Page 316 of The Donovan Dynasty

If it had been his choice, he’d have stayed in Houston to work on the Newman Inland Marine deal.It was getting close to crunch time.He was sleeping fewer and fewer hours, fueled by the challenges and opportunities.It was heady stuff.To him, it was like a drug.And he was all but shaking with the need for his fix.

As if on cue to save him, a server passed by, bearing a variety of wines all from locally grown grapes.

“Don’t mind if I do.”He snagged a glass of something red.

“Glad we didn’t burn the ranch house down?”

At the words, he turned to see his sister, Erin.“It’s not too late, is it?”he asked.

“Stop it, you cheapskate.This is fun.”

“Fun?”Maybe to some people it was.

“Sofia did a hell of a job.”

Even he had to admit that, despite the exorbitant cost.He’d secretly scoffed at her idea of erecting tents on the grounds.He’d even wondered aloud if the whole thing were a circus.

But the inside didn’t resemble a tent.The thing was massive, had windows, tables, a dance floor, French doors and, blessedly, air conditioning.She’d even managed to get the Matthew Martin band to interrupt a nationwide tour to provide entertainment.It was world-class, from covers to their own top-ten hits, ballads to country swing, and they’d even managed a few obligatory line dances.Not bad for a band that had won country music’s most prestigious award three out of the last five years.

“Granddaddy says this will be good for business.”

“Not sure how that’s possible when we’re locked out of the Wi-Fi.”

“For Christ’s sake, Nathan.You won’t die without your phone.Have you always been such a bore?I used to enjoy hanging out with you.”She frowned.“At least I think I did.Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me.”

Sometime during the evening, she’d ditched her shoes.Her hair was piled on top of her head and she’d woven some small white flowers through the strands.

She’d chosen an interesting outfit, a short leather skirt and a black corset.Of course.“Dressed to spite me?”

“Please.”She rolled her eyes.“Get it through your thick skull.Not everything is about you.”

This was an old argument.He and Erin saw financials differently.She insisted he was overly cautious, to the point of being out of step and stuffy.He didn’t mind the accusation.When his father had died, Connor had inherited a company headed toward disaster.Nathan had seen how close the Donovans were to losing the hard-fought legacy that had been handed down through the generations.When he’d been appointed CFO, he’d vowed to be a good steward so that future Donovans would have something to be proud of.

Erin preferred to live for the moment, determined to do what good she could for the world.She was a dreamer.He was a planner.And when she’d approached him to invest in her friend’s corset store, he’d refused.

Undaunted, she’d used money from her own trust fund to help her friend.

“So, do you like it?”she asked, interrupting his musings.

“Like what?”

“The outfit.”She spun.“I’m modeling it.”

“You’re what?”

“Helping visibility of the shop by showing how versatile the piece is.It can be worn anywhere, even a fancy event.Corsets are not just for the bedroom.”

“They should be.”Or a BDSM club, which was where he preferred them.He loved lacing a submissive into one, cinching it tight so he could enjoy looking at her cleavage.

Erin smacked his arm.

“And the necklace…?Are you also modeling it?”

“Oh, this?”She touched the exquisite—and if he didn’t miss his guess, fucking expensive—teardrop pendant.“No.This was retail therapy.”

“Was there a reason you dropped money on an extravagant piece of jewelry?”She’d inherited a treasure trove full of stuff from their great-grandmother.Surely she could have just reset some of those stones.

“I bought it right after Connor’s wedding reception,” she answered vaguely.