Flawless (Chestnut Springs, #1)(2)
Rhett stepped up on a fence, glancing back over his shoulder at the camera. Open land behind him, a warm setting sun. A flirty smirk on his lips, eyes partially obscured by a worn cowboy hat, and the pièce de résistance . . . Wrangler jeans that hugged all the best parts.
So yeah, I know little about bull riding. But I know I spent an awful lot of time staring at that photo. The land. The light. It drew me in. It wasn’t just the guy. It made me want to be there, watching that sunset for myself.
“George, do you know how much that milk sponsorship he just flushed down the toilet was worth? Not to mention all the other sponsors whose balls I’ll be fondling to smooth this shit over?”
I swear to God I almost snort. George. I know my dad well enough to know that he’s aware it’s the wrong name, but it’s also a test to see if Geoff has the cojones to say anything. From what I gather, it’s not always a walk in the park working with entitled athletes and celebrities. I can already tell the guy beside me is going to struggle.
“Um . . .” He flips through the binder on the boardroom table in front of him, and I let my gaze linger out the floor-to-ceiling windows. The ones that offer sweeping views out over the Alberta prairies. From the 30th floor of this building, the view over Calgary is unparalleled. The snow-capped Rocky Mountains off in the distance are like a painting—it never gets old.
“The answer is tens of millions, Greg.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from chuckling. I like Geoff, and my dad is being a total dick, but after years of being on the spot in this same way, it’s amusing to see someone else flounder the way I have in the past.
God knows my sister, Winter, was never on the receiving end of this kind of grilling. She and Kip have a different relationship than mine with our father. With me, he’s playful and shoots from the hip; with her, he stays almost professional. I think she likes that better anyway.
Geoff looks over at me with a flat smile.
I’ve seen that expression on people’s faces at work many times. It says, Must be nice to be the boss’s little girl. It says, How’s that nepotism treating ya? But I’m trained to take this kind of lashing. My skin is thicker. My give-a-fuck meter is less attuned. I know that in fifteen minutes, Kip Hamilton will crack jokes and be smiling. That perfect veneer he uses to suck up to clients will quickly slip back into place.
The man is a master, even if a bit of a weasel. But I think that comes with the territory of wheeling and dealing the contracts he does as a top-tier talent agent.
If I’m being honest, I’m still not so sure I’m cut out to be working here. Not sure I really want to. But it’s always seemed like the right thing to do. I owe my dad that much.
“So, the question is, kids—how does one go about fixing this? I’ve got the Dairy King milk sponsorship hanging by a thread. I mean, a fucking professional bull rider just slammed his entire base. Farmers? Dairy producers? It seems like it shouldn’t matter, but people are going to talk. They’re going to put him under a microscope, and I don’t think they’ll love what they see. This will dent the idiot’s bottom line more than you’d think. And his bottom line is my bottom line, because this nutjob makes us all a lot of money.”
“How did the first recording even get out?” I ask, forcing my brain back onto the task at hand.
“A local station left their camera running.” My dad scrubs a hand over his clean-shaven chin. “Caught the whole damn thing and then subtitled it and ran it on the evening news.”
“Okay, so he needs to apologize,” Geoff tosses out.
My dad rolls his eyes at the generic solution. “He’s gonna need to do a hell of a lot more than apologize. I mean, he needs a bullet-proof plan for what’s left of the season. He’s got a couple of months until the World Championships in Vegas. We’re gonna need to polish up that cowboy hat halo before then. Or other sponsors are going to drop like flies too.”
I tap my pen against my lips, mind racing with what we could do to help salvage this situation. Of course, I have next to no experience, so I stick to leading questions. “So, he needs to be seen as the charming, wholesome country boy next door?”
My dad barks out a loud laugh, his hands coming to brace against the boardroom table across from us as he leans down. Geoff flinches, and I roll my eyes. Pussy.
“That right there is the issue. Rhett Eaton is not the wholesome country boy next door. He’s a cocky cowboy that parties too hard and has hordes of women throwing themselves at him every weekend. And he’s not mad about it. It hasn’t been an issue before, but they’ll pick apart anything they can now. Like fucking vultures.”
I quirk an eyebrow and lean back. Rhett is an adult, and surely, with an explanation of what’s on the line, he can hold it together. After all, he pays for the company to manage this stuff for him. “So, he can’t be on his best behavior for a couple of months?”
My dad drops his head with a deep chuckle. “Summer, this man’s version of good behavior will not cut it.”
“You’re acting as if he’s some sort of wild animal, Kip.” I learned the hard way not to call him Dad at work. He’s still my boss, even if we carpool together at the end of each day. “What does he need? A babysitter?”
The room is quiet for several beats while my dad stares at the tabletop between his hands. Eventually, his fingers tap the surface of it—something he does when he’s deep in thought. A habit I’ve picked up from him over the years. His almost black eyes lift, and a wolfish grin takes over his entire face.