Page 4 of My Cowboy Valentine

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that, which has something to do with what I told Malia. I’m sure you’re already pulling your PR team together to write some strongly worded statement about the inaccuracies of her story. But you might want to look at the investors we have lined up before you cut off your nose to spite your face. I’m sending you an email now.”

Snorting at his words, I open a new browser window. “Which email address are you sending it to?” I’ve lost count of how many I have.

“Your personal account. You know, with your former married name.”

He’s trying to piss me off now. He knows I hate that name and any reminders of my former life. But he loves using it to remind me of the biggest, most public failure I’ve experiencedto date. I should have gotten rid of the account as soon as the divorce was finalized six months ago. But I still receive enough important messages there to keep it on life support.

My ex said I was a workaholic…that he came second to The Red Brand. Of course, he did. Especially after he started fooling around publicly, making me his last and least favorite priority… An inveterate narcissist, he refused to divorce me until he milked me for every financial drop I was worth… But then, a little over six months ago, he showed up out of the blue with signed paperwork. Even better, he’s remained no-contact ever since. An unexpected blessing.

I press my fingertip to the button, unlocking my passwords and selecting the correct username from the drop-down menu. Once inside, I open the email, double-clicking on the attached Excel spreadsheet. It opens onto a who’s-who of big-wig celebrities and investors. The numbers by each name sit in the six and seven figures, and I gulp at the total near the bottom.

“There’s no way,” I hiss.

He chuckles. “I knew money would make you listen.”

“This is not possible. Not for a podunk Western wear brand backed by two defunct rodeo stars.”

“Okay, you’re definitely going to need to keep your mouth shut in the boardroom with an elevator speech like that. Damn, girl. That’s downright depressing. Fortunately, Rowdy’s good at doing the talking.”

“Since when?” I ask caustically. The last time I saw Rowdy, four Christmases ago, he barely said three words to me. He’s the epitome of the strong, silent type.

I’m genuinely curious to have Billy answer my question, but he ignores me. “For someone who claims to have her pulse on the latest fashion trends, big-city living has dulled your senses. Don’t you keep up with all the cowboy movies and TV shows these days? Or the resurgence of Country music? Cowboys areking, big sis, and Jameson & Cash is poised to ride the hell out of it. And by the way, Rowdy and I stopped rodeoing at the top of our game and the top of the leaderboard, not as de… What did you call us?”

“Defunct,” I sigh, my eyes glued to the numbers. “If cowboys are king, and I’m so out of touch, why do you need me?”

“We need your street cred, and you need our vision.”

I laugh so uncontrollably that I choke on my own spit.

“Have you seen the value of Red shares lately? Do I need to mention your last round of reviews from Fashion Week? You may have been everyone’s it girl a couple of years ago. But now you’re a brand trending into irrelevancy.”

He’s right, which pisses me off to no end. “You’re the last person on this planet who should talk about fashion trends.”

“Apple Bottom Jeans…”

“What does that mean?”

“Candies… Bugle Boy…”

Fury grips me as he taunts me with once iconic brands. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Go to the third tab of the spreadsheet, where you’ll see Jameson & Cash’s current valuation.”

Begrudgingly, I follow his instructions, wheezing at the figure. “Who did your numbers?”

“The report has our accounting firm listed at the top. Look them up on the Better Business Bureau if you don’t believe me.”

My eyes flicker to the company’s name, and I press my lips tightly together. Everything looks legit.

“If all of this is true, and that’s a big ‘if’ that will require more investigation on my part, what do I get for bringing you under the Red umbrella?”

“Not under the Red umbrella, sis. I’m talking about a partnership... See, here’s the thing. I’m kind of over the whole fashion industry. It’s way too much fucking work. After all, youonly have one life, and time is a resource you can’t get back no matter how much money you stockpile. You and Rowdy don’t seem to get that, although I hope someday you’ll see the cosmic joke before it’s too late. But I refuse to be a sucker, so I’ve relocated and plan on opening a little island bar. That’s it. I want out, and so I’m offering you my half of the company for a stake in your future profits.”

My eyes narrow. “What kind of stake?”

“Let our lawyers hash out what’s fair, sis. I’m not trying to screw you, and I hope you haven’t been in the City so long you’d screw me over, either. I want a passive source of income to support my island lifestyle.”

“You’re being too nice…” This makes me even more nervous.

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