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This is what I wanted, so why was the idea of working with this woman repulsive?
“First things first, we need an airport here. Can’t schlepp two hours from Aspen to get here.” Piper picked up a glass of champagne when a server walked by.
The waiter stopped by me, and I shook my head. I didn’t want to drink, not right now, with these piranhas waiting to tear me apart limb by limb if I gave them a chance. I was distracted enough by the burying of myfather, hurting the love of my life, and watching my mother swan around like this was her fucking coming-out party as a respectable widow.
“I’m honored.” I may be feeling like shit, but I knew how this was done. It was like riding a bicycle—it was muscle memory. “How long are you in Wildflower Canyon?”
"Until tomorrow afternoon.” She swirled the wine in her glass, and bubbles shot up. "Kaz Chase has been kind enough to host me at his house while I’m here. Have you seen what he’s done with the place?"
I knew exactly what he’d done with it—Hunt had told me in great detail. Kaz had bought up ten-thousand acres of prime land, ripped out the working cattle operation, and turned it into some high-end, glorified playground—hunting, private lodges, a place for men with too much money to pretend they knew a damn thing about ranching.
Now,Iwas starting to sound like Nash.
I took a slow sip of whiskey. "Yeah. I’ve seen it."
She smiled. "Then you know he has a vision, which is also mine."
“I suggest breakfast at Blackwood Prime,” Fiona said smoothly. “Should we say around nine?”
“Sounds good,” Piper replied, but she looked at me as if she could see that I was having doubts. “Kaz will be with me.”
“The more the merrier.” I looked her in the eye and let her see what I wanted her to see.Avarice!
I met with more people and then some more—Fionaleading the way, ensuring that I locked in about two weeks’ worth of meetings in one afternoon at my father’s fucking wake.
I couldn’t wait for people to get the hell out of the house, I thought as I watched a group of white-haired, pot-bellied men on the back terrace, talking about investments and tax benefits, about how much land would be worth oncethe right peopletook control.
I was sick of all of it, I realized—and probably had been for a long time but hadn’t noticed, or allowed myself to feel it until the crisp air of Colorado thrummed through my arteries.
There were air kisses and handshakes that meant nothing. Men who had never set foot on a ranch talked about developing the land like a portfolio instead of the wild terrain it was.
I looked down at my glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the dim light. I’d been nursing this for the past two hours. There was a hollowness in my stomach, and every time I closed my eyes, the words “My father is dead” screamed in my mind.
I knew that everything in my world was a performance, and I’d been playing my part for so long that I wasn’t sure if I even knew where the act ended and I began.
I should’ve been mingling, talking numbers, securing the right deals, but I told Fiona I’d had enough, and she said she understood, but I knew she didn’t. She believed my bullshit that I didn’t care about my father or his home, that I didn’t give two fucks about the ranch. I couldn’tblame her. After all, I’d believed my own bullshit, hadn’t I?
“Baby, isn’t everything wonderful?” Mama snuggled up to me, and I slid an arm around her frail, petite body.
Wonderful? Woman, your husband is fucking dead, for the love of everything holy.
“Yes, Mama.”
“Itzel did a great job arranging everything.”
It wasn’t Itzel. It was Elena, I’d learned, but I didn’t disabuse Mama of that notion. She’d lose her shit, and I’d have to be around listening to her cry for hours straight while she talked about how she wished she was dead, how she wished I hadn’t saved her.
Did I think my mother manipulated me with that shit? Yeah, I knew she did. But the fact was that she was not able to handle the realities of life and lived in a bubble. I’d keep her there for the rest of her life because she was my mother, and despite all her failings, I loved her very much.
My unease grew as she droned on about meaningless nonsense—how incredible the canapés were, especially the Wagyu beef ones. But her words barely registered because she didn’t have my attention. I was looking forhereven though I had told her not to come, told her she wasn’t invited.
Yet, I searched the room, waiting for a glimpse of dark hair, a sharp mouth, and that familiar defiance in her chocolate-brown eyes.
Her not being here shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. Of all the people at the house, including me, Elenawas the only one who seemed to be genuinely grieving Nash Wilder.
Unable to stand it any longer, I left the ranch house before I could talk myself out of it (or Fiona stopped me), shedding some of the grief of losing a parent with every step across the darkened yard.
I went to the bunkhouse, looking forher, though Hunt had told me Elena had taken the day off and gone to some cabin owned by Maverick Kincaid.