Rebound (Boomerang #2)(23)

I beckon to my father, and he comes over, already shaking his head.

“Not this one, Ali,” he says softly. He frowns sympathetically, but the regret doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “His owner lost the other one. Thinks they might have some kind of anemia, too. It’s going to be too much to care for him. And you’re going to be too busy with Blackwood and our investment.”

“I’ve got Joaquin to help,” I protest. “And I can take care of him in the evenings and on weekends. Let me at least try. I can pay for it out of my own money.”

“Need I remind you that your money is my money?”

“No,” I say quietly. “But this is a young horse, Dad. He just needs a little care. You’ll make back your money. I’m sure of it.”

“That’s what you said about Persephone.”

“And I’m still sure of her, too.”

“Alison, you need to have your head in the game. I’m trusting your judgment where this Blackwood is concerned. And your judgment’s still on probation. We’re not talking about pocket change here.”

I’ve lost track of whether we’re talking about Suede or Adam, so I split the difference. “I promise you I can handle both.”

“If that’s the case,” he says, “you’ll have to bring me something meatier than the same obvious financials I can dig up for myself. I need to know about Blackwood, the man. Is he stable? What are his habits? I have Simon and Nancy to give me the dry basics. I need you to go deeper.”

I’m glad the building is dark, so my father can’t see me blush.

“What do you mean?”

“You need to suss out his character, not his ledger. Get personal.” He rests a hand on Suede’s flank, and the horse shudders. “Something scared those investors away, and it’s not the way he does business.”

“Adam said he turned them down because they wanted too much control.”

“Well, that’s his story. But there’s more there. I know it.” He leans against a post and scrapes mud out of his shoe with a stick. “We’ll be out on the boat all day on Sunday. That means cocktails. Getting loose.”

“Dad.”

He sighs. “I’m not asking you to drug and seduce him, for Christ’s sake. Just look for inroads. This isn’t throwing around money, Alison,” he says. “We have to use our heads. And protect the family interests above all. You get that, right?”

I nod. “I get it. And I’ll take care of it. I promise.”

“All right. We’ll give this a try.” He turns to Hance and says, “We’ll take him and all the tack and other equipment you have for him. I’m not paying for a sick horse, but I’ll give you eight hundred for the supplies, and you can throw Suede in for free.” He holds out his hand. “Deal?”

The old man gives my father a vigorous handshake. “Deal.”

But my father’s expression as he looks over Hance’s shoulder tells me that the deal’s really between the two of us, and he expects me to deliver.





Chapter 12



Adam


The blender is going on Sunday morning when I step into the kitchen.

Rhett stands beside my brother, dumping protein powder into the glass pitcher by the shovel-full. He wanted ten minutes to go over some changes to this year’s team-building retreat.

We’ve been slammed at the office, and with the Quick Investment team there, I’ve had even less time during the week than normal. Rhett was doing a ten-mile run this morning on Zuma Beach, so I told him to stop by afterward.

Because it’s Rhett, he’s already showered in the guest bath, cleaned up the kitchen and brought in yesterday’s mail and set it on the counter. Brooks—my best friend, ex-roommate, and partner in Blackwood Films—is the same way, totally at home here. Always coming and going. I wonder sometimes why I have locks on the doors.

Rhett shuts the blender off when he sees me.

“Morning, Adam! I thought I’d make you guys some delicious breakfast shakes.”

“Hey, Rhett. Morning.” Grey is leaning on the counter beside him. He has his favorite Union Jack t-shirt on, and he’s in jeans, which he doesn’t wear unless he’s leaving the house or just returning. “Did you just roll in?”

Grey takes down half of his smoothie in two gulps. “About half an hour ago.”

He’s been hitting clubs and bars since he was seventeen. He has a fake ID but, at six foot two, ripped, and inked up, he never gets carded.

“To be young and single again,” Rhett says, but he’s grinning and doesn’t mean a word of it. I’ll be shocked if he and Raylene haven’t tied the knot by this time next year. He grabs glasses for me and him and brings the shakes to the table.

“What are we discussing this morning, gentlemen?” Grey says, in his version of a businessman’s voice. Apparently, in his mind all businessmen have bad British accents.

“The marketing retreat in Jackson Hole,” Rhett replies.

“Which I get to go to this year, correct?” Grey says.

“Wrong,” Rhett and I say together.

“Bloody bollocks!”

“I think ‘bloody hell’ is what you’re going for.”