The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(35)

“No.” She tugged her arm free. “Stop asking me. Find someone else to point out your flaws, like your assistant or manager or any random person you encounter on the street.”

“I’m not asking random people, and I don’t have an assistant. My business manager would never be honest.” He’d think I’d fire him like I had my assistant. To be fair, I’d fired a lot of assistants. Seven in the last five years. All but one had been because of a confidentiality breach. The latest because he’d been a thief. “You’re the only one who will tell me the truth.”

“Pierce would.”

“Pierce likes me. You don’t.”

Her mouth pursed in a thin line as the other women from yoga streamed out of The Refinery. We waited for them to pass, Nellie offering a small smile, then when we were alone again, her scowl returned.

“Tell me,” I ordered. “Come on. This should be fun for you.”

“You’re right.” She tapped her chin. “This is fun. Okay. I hate how you play a fool.”

“Huh? What does that mean?”

“Remember that charity event we went to last year? At the Denver Art Museum?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Pierce had asked if I’d go in his place because I’d been home that weekend—a trip to see Mom for her birthday. He’d bought a table for Grays Peak and had planned to fly down from Montana to attend, but Elias had gotten sick, so he’d stayed in Calamity.

Nellie had been none too thrilled when I’d waltzed into the gala wearing a tux and sat in the chair beside hers. God, she’d looked beautiful that night, wearing a slinky golden dress with matching heels. I’d hoped to peel the gown off her later, but before they’d even served dessert, she’d excused herself to the ladies’ room and had never returned.

“How did I ‘play a fool’?” I asked. She was the only person on earth who could frustrate me enough to use air quotes.

“All night long, the conversation was about business. Who was investing in this and that. It was like a wallet-measuring contest.”

“And I should have whipped out my fat wallet and slapped it on the table?”

“No. Actually, I was impressed that you didn’t.”

“Okay,” I drawled.

“We were eating dinner and the guy next to me leaned forward to ask if you’d invested in anything noteworthy in Nashville. Do you remember what you told him? You said you spent your money on hookers and blow.”

“It was a joke, Nellie.” The whole table had laughed. They’d known it was a joke.

“Yeah, it was a joke. And it was you, acting like the dumb jock.”

Fuck, I hated those two words. I’d hated hearing them from her mouth at fourteen and I hated hearing them at thirty-three. They were still her default insult, and damn, if they didn’t hit dead on target.

“You have at least ten silent partnerships around the country,” she said. “Restaurants. Hotels. Small businesses. And those are just the investments you’ve made through Grays Peak. I suspect you have more.”

Her suspicions were correct. Though most of my portfolio was with Grays Peak. Whenever Pierce had a new opportunity pop up that he thought I might be interested in, he’d send me the details. It almost always ended with me writing a check.

The business manager I employed was responsible for overseeing my involvement. And he oversaw the millions I gave to various charities every year. Nellie wouldn’t know about those donations. I gave it all anonymously because I didn’t need to be invited to functions and fundraisers. I didn’t want thank-you cards and plaques with my name on them.

“I don’t want people in my business.” Especially rich people who had no qualms about asking me for money. It was easier to blow them off at the start. “Is that a crime?”

“You wouldn’t have had to go into the specifics at that dinner. You could have been vague and still showed that table you aren’t just good at a game. That you have more than two brain cells to rub together.”

“Are you kidding?” I scoffed. “So you hate me because I made a joke, then kept my private business private?”

“No.” She raised her chin. “I hate you for pretending. For perpetrating this moronic, playboy image.”

I stepped closer. “Are you sure it’s an image? Maybe it’s exactly who I am.” The dumb jock.

“Then I guess I’ve got another reason to hate you.” She took a step away, then she was gone, storming down the sidewalk that would take her home.

Fuck. What was wrong with me? I scrubbed a hand over my face, watching as she jogged across First. Then I unglued my feet and climbed into my car, retreating to the safety of my Winnebago.

The diary—that fucking diary—got left in the car.





CHAPTER TEN





NELLIE





There was something reassuring about watching Dad mow my lawn. Like even if a storm brewed on the horizon, it would pass. The sun would shine again.

“He doesn’t need to do that,” I told Mom.

She joined me at the living room window, a glass of iced tea in her hand. “You know how he is.”

I smiled and leaned my head on her shoulder. “Yeah, I do.”