A Bride for the Black Sheep Brother

Four


Twenty minutes later, Portia was washing down the last bite of her brownie with a healthy sip of red wine. She’d shared the brownie with him. He’d eaten his half in three bites; she had carefully divided hers into tiny cubes and eaten it with her fork. Cooper loved the way she turned eating a brownie into an art.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She paused, fork in her mouth, and then studied him through narrowed eyes as she slowly pulled the fork out. “What you really need to do is bring the board out to this hotel. Show them its potential firsthand.”

“The place is a wreck right now,” he admitted. “I don’t think they’ll get past that.”

“So you make it look like it isn’t a wreck. You feed them good food and drinks. You distract them.”

“You want me to throw a party to convince them?”

“I’m thinking more a snowboarding exhibition, proceeded by a party.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“I’m still mulling.”

“You can’t mull any faster?”

“Not all of us think as fast as you do. Besides—” she glanced at her wrist where a watch would be if she was wearing one “—it’s after eight on Monday night. There’s a whole twelve hours before you could do anything even if I agree. And you’re the one who told me not to appear too desperate.”

She leaned forward and carefully set the fork across her plate before putting the silver dome back over it and nudging the room service tray across the coffee table. There was grace in her every movement. She was a woman made for room service and luxury hotels. Elegance practically seeped from her pores. Beside her he felt like a buffoon.

Watching her eat a brownie—a simple brownie for God’s sake—reminded him of the thousand and one ways she outclassed him. He was used to feeling outclassed. That’s how he’d spent every summer of his youth. He just wasn’t used to wanting the kind of woman who made him feel that way.

“I don’t think I’m the right woman for you,” Portia said, her tone almost distracted.

“What?” He sat up a little straighter.

She frowned, confused for a second, then blushed. “I meant I don’t think I’m the right woman for this job. You should hire a professional party planner. Or possibly an independent consultant. Maybe both.”

“That’s why I’m hiring you. You can do the job of both. I know how flexible you are.”

Her gaze sharpened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He tried to look innocent. “Nothing.”

“Cooper—”

“Just that any woman who can do a headstand in a wedding dress and then walk down the aisle ten minutes later can pull off anything.”

“I can’t believe you brought that up!” she sputtered, burying her face in her palm. “I was hoping you’d forgotten that.”

“Trust me, that’s not the kind of thing a guy forgets. Your legs straight up in the air—”

“Just stop now!”

“Not to mention that cute little pair of underwear with the kitties on them.”

She broke off, her mouth open. “What? My...my cute little...what?”

Her cheeks turned bright pink. As bright as her panties had been.

She looked delightfully flustered. Which was not the end goal, now was it?

If she knew how hot she looked, how much he wanted her, she’d boot him out of her hotel room and refuse to so much as look at him again.

Why had it seemed like a good idea to bring up her panties? Right, because he was going tease her. Playfully.

“Those pink panties of yours. With the little white cat heads on them?”

“My Hello Kitty underwear? You saw my underwear that day?”

“Hey, you were the one doing a headstand.” He shrugged. “What did you call them again?”

“Stop teasing me.”

He leaned a bit closer and caught a faint whiff of her scent, a combination of something light and pepperminty mingled with warm chocolate brownie. “I happen to think you could do with a lot more teasing.”

She glared at him, but there was no real annoyance in her expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“People tend to take you entirely too seriously.”

“That’s not true at all. I’m a socialite. I spend my life doing volunteer work, shopping and lunching. No one takes me seriously.”

“You’re the daughter of a senator and part of one of the most influential families in the state. I suspect everyone takes you seriously.” Something sad and shuttered flickered through her eyes, and he added, “Whether you want them to or not.”

But she seemed to shake it off and said with mock severity, “Well, you should take this very seriously—don’t tease me about my Hello Kitty underwear. She’s a beloved cultural icon.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I promise. From here on out, Hello Kitty is off-limits. Now, do you agree to help me?”

“And if I do this, you’ll really help me track down the heiress? And you’ll stay in contact with her? Make sure she gets settled into her new life?”

“Yes, I will.”

She eyed him again. “I can’t make any promises. I can’t promise that I can convince the board of anything. All I can do is try.”

“I understand that.”

“And I certainly can’t promise that this hotel of yours will be a success.”

“You don’t have to promise me that.” He grinned. “I know it will be.”

She leaned forward then and set her wineglass on the coffee table. “Has it occurred to you that you could just do this yourself?”

“Do what?”

“Get financing on your own. Buy Beck’s Lodge. Start a whole new company that’s independent of Flight+Risk. You could do that.”

“I don’t want to do that. I started Flight+Risk. It’s my company. The board should trust me. They should trust my judgment.”

“So basically, you’re just being stubborn?”

“No, I’m—” Then he paused, tilted his head a little to the side as if considering the matter and ultimately smiled. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“So this is worth it for you? Spending all this time and energy just to prove to your board that your idea is valid?”

“Yes, damn it.” Somehow he managed to smile while conveying the depth of his conviction.

He was so sure of himself. So completely confident that she couldn’t help but be drawn in by it. Still, did he know why he was really doing this? Did he get it?

She’d done the research on his board over the years—it wasn’t just nosiness on her part. With all the fund-raising she did, she considered it part of her job to know as much as possible about everyone and who their connections where. The curse of being a politician’s daughter, she supposed. Of course, at some point, mere research had been eclipsed by her natural fascination with complex human relationships.


Robertson had been a member of the board since Flight+Risk went public. He had the perfect background for the position and Cooper had chosen the man himself. Despite that, they had a history of clashing over the direction of the company. Cooper was a natural risk taker and he just couldn’t resist rebelling against authority, even when that authority was his own board.

Still, it didn’t take a degree in psychology to figure out the real reason he was desperate to get their approval for his pet project. Several members, Robertson in particular, were men of Hollister’s generation. In fact, Robertson might as well have been Hollister; the only difference was that he’d made his name in retail instead of oil. Yes, this was a matter of pride for Cooper, but it was also deeply personal. He didn’t just want the board’s approval. He wanted his father’s.

But Hollister was an ass and that bridge had burned down long ago, ignited from both ends. Cooper could never earn his father’s approval. Hell, he could never even ask for it. But he could damn well get the board’s support if he tried hard enough.

And, she supposed, she might as well help him get it. “If you really want the board to buy into the idea, you don’t sell it to them directly. You find outside investors.”

“Flight+Risk doesn’t need more investors. We’ve got the money and the line of credit. I just need the board’s approval.”

“I know. That’s what I’m saying. If you want to get their approval, the way to do that is to convince them that you don’t need them. That you have other people interested in investing. Not in Flight+Risk, but you personally.”

“So I sell them on the idea by not selling them on the idea?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay. How do I do that?”

“Well, we talked about inviting the board up to the resort and show them how much potential it has, right?”

“Yeah. Once they see the powder—”

“No, they don’t need to see the powder. If your board is like every other board of directors I’ve ever met, they don’t snowboard. Maybe a couple of them ski. They’re in their sixties. They’ve got power and money, but they’re not athletes.”

He smiled wryly. “You realize you’re making sweeping generalizations about people you’ve never met, right?”

“Am I wrong?”

“No.”

“Okay, so just accept that they don’t care about the powder. None of the investors will. All they’ll care about is whether the snowboarders—the potential clients—care about the powder. So you invite every snowboarder you know out for an exhibition. You plan a fabulous weekend to woo the investors.”

“And I invite the board members.”

She cocked her head to the side, considering. “No, not right away. Remember what you said before? About not seeming desperate? That’s what we’re going for here. We want them to think that you can make a go of this without Flight+Risk. You don’t pander to them. You invite other people. Rich, important people. People involved in real-estate investment. That type.” She thought for a moment and added, “Preferably people who know a few of the board members. What you want is for the word to spread to them via some other source. You want to make this seem like such a sweet deal that the board comes to you. And in order for that to happen, you have to make them think you don’t need them at all.”

He nearly laughed. “Well, that’s easy. Not needing people is one of the things I do best.”

She gave a bark of laughter. “See, you’re a Cain after all.” Then she tilted her head to the side and asked, “Has it occurred to you that the easiest way to get the money isn’t to convince the board at all? It isn’t even to find investors.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. The easiest way to get the money for this project would be for you to just find Ginger and win this damn challenge your father set up.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand. “I know you don’t really want the money, but I also know that Griffin and Dalton have both told your father that if either of them win, they’re still splitting it three ways. Or rather four ways, since Ginger will get her share, too. Even if you only take a quarter of the money, you’d still have enough to buy this hotel or a hundred hotels.”

“You don’t get it. I don’t want a penny of that man’s money. Ever.”

“So what are you going to do once we track down Ginger? When the DNA test confirms she’s Hollister’s daughter—”

“If the test confirms it.”

Portia shook her head. “No. It will confirm it. I’m sure. She looks just like a Cain. When you see her, you’ll know what I mean.” She said it with so much conviction, even he was starting to believe this woman Portia had stumbled across might be the heiress. “So what are you going to do with the money?”

He shrugged. “Give it to Caro, like you suggested.”

“Even if she’s thrilled about screwing over Hollister, I doubt she’ll take all the money. There’s bound to be some left over. Easily enough for this.”

“I’ll convince her,” he said grimly.

“You claim you don’t want it, but are you really going to walk away from hundreds of millions of dollars?”

“Dalton and Griffin can keep the money. So can this girl, if she wants it.”

“This girl who’s your sister.”

He narrowed his gaze.

“I’m just saying. Because I’ve never heard you actually call her your sister.”

“Your point?”

“I just want to make sure you remember that. She’s your sister. And she needs you. That should matter to you.”

Then she leaned forward slightly and for a second she was close enough he got hit with the scent of her, sweet and fresh. Suddenly he was aware all over again how scantily dressed she was. And that they were alone. And that the last thing he wanted to be doing was talking about his stupid family crap.

“I know you don’t get along with the other Cains,” she said. “But you might decide Ginger is different. You might actually like her.”

He didn’t quite know what to say to that. He wasn’t in the market for a sister. He didn’t particularly want the family he already had. Still, part of him knew that Portia was right. He might actually like this girl. And she would undoubtedly have a hard time of it. In all honesty, the best thing for Ginger would probably be to live out her life without ever knowing who her father was. But there was no way that would happen. Eventually Dalton or Griffin would hunt her down.

Whether he wanted the money or not, maybe finding her first would be the best for everyone. Just so long as it didn’t take too much of his time or energy.

This Beck’s Lodge deal was his top priority. Flight+Risk was his top priority pretty much always. He didn’t need any distractions—not the kind a sister would provide and not the kind Portia would provide, either.

But Portia wasn’t interested in him. Not really. Yes, she probably felt that spark of attraction that he felt, but he wasn’t even sure if she’d admitted that to herself yet. And she wasn’t the kind of girl who would ever act on that attraction.

There were rich women who played with professional athletes like it was a hobby. Something they did in their spare time. Portia wasn’t that kind of woman. Headstand or not, she was better than a quick and mindless affair. And if he slipped up and made a pass at her, she would bolt. And as of right now, she was too important to him to scare off. He needed her. If he was going to pull this off, he needed her. Badly.


A fact he’d have to remind himself of constantly when they worked together. Which was probably why he shouldn’t be lounging around in her hotel room late at night.

He stood. “I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning and take you out to Beck’s Lodge.”

She frowned, using her phone to check the time. “How long will the trip take? I’d rescheduled my flight to Tahoe for tomorrow afternoon.”

“Just give me all day tomorrow.” That would give him all of tomorrow to convince her to stay much longer.