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PLAYING FOR KEEPS
EMERALD LAKE BILLIONAIRES, BOOK TWO
Three billionaires, an emerald lake, and a lifetime's worth of happy endings.
Ryan sat in his truck and watched the people on the sidewalk. Downtown Bozeman wasn’t exactly the center of the universe, but it was as close as he’d gotten in a long time. For the last four months he’d been building his dream house on the shores of Emerald Lake and hiding from a past he wasn’t proud of.
But that was all about to change. In ten minutes he’d be meeting his publicist, strategizing about the best way to deal with his crazy ex-wife and the media frenzy that was about to hit town.
Dorothy Patterson was nothing if not punctual. She strode along the sidewalk like the leader of a marching band; back straight, head high, and with the kind of serious expression that didn’t bode well for a good meeting.
Dorothy had made the journey from Nashville to Montana in record time. She had as much to lose as he did. If his ex-wife’s photos hit any of the publications she was threatening to use, they’d both be going down in flames.
He got out of his truck, shut the door, and prepared for one of the most important discussions of his life. By the time he made it inside Angel Wings Café, Dorothy had already found a table at the back of the room.
“You’re late,” Dorothy said with a forced smile. She looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth but underneath the girl next door veneer, there was a woman with a heart of steel. If anyone could get him out of the mess he was in, Dorothy could.
“I’ve been waiting in my truck. Have you spoken to her?”
“The only person Cindy is talking to is her lawyer. He called me four hours ago and told me her terms and conditions haven’t changed. She wants half of the royalties from the song you wrote when you were married. If you don’t pay her, she’s going to release the photos. Sit down. I’ve ordered coffee.”
Ryan wasn’t surprised to hear that his ex-wife hadn’t changed her mind. The only thing consistent about Cindy was that when she made up her mind she never changed it. “She’s not getting any royalties from the song. My lawyer has already spoken to her lawyer. There’s no way a judge will give her what she wants.”
Dorothy smiled at the waitress as she left their drinks on the table. She leaned forward, her blue eyes boring into his. “You can’t afford to let her release those photos. They’ll kill your career.”
“I divorced Cindy six years ago. She took half of what I owned then. There’s no way she’s going to get more money. If you can’t speak to Cindy, tell her lawyer that she won’t see another dime from me.”
Dorothy pulled a folder out of her bag. “I thought you’d say something like that. I’ve been working on a plan to salvage what we can of your reputation. Are you sure she hasn’t got more photos?”
“She sent me copies of all of them. They’re so out of focus that she’ll be lucky if anyone believes her.”
“It doesn’t matter what they believe. What matters is that they’ll be available for everyone to see. If Cindy can’t get her hands on the money she thinks is hers, she’ll take what she can. If that means destroying you in the process, she’ll do it.”
“She’s not that calculating.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it.” Dorothy turned the folder around and opened the cover. “Tell me what you think.”
Ryan started to read the document in front of him but didn’t get very far. Dorothy’s suggestions for combating his ex-wife’s demands were almost as bad as releasing the photos. “What do you mean, sing for a charity? I’m living in the middle of Montana, being hounded by my ex-wife, and you want me to give a charity concert?”
“I don’t care how you do it or where you do it, but you need to start generating some positive publicity. Hiding in Bozeman will only fuel speculation that you’re guilty and the photos are genuine.”
It was Ryan’s turn to lean forward. “They are true. I’d had too much to drink. I was twenty-one-years-old, and we’d been married for less than a year. I learned my lesson.”
“It looks as though Cindy did, too. She’s probably kicking herself that she didn’t take more.” Dorothy pointed to the list in front of him. “We need photos of you at your new house, with your clothes on and a tool belt around your waist. That will let people know that you’ve got more than a pretty...”
“I get the idea.”
“Let’s hope everyone else does, as well.”
Ryan didn’t bother looking for a smile on Dorothy’s face. He’d given up years ago believing that she actually had a sense of humor. He looked back at the list and frowned. Out of all the options she’d come up with, having his photo taken wearing a tool belt made the most sense.
He read the next bullet point on her list. “You’re not asking for much. I haven’t written any new material in the last six months. How do you expect me to write, produce and record an album in the next six months?”
“Your ex-wife was your inspiration for Sad Time Coming. It made you an overnight success. Use that same energy to produce your next number one hit. Maybe you could call it Goodbye to Bad News.”
This time, Ryan did look for a smile. Dorothy’s mouth was tilted at the corners. “And here I was, thinking you didn’t have a sense of humor.”
Dorothy’s smile disappeared. “I hide it well. Getting mad doesn’t achieve anything, but at least getting even makes you feel better. Cindy won’t be impressed if her threats make you another million dollars.”
“Especially if she can’t get her hands on any of it,” Ryan muttered.
He would have laughed at the next bullet point if it had been someone else’s life they were talking about. “What do you hope to achieve by setting me up with another woman? The only thing I need is a good lawyer and a plan to keep Cindy away from me.”
“A new girlfriend is my emergency option. After what happened with Cindy, you could be asking for trouble. But, after a lot of soul-searching, I believe it could be your saving grace.” She reached across the table and pulled another piece of paper from the back of the folder. “She would have to meet certain criteria. You can’t afford to make the same mistake twice.”
Ryan didn’t bother reading what Dorothy had put in front of him. There was no way he’d date another woman to make his publicist happy.
Dorothy sipped her coffee and watched him read the rest of the list. “You haven’t had a serious girlfriend since you left Cindy. If you’re not willing to do anything else, at least think about it. I might be a miracle worker, but I’m not Cupid.”
“I’m not paying you to be Cupid,” Ryan said. “I’m paying you to look after my career. I’ll take the list home and read it. If I have any questions, I’ll give you a call.”
“I’ll be in Bozeman until four o’clock this afternoon. I’ve got a meeting with your lawyer in half an hour. If there’s anything else you need to tell me, call me on my cell phone.” Dorothy put her coffee cup in the middle of the table and stood up. “If you hear anything from Cindy, call me straight away.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She passed Ryan her folder of notes. “At least promise me that you’ll read the other ideas. You’re not the first musician to be blackmailed by an ex-wife.”
Ryan didn’t bother replying.
Dorothy sighed. “Why do I get the feeling that as soon as you leave the café, you’re going to put my notes on the floor of your truck and leave them there?”
“I guess we’re both learning something new about each other. Cindy’s not going to get her hands on any of my money or ruin my reputation. I’ll read your ideas and let you know what I think.”
Dorothy left the café as quickly as she’d arrived.
Ryan looked down at the folder and frowned. Some days, being a country music superstar sucked.
***
Sophie Elliott lifted one of her suitcases out of the trunk of her car. In both directions the road was as straight as an arrow, stretching into forever for as far as her eyes could see. Ten minutes ago she’d run out of gas. She knew she would have been lucky to reach Bozeman, but over the last two weeks she’d been in more difficult situations than a blinking fuel indicator. This time, she’d pushed her luck too far. About two miles too far.
She locked her car and pulled the handle of her suitcase high. Bozeman couldn’t be more than a thirty-minute walk from here. She’d buy more gas, walk back to her car, and keep looking for somewhere safe to stay.
As she started walking, she wondered how many people drove down this stretch of the interstate. In the last ten minutes, the only living thing she’d seen had been a hawk.
She’d driven from Chicago to Montana out of desperation. A friend who’d worked with her in the Department of Microbiology and Immunology at Chicago University had lived in Montana for six years. She’d told Sophie it was the prettiest place on earth. It was so quiet you could hear the wind whispering through the trees and, in the summertime, it was so hot you could fry an egg on the asphalt. Even knowing all of that, Sophie wasn’t used to feeling as though she was the last person on earth.
