’m going to convince the board that this isn’t risky. I’m going to convince them that I do know this market.”

“They’ve already voted you down. Flight+Risk can’t move forward unless it comes to a vote again,” Matt pointed out.

“I got too eager and pushed the vote too soon. But by the time I’m done with them, they’ll be desperate to get Flight+Risk involved.”

“How exactly are you going to do that?” Drew asked.

“I’m going to hire an expert.”

* * *

In the end, Portia missed her flight to Tahoe and had to reschedule for the next day. The airline had pulled her suitcase off the flight and had held it in Denver, thank goodness, and she’d been able to find a car service to deliver her bag to her hotel. It was all far less inconvenient than it might have been. No matter how Portia tried to tell herself that she’d only lost one day and that she hadn’t gone that far out of her way, she couldn’t help feeling that the entire trip had been a huge waste of time.

For tonight, she’d checked into a hotel in Denver, not far from Flight+Risk’s corporate offices. In the morning she would see about getting another flight to Tahoe. But now, she had room service coming with a salted caramel brownie and carafe of red wine.

Yes, tomorrow she would start her vacation. She’d still get her two weeks of solitude at her parents’ summer cabin by the lake. She’d read the dozen or so books already loaded onto her Nook. She’d watch movies. Do some yoga. It would all be very relaxing.

Except she wasn’t relaxed. Her mind was still whirling with thoughts of the waitress from the Kimball Hotel, the woman she knew was Hollister’s daughter.

Part of her agreed with Cooper. She should just let it go. It wasn’t any of her business.

Honestly, she hadn’t given the Cain heiress much thought in the year since Hollister had issued the challenge. However, now that she’d met the woman, she couldn’t stop worrying about her. She knew better than anyone what a brutal man Hollister was. He was no one’s ideal father-in-law. He’d criticized her endlessly. He’d only gotten worse once her fertility problems became public knowledge.

Dalton hadn’t put up with that, of course. He’d called his father on it every time he’d witnessed it. But Dalton hadn’t been around much. Caro had stepped up to her defense, as well. That was how she and Caro had gotten so close. At first, Hollister’s behavior had hurt. She hadn’t realized he treated everyone badly. He wasn’t picking on her. He was just a jerk.

Would Ginger know that?

She’d seemed tough. Would she be able to defend herself against the likes of Hollister? Would she understand that any sign of weakness would stir up the piranhas? Would she have any defenses against the people who would pretend to be her friend and then turn on her in a second?

Yes, Cooper was right. It wasn’t Portia’s business. But that didn’t stop her from worrying about the girl. She’d been counting on Cooper to take over finding the heiress for her. The hope that some of his reward money would be funneled to Caro was just the salted caramel topping on the brownie. Now that he’d refused, she was left in the hot seat again. She had no other ideas about how to help Caro or the heiress. Unless she went to Dalton.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that being found was going to change this woman’s life forever, and not necessarily in a good way. But what could she do? Not telling anyone that she’d found the heiress wasn’t an option. Damn Cooper for not agreeing to help her. Really, she’d thought better of him.

A moment later there was a knock on the door. Men may never do precisely what she expected them to do, but thank goodness for chocolate. It was there when she needed it.

But when she opened the door, it wasn’t room service with her brownie. It was Cooper.

He leaned casually against the wall right outside her hotel room, one ankle crossed over the other. He was wearing the same suit he’d had on earlier in the day, but the tie was gone and the jacket looked rumpled. Like he’d taken it off several times over the past few hours.

He looked up when she opened the door. “Hey, I need a favor.”

“You’re not a brownie,” she muttered under her breath.

He blinked, looking surprised. Then his mouth curled in a wry smile. “Not the last time I checked.”

“I ordered a brownie from room service.” God, that sounded pathetic. A woman eating a brownie alone in a hotel room? It practically screamed loser. “It has a salted caramel topping.”

Nope. That didn’t sound any less pathetic.

Thank God, she hadn’t mentioned the carafe of red wine.

He had texted her over two hours earlier saying he wanted to stop by to talk, so she’d sent him her room number, but when he never showed up, she’d assumed he’d decided against it.