Romance: The Boss (13 page)

Chapter Two

I slowly open my eyes and try to get my bearings: gray leather seats, new car smell, tinted windows, the back of the driver’s head up front, and Clint’s shoulder under my chin.

Wait, what?!

I quickly sit upright and shift away from him, wiping my chin where I’d drooled in my sleep.

Nice.

Real ladylike, Lauren.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” I tell him groggily, praying that I haven’t dribbled on his metallic-gray Armani suit. “What time is it?”

He grins at me like a bastard. What has him in such good spirits all of a sudden?

Oh wait, that’s right: the outcome of the videoconference on the plane. He’d managed to seal the deal with the investor in Kuala Lumpur.

“That’s perfectly fine, Lauren. You didn’t snore…much.”

I crack a faint smile and turn away from him to peer out the window. Judging by the blocks of buildings and houses, I’d say we’re already in Rapid City.

It looks like quite a lovely place: a middle-sized town nestled in a bevy of trees.

“The City of Presidents,” I heard someone call it once, with attractions like Mount Rushmore, the Crazy Horse Memorial, Custer State Park, and Wind Cave National Park. Even the old historic town of Deadwood is only a stone’s throw away.

It’s a shame that I won’t get to see any of the sites. Mount Rushmore is a piece of America that your parents tell you about as a kid, and even though you’ve seen it in pictures, you know it’d be way cooler to see it up close.

But Thanksgiving for me this year is strictly business, I’m afraid.

“Oh, and it’s about to hit five o’clock,” Clint adds, still staring at me. “Perfect timing, really. We’re almost there.”

By there he means Townsend Manor, his childhood home and where we will be staying for the weekend.

I don’t know why, but I’m nervous as hell to meet his family. For the duration of the jet ride, I’d been wondering about what they’ll be like. Will they be tyrannical and snooty, like you’d first insinuate? Or will they be nice and witty, like Clint used to be?

I wish my dad were here. He’d have no qualms telling the Townsends where to stick it if they were acting overly judgmental.

A few minutes later, we pull out of the suburbs and onto a long, winding road laid into a forest.

We keep going for another mile or so and then two huge iron gates appear, marking the entrance to Townsend Manor.

Its name is stenciled on a gold plaque pressed into the stone wall on the right, which also wraps around the entire front of the property.

When the gates open automatically the driver enters, a lengthy bone-white pebbled driveway leading us to the colossal house high on the crest of a hill.

I feel Clint’s eyes on me again, no doubt waiting to see my reaction to his oh-so-stately home.

So I make sure I don’t give him one.

But Townsend Manor is really even more spectacular than I’d pictured in my head. The architectural design reflects both Colorado log-and-cedar finish, with an east-facing deck bathed in the last legs of sunlight, and built to overlook the wooded valleys below. Over to the left in the front paddock, I can also just make out the edge of some horse stables and instantly conjure up an image of Clint and me riding on bareback across the valleys, the wind tousling our hair as the cool mountain air fills our lungs…

Oh Lauren, stop it already. You’re supposed to be still mad at him, remember?

“To the manor born,” Clint suddenly utters risibly before the driver opens the door for us.

I’d been so lost in my daydream that I hadn’t even realized we’d stopped.

Inside the manor, the first person to greet us is Clint’s mother, Delilah, a gorgeous-looking woman for fifty-seven years of age with warm, gray eyes, a motherly smile, and scarcely any wrinkles.

Botox, dragon’s blood, the souls of fifty-two virgins…whatever her secret is to looking so youthful, I would love to know it!

“Clint, darling, you made it,” she says eloquently, throwing her arms around him.

I almost want to tear up as I watch them.

I know it’s not the same, but the whole gesture reminds me of Mom.

“And who is this beautiful young lady?” she then asks, noticing me still standing in the foyer.

“This is Lauren, Mom,” Clint answers, looking back at me with his classic prick smirk. “She is quite a sight, isn’t she?”

I can’t tell whether he’s being facetious or not, but I smile anyway.

“Hi,” I say, stepping forward to meet her. “You must be Delilah.”

“Yes. I’m Clint’s dear old mom. I hope he’s spoken warmly of me.”

“Of course he—” I begin to reply, only to be interrupted by a long succession of screams and squeals.

I look up and see two little fair-haired children come tearing down a wide, spiral staircase that leads to the second story.

“Hey be careful, you two!” a woman shouts close behind them.

As soon as she comes into view it becomes clear that she is Clint’s sister, Dana. She is the splitting image of him, with bright blue eyes, long brown hair, and striking looks.

“Uncle Clint! Uncle Clint!” the kids shout once they jump off the last step, latching onto his legs eagerly.

I watch Clint swiftly transform, cracking the largest smile I’ve ever seen on him and rubbing the kids’ bobbing heads before picking the little girl up and tickling her under the arms.

As I stare at him, I can’t believe how happy he looks. How relaxed…I guess I have a new shade of his to add now: his family shade, perhaps his best one yet.

“Preston and Emma obviously couldn’t wait to see you!” Dana says, giving Clint a quick peck on the cheek.

“Obviously,” he laughs.

A voice suddenly soars over all the others, commanding the room into silence. “And here I was beginning to think you’d sacrificed us for another business deal, brother!”

I turn to my left to see a tall, incredibly attractive man with wavy gold hair and a smug smirk, his sharp gray eyes directed at Clint.

“Ridge,” Clint says firmly, the smile washed from his face. “I could have said the same about you.”

Okay, it doesn’t take much to see that there are some serious issues between these two.

“When did you fly in, Ridge?”

“Last night. Thought I’d take an extra day off. I want to spend as much time as I can with my family.”

Clint gives a sly laugh, like Ridge has made a crude joke, and puts his niece back down. “Indeed. And Deacon?”

“He’s not coming,” Delilah says dejectedly. “Your younger brother has decided he has better things to do than come visit his family. Honestly, I thought college would be good for him. I thought it would ground him more. Yet the other day I received one of those text message thingies from him saying he wasn’t coming home for Thanksgiving, followed by a photo of his latest tattoo! It’s ghastly business! Your father must be rolling in his grave!”

“Deacon is Deacon, Mom,” Dana tells her, sounding like she’s trying to be as delicate about the subject as possible. “He’s never going to change. You need to stop getting your hopes up about him all the time.”

I’m assuming their younger brother, Deacon, is the black sheep of the family, although Ridge doesn’t exactly appear to be any better at this point. Perhaps there are two bad eggs in this billionaire family’s melting pot.

“Dana’s right, Mom,” Clint says, his frown more pronounced. “You just need to let him go. I’m sure he’ll come around eventually.”

Delilah gives a slight nod of her head, but it’s obvious she’s quite upset over the matter.

“Anyway,” Clint adds, “Lauren and I should really get things set up, as we have a videoconference in an hour.”

“Lauren?” Ridge precipitously chides like he hasn’t seen me yet, when clearly I would’ve been the first person he’d seen when he walked into the room.

We’re practically standing right next to each other.

“Ah, you must be the pretty PA I saw in the paper.” He cocks his head toward me, his gray eyes wickedly searing into mine. “I hope you haven’t actually fallen for him. He’s not worth the trouble, you know?”

“Ridge!” Dana shouts, her eyes emitting a stern warning.

“Yes, you will mind your manners in this house, Ridge!” Delilah echoes.

But Ridge just laughs guilelessly. “Oh, Clint knows I’m just kidding with him. Right, brother?”

“Of course…brother.”

But the look on Clint’s face is as cold as Antarctica in the peak of winter.

Chapter Three

I’ve never felt so pacifyingly rested.

It feels like I’ve been asleep for weeks, all refreshed and rejuvenated, like I could run an entire marathon and never tire out. This mattress really is as heavenly as Rosita, the housekeeper, had promised when she’d shown me to my room last night, which also just happens to be right across the hall from Clint’s.

I’d dreamt about him last night.

He’d crept into my room and kissed me awake, his lips once again traversing down to my hardened nipples, making me moist instantly before he slid in his cock, pushing through with the same vigor that I remember from all those months ago.

I’d woken up afterward completely drenched, my legs tightly wrapped in a silk cocoon, and still panting from how erotic the dream had been.

That’s going to be hard to get out of my head for a while.

I get up from the queen-size bed and pitter-patter over to the curtains, gasping with astonishment when I open them and see the Blacks Hills stretched before me, as vivid as a freshly painted canvas on a clear morning.

Oh yes, I could get used to being in a place like this.

Very used to it.

I go down to breakfast fully dressed in skinny black jeans and a red blouse.

I would’ve put on a blazer too, ready for the videoconference with Japan, but minutes after the fruitful one with Jamaica last night, Bill had called Clint to say that Japan had pulled out, favoring another fund that they’d been in liaison with earlier that day.

I’m not betting on Clint’s mood being pleasant this morning. In fact, I expect it to be downright irritable.

When I walk into the kitchen, I get quite a shock to see the buffet-style selection of food spread out on the countertop: croissants, muffins, Danish pastries, eggs, bacon, toast, cereals, jams, juices, tea, and coffee. Poor Rosita, she must have been up at the crack of dawn to do all this.

But something tells me that her wages more than make up for it. Delilah Townsend is a fair woman with a good heart, that much I can tell.

“Good morning, Lauren. I hope you’re hungry,” Dana says warmly, looking up as she cuts Preston and Emma’s toast into little soldiers.

The two kids give me a wave and then go back to playing on their iPads.

“Good morning,” I yawn, beaming at them all.

Apart from Dana and the kids, there’s only Delilah seated at the breakfast table. Clint and Ridge must still be sleeping.

“Come sit down next to me, dear,” Delilah states, motioning to the chair beside her. “I want to drill you about my son before he wakes up.”

“Yes, you must tell us,” Dana agrees. “Clint never tells us anything about his life these days. I want to know what being a hedge funder has done to his…ego.”

“What do you want to know?” I ask sitting down, half amused and half cautious.

“Is he happy?”

“Is he really on that ridiculous detox diet?”

“How many Armani suits does he have, honestly?”

“How many charities is he involved with now? That’s one thing our family has always prided ourselves on, giving to those who need it most.”

“And how did you ever get him to stand still for that photo at the benefit? He hates paparazzi!”

Now that last one is an unexpected question.

From what I remember, Clint had been all too happy to pose for the photo.

I try to answer their questions as best as I can, without making Clint sound like the narcissistic, stressed-out bursar that he can be.

I tell them: how Clint keeps himself busy, but seems happy enough; how he tried the detox diet but found it ludicrous after a few weeks because he missed carbs and couldn’t understand how anyone can function without caffeine; how I’ve only seen him in a few suits so I don’t think he overindulges (although I think his wardrobe would probably call me a liar); and finally, how he recently became the face of a charity organization that helps kids with muscular dystrophy.

But then a voice speaks, a bolt out of the blue.

“And how did my brother end up with such a lovely PA? Oh wait, don’t answer that.”

I look up to see Ridge standing by the kitchen door. Judging by the last bit of that sentence, he seems to know exactly how Clint and I met.

Could Clint have told him?

No…he and Ridge don’t seem close enough.

But then again, they are brothers. Blood is thicker than water, after all.

He walks over to the counter and picks up an apple, his gaze staying on me as he takes a juicy bite out of it.

Ridge’s eyes are glowing, as devilish as Clint’s.

And with the same hypnotic pull.

No! Stay on course, Lauren!

Being tragically woozy over one billionaire is more than enough. Not to mention the fact that Ridge is even “lordlier” than Clint.

Ha, now there’s a notion I never thought was possible.

“Good Lord, Ridge. It’s still only early morning and you’ve already started on poor Lauren!” Dana groans at him.

“Yes, do hush up, Ridge. Sit. Eat,” Delilah orders.

The Townsend women surely are a spirited team. But then again, look at all the Townsend men.

Even though I never met Lorne, the father, and am still to meet Deacon, I’m highly inclined to think they too, like Clint and Ridge, must be tenacious and authoritative characters. The women of this family would have no choice but to be resilient—or rather, it comes with the territory.

“I haven’t said anything compared to you two hens, bombarding her with questions like that! I wonder what Clint would think if he knew what you were clucking about?”

But Delilah and Dana just disregard him.

“Oh, and save me some eggs and bacon, will you? I’m off for a run,” he then instructs, slinking back out of the room with a sneer on his face like he’s just outsmarted the lot of us.

I know his mother and sister might be used to his superior demeanor, but I’m not. He reminds me of a serpent, a slippery, serpent that has a grudge about something.

Something that involves Clint.

Boy, would I love to know what it is.

It’s another twenty minutes before Clint finally comes down for breakfast.

I turn to see him all decked out in his gym gear: tight black spandex pants, a tank top that shows off the lithe muscles of his arms, some bright orange Nike joggers, and sweatbands on his head and wrists.

When his eyes find mine, I almost melt.

He looks so damn hot standing there.

As if my brain needs another reminder—the sex dream last night was enough.

I need a shower again.

A cold one.

“Good morning, ladies,” he states, sitting down beside me. Then, more intimately, “Did you sleep well, Lauren?”

I look at him shyly, feeling naked and plain without any makeup on. What was I thinking coming down without at least putting on some mascara or foundation first?

“Yes, thank you,” I say with a meek smile. “Are you going for a run this morning too?”

“I guess you could call it that,” he says drolly. “I take it my lovely family haven’t told you yet?”

I look at him quizzically. “Told me what?” I peer over at Delilah and Dana, who are both openly smirking.

“Us? You’re putting it on us?” Dana shrieks flippantly at Clint before looking back at me. “But don’t worry, Lauren. You don’t have to participate if you don’t want to.”

“Participate in what?” Will somebody just tell me already?

“This year,” Clint begins, “the Townsend clan decided to sponsor a South Dakota Mud Run. A similar one took place in June for summer, and part of the proceeds went to a local charity for diabetes. But after all these ice bucket challenges recently, we thought: why not also have a winter one? Only with ours, all the proceeds will be going straight to the fight against motor neuron disease.”

It all sounds very impressive and is aimed at such a great cause.

But I just have one question.

“What exactly is a ‘mud run’?” I ask with slight trepidation, although I do have a loose idea in my head.

“It’s a series of obstacle courses… in mud,” Dana larks. “Nothing too hard, depending on your fitness level. But really, it’s just a bit of fun for a worthy cause. It’s at Sturgis Buffalo Chip Campground, the same place the June event was and the course is the same, about three miles in length with both professionally made and natural obstacles.”

Strange.

Never in a million years would I have thought a family of billionaires would bother with an event like a mud run.

Maybe they really are like an ordinary American family underneath all the hoo-ha.

“But won’t everyone freeze? It’s only like seven degrees out.”

“That’s the point,” Dana reiterates. “People choose to come and do this to raise money for MND. But just in case people get too nippy, we’re going to have a ton of heat lamps and portable showers set up. Plus a few food vans and coffee and hot chocolate booths.”

“I’m not so sure Lauren should be involved, actually,” Clint muses tentatively. “She is quite clumsy.”

I throw him a dirty look and pinch his leg, much to my amazement and his.

I can’t believe I just did that and yet it felt so normal. Like I’d done it before, but I know I haven’t.

“I’m not clumsy, Mr. Townsend,” I playfully spur at him.

“Whoa, it’s Mr. Townsend now, Clint. You must have really upset her,” Dana jeers.

“It’s not hard to,” he replies smartly.

“You’re one to talk,” I then scowl, which makes everyone break out in hysterics, including the kids. “But count me in. Bring it on.”

My eyes narrow on Clint defiantly, his face lit up with the same smile that I had seen him give Preston and Emma yesterday when we’d first arrived.

For some reason seeing that smile makes my stomach go aflutter, like I’ve done something that has made him happy and in doing so it’s made me feel happy too.

But I know he’s probably right about the mud run.

I can just picture it now: me stumbling my way through each course…face planting in mud…Clint seeing me at my absolute worst.

But hey, it’s all for a good cause, right?

And like they say, when in Rome…