Brand (The Donovan Dynasty) Page 4

  “But I’ll also provide options for music, entertainment, videographers, that sort of thing.”

  “So why would I pay you?” he asked.

  “Peace of mind. I imagine there are a dozen things you do better than anyone else on the planet. Which means you have no time to be a party planner. It would be a waste of your time and energy. Why should you wonder if the caterer has enough chairs for all of your guests to sit on, or enough napkins for dinner and dessert? The truth is, you don’t have any idea of all the things you need to be concerned about. Because you’re related to Lara, I’m happy to give you a crash course, but I know how big your ranch is. It takes a lot of energy. You don’t have time to arrange an event. And you don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night thinking about the details.”

  Plenty of things kept him up. And he could add tantalizing thoughts of her to the mix.

  “Of course, you could choose a different event planner, but the truth is, almost no one else in South Texas is as big as Encore. They will end up getting most of their hard goods from us. So, you’d be paying more for markups, as well.”

  He appreciated her businesslike approach. “That’s a hell of a sales pitch.”

  “It’s not a sales pitch. Frankly, we don’t need the business and my guess is, because of the remoteness and the fact the celebration wasn’t your idea, the timeframe and the lack of a guest list, working with you would be a significant pain in the ass, enough so that I’d probably add a Pain in the Ass Fee to the bid.”

  “Are you always so blunt?”

  “You’ve already been quite nosy. Why shouldn’t we be forthright?”

  “You’ve got a point.”

  “Besides, I prefer the word direct over blunt. But I was right, wasn’t I?”

  “About me being a pain in the ass?”

  “As I said earlier, I’ve heard of your reputation. You’re not an easy man to work for. Exacting. Unforgiving.”

  His ego suddenly felt a little bruised. “You also said you’d heard some good stuff.”

  “That was the good stuff.”

  He winced.

  “I think you intimidate some people.”

  “But not you?”

  She hesitated for just a moment. “On a personal level, yes.”

  Her honesty impressed him.

  After a little breath, she went on, “But when it comes to business, I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Is that confidence or recklessness speaking?”

  “Confidence. I don’t leave things to chance. We handle multiple events every week. On the Gulf Coast, we arrange corporate dinner cruises, organize a yearly rodeo and we’re the company of choice at the biggest events center in Corpus Christi. All of that means we have relationships with the vendors in the area. We work with them, we know their strengths. Better yet, we know who to steer clear of. I know which pieces of the contracts are negotiable. I can get you people who might already be booked.”

  “The party isn’t until fall.”

  “Weddings are often scheduled a year in advance. You’ve actually started planning this at least six months too late.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I can make up the lost time, though, and I have some pull with local musicians like the Matthew Martin band.”

  Even he’d heard of them. The country-and-western group had recently won a prestigious award and were in the middle of a nationwide tour. “You can get them?”

  “If you want them, yes. They will reschedule for me. I can give you a not-to-exceed budget and we can pay all the other contractors so that you only write two checks, one for a deposit and another at the completion of the event.”

  He glanced around and hooked a thumb toward the clubhouse. “Do you always give this kind of service?”

  “Encore does, yes. I don’t attend all the events. We have a well-trained staff, so I usually attend the more complicated ones.”

  That appealed to him. “Do you offer net terms?”

  “I prefer not to. Our top clients get three days, max,” she replied.

  “Three days it is. Any discount for payment at time of service?”

  “Never.”

  He raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t relent. “Are you expensive?”

  “Very.”

  Her answer was so fast that he knew the answer to his next question before he even asked it. “Are you worth it?”

  “Every penny.”

  “I like your style.” He took out his business card and offered it to her.

  She slid it in her pocket without glancing at the information. “I’ll be in Corpus this Tuesday and Wednesday. Would you like to set up an appointment? I’d like to see the ranch, the facilities and any amenities so that I can get some ideas going for you. I know you’re busy, so if you can have someone show me around, that would be fine. But if you’re planning to hire us, the sooner we sign the contract, the better.”

  When he wanted something, he went after it. He saw the same resolve in the set of Sofia’s shoulders and he admired it. “Tuesday afternoon is fine.”

  “Three? At the ranch?”

  “Contact me and I’ll send you detailed instructions. One point of clarity. You said you typically handle the more complicated events.”

  She nodded.

  “I want you to personally handle this event.”

  “Of course.”

  “When I call, I want you to answer.” Then he clarified, “Not an assistant. I want you to select all the vendors and make sure the food is perfect.”

  “That’s not the way we do things.” She smoothed her hand down her skirt. “I generally allocate my time between the three offices, and my home is here in Houston.”

  “Your point being?”

  “You’re already a pain in the ass, Mr. Donovan. I assure you that Encore has a very capable team. The Corpus Christi project manager is wonderful, and our foreman has been with the company since its inception. I’m happy to check in on progress during our weekly staff meetings, and I receive daily status reports, and of course I’ll be at the event itself. You’ll be well taken care of.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Is there a part of what I want that’s unclear?”

  She exhaled and met his gaze. “I understood what you said. But that’s a level of service that’s unreasonable. It’s not something we’re set up to offer.”

  “So add it.”

  “Mr. Donovan—”

  “Cade.”

  As if he hadn’t spoken, she went on, “You may need a smaller company, one that has time to give you what you need.”

  He continued to meet her stare. “I think I was clear. I want you, Sofia.”

  Silence hung, stretched, grew taut. Finally, finally, she exhaled. “If I have to oversee everything, it will cost you more. A lot more.”

  “I’m always willing to pay for excellence.” He extended his hand. “Do we have a deal or not?”

  “After you sign the contract,” she hedged.

  “But we have a verbal agreement to meet and proceed.”

  “We don’t need to shake hands on that.”

  “Perhaps I prefer to do business the old-fashioned way.” And perhaps he wanted to know if she felt as soft and feminine as he imagined.

  She regarded him for several seconds.

  “It’s going to be a pleasure to work with you.”

  “I think I’m going to regret this,” she replied.

  “Probably,” he agreed easily.

  She slid her palm against his. He felt her warmth and softness.

  Her breath caught as he squeezed just a little, and she looked up at him through her impossibly long, dark eyelashes.

  She blinked then extracted herself from his grip.

  The sounds of a country-and-western ballad spilled from the clubhouse. He recognized the song from the radio, knew how to pick a few of the chords on his guitar. And because there was something about a wedding, something about being alone when other people had partners, s
omething about the temptation of a beautiful woman on a starlit evening and the fact he wanted an excuse to talk with her a little longer, he asked, “Do you dance?”

  “I love to. But I rarely have the opportunity. Occupational hazard.”

  “You’re the one making sure the party is a success, not the one enjoying it.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Dance with me.”

  Her mouth parted. He could tell he’d caught her off guard.

  “With…” Sofia glanced over her shoulder then back at him. “I’m working.”

  “I know the boss.”

  “That’s true,” she conceded.

  He couldn’t look away from her mouth and her inviting red lipstick. “It’s just three minutes. Four at the most.”

  “That’s also true.”

  “And you want to.”

  “I…” She took a breath.

  Cade glanced at her left hand. “We’ve ascertained that there’s no Mr. McBride and that you haven’t had a lot of opportunity to color outside the lines.”

  She hesitated, seeming to choose her words. Obviously she’d noticed the way he’d looked at her and she realized she had a choice in how she wanted to respond. She could shut him down, or she could take the chance he was offering.

  She fingered back a stray wisp of hair.

  “What harm could there be?”

  “Honestly?” she asked. “About five things come immediately to mind.”

  “Only five?” He kept his tone light.

  “At least five.”

  “There’s hardly anyone out here. No one will notice.”

  “I’m not your type, Mr. Donovan.”

  “What type is that?”

  He didn’t step back or give her any space. Instead, with uncharacteristic patience, he waited.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I really don’t. Enlighten me.”

  “Someone who…” She paused. “I’m not trying to insult you.”

  “As you were saying, why stop being blunt now?” He gave a little wave, indicating she should continue. “By all means.”

  The color on her cheeks darkened a little. It made her even more appealing.

  “This is more about me, not you.” She drew a breath. “You’ve had a lot more experience than I have.”

  He couldn’t help but grin at that. “Are you calling me a manwhore?”

  She had the good grace to blush, and he was glad to see it. Her not-so-delicate assumption had pissed him off a little.

  “I can assure you, I am not. Nor was I. I dated a lot in college, on the rodeo circuit, but I’ve never been a fuck ’em-and-leave ’em guy.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that,” she protested.

  “I believe you did. Without knowing me.”

  “You’re right.” She exhaled. “I apologize.”

  “Accepted. Next objection?”

  “I picture you with a socialite.”

  Cade couldn’t have been any more taken aback. “Are you calling me a snob?”

  “You’re a Donovan,” she said, as if that explained everything. Maybe to her, it did.

  “Which means?”

  “You’re the town’s elite. Someone who keeps to his own kind.” She lifted a shoulder.

  “Such as?”

  “Senators. Business leaders. Other landowners. The Running Wind isn’t exactly an ordinary ranch.”

  That much was true. He recalled the first time he’d seen the house, when he was five. He and his mother had been living in a small one-bedroom apartment above a garage near the stables where she’d worked in Kentucky. His father, a man he hadn’t known, had shown up one day, and Cade still remembered the shouting and his mother’s sobs.

  Soon afterward, they’d all been piled into his father’s gargantuan pickup truck, with its oversized tires and soft-leather interior. They’d had to stop overnight at a hotel with an air conditioner that worked, making the room so cold he had been able to snuggle under a blanket.

  Now he realized it had been a place designed for road-weary families, with a swimming pool and a breakfast buffet. But as a child, it had been unimaginable that he could have enough food to get full and he could make his own waffles.

  Afterward, his father had driven them the rest of the way to the Running Wind. Cade had a vague recollection of a Garth Brooks song playing on the truck’s stereo when he’d encountered his first-ever bump gate.

  It had seemed to him that they’d traveled forever before the big house came into view. To his mind, it had been about the size of the hotel they’d stayed at the previous night. And when his father had said that he was supposed to live there with his mother, Cade had stared in wide-eyed disbelief.

  Then he’d noticed the man at the top of the stairs. Imposingly tall, frightening in his far-reaching power.

  His mother had looked out of the side window, refusing to speak, and Jeffrey had said the man was William Donovan—the man most people called the Colonel—Cade’s grandfather. Cade remembered standing there mute and paralyzed. He hadn’t known he’d had a dad, let alone a big, tall grandfather who wore a suit coat and massive black felt hat and never smiled.

  For at least the first week Cade had been so overwhelmed that he’d sneaked into his mother’s bedroom and slept on the floor.

  As time had progressed, and without his conscious awareness, the palatial space had become his home, part of him. It had been built to endure the harsh Texas weather, unbearable summer heat, relentless tropical storms, never-ending wind.

  He appreciated the craftsmanship of the structure and the fact it had been designed with family in mind. “Even Miss Libby wears boots when she’s at the house. That’s the reality of ranch life. When it was built, my great-great-grandmother said that the big house had to withstand people living in it, employees dropping by, visitors showing up. There’s no carpet, and no fussy collectibles. More than one set of spurs have gouged the floors. And that’s the way it should be.” He hesitated. “So, other than me hanging out with socialites, whoring around and the fact I’m a snob, tell me about my type.”

  “Mr. Donovan, I come from a hardworking family. Even now we live a moderate lifestyle. I was the first to go to college, and I couldn’t have done that if I hadn’t gotten a scholarship.” She exhaled.

  “And I’m illegitimate.”

  She blinked. “Meaning?”

  “As in my mother was not married to my father.”

  A smile teased the corner of her mouth. “Well, I can assure you that I’ve heard you called a bastard, and never once did it refer to your parentage.”

  He raised an eyebrow in appreciation of her boldness. “Well said, Ms. McBride. So tell me again about how I’m not your type.”

  After a quick exhalation, she said, “You have me there.”

  “You said you had at least five reasons we shouldn’t dance together. We got rid of number one. What’s next?”

  He knew he was making her a little uncomfortable, probably because she wanted to be in his arms as much as he wanted to have her there.

  Her cheeks now held streaks of embarrassment. “I think what I’m trying to say—badly—is that I don’t sleep around.”

  “And you’ve heard that I do?”

  “Actually…” She scowled. “No.”

  “I don’t date. Haven’t in the last few years.”

  “You know, I think I’ve made some assumptions.”

  “And?”

  “Maybe I’ve underestimated you.”

  Vaguely he was aware of other people around them. There was an air of intimacy, though, about the way he was standing near Sofia. People stayed away from them, and it was as if it were only the two of them outside. “Since you’re clearly at a loss for words, shall I tell you about my type? Then we can take it from there?”

  “I’ve done a really bad job of this.”

  “My type is a woman who is honest, who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it. My type is someone
who is comfortable with who she is, not trying to impress anyone. She’s tall. Or not. She’s curvy. Or not. Perhaps you meant to say I’m not your type.”

  “That would be rude.”

  “But true?”

  “You know it’s not.”

  “Yeah.” He did know. A thread of sexual attraction wove between them. He was a warm-blooded man, and she was a lovely, brave woman. “What are the other three reasons?”

  “I’m not really dressed for it.”

  He felt a smile tugging at his mouth. And she was biting her lower lip. “You’ve given me a lot of excuses, yet you haven’t said you don’t want to,” he pointed out.

  The song ended and another took its place, this one a bit more uptempo.

  She continued to look at him. Another few seconds ticked away. How long had it been since he’d asked a woman to dance then waited with this kind of anticipation? College? Maybe he had once or twice in the couple of years after, before everything changed.

  “I think I’m more concerned because I do want to,” she admitted softly.

  Her admission slammed his libido into overdrive. “A two-step,” he offered, to put her mind at ease and to put some boundaries up for himself. “I’ll be a gentleman.”

  Her eyes darkened.

  From her reaction, he couldn’t tell whether she liked that idea or had hoped he’d misbehave a little.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’d like to dance, Mr. Donovan.”

  He raised her hand a couple of inches and placed his left palm just above the small of her back. She hesitated only for a moment before lightly touching his biceps.

  Cade moved them into the dance, and she effortlessly followed his lead. Once they’d found a natural rhythm, he guided her into an outside turn. Her movements were flawless, but she hesitated as she came back toward him. “Well done,” he said.

  “It’s been a while,” she replied. “But I took some lessons a couple of years ago. I was at an event, and the DJ was having a difficult time getting people out onto the dance floor. And I didn’t know enough line dances to try to lead one. I figured it was a skill that could come in handy. I’m not an expert, but I know enough to encourage people to get out of their seats.”

  He took a chance and raised his hand slightly, signaling an upcoming inside turn.

  She executed the move perfectly.