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There was no substituting Lizardman’s name for a more socially acceptable one, either; West’s boys were coming to visit in a month. His ex was almost eight months pregnant, and so they’d planned for West to take Charlie and Pip for a few weeks after the baby was born. Nash had no doubt that West would make him into his babysitter then, too.
Nash sighed, plucking up Lizardman’s forgotten tennis ball. He tossed it at West, who easily dodged it by stepping back. Lizardman barreled after the slobbery toy. His oversized paws galloped over the polished marbled floor like a battle horse. West couldn’t sidestep his eager puppy quite as easily, and spying West, Lizardman abandoned the chase and planted his paws against the knees of West’s tailored suit pants like he was a long lost lover running after him in a meadow.
Nash hid a laugh while West kept Lizardman’s snapping jaws away from him. The puppy possibly adored West more than their momma did. The tiny monster belonged inWhere the Wild Things Are, and would “eat him up, he loved him so.”
West snatched the puppy off the floor. He wound his arms around Lizardman in a hold that Nash knew too well. West had used that one on his younger brothers back in the day. Lizardman snuggled into his newly pressed jacket, like he was trying to force West to make up for the years of spitting up and grubby hands that he’d missed with his own children.
West scowled over the puppy’s head. “You wearing those ripped jeans to the party, Nash?”
“No.” They were more suitable for working the ranch like he’d done the past thirty-three years of his life—not so much for one of Devlin Trout’s elegant black tie affairs.
“Well, get going then. We’re already passing fashionably late!”
Nash groaned. He’d be happier collapsing in front of the TV tonight with a big bowl of popcorn, instead of a long and punishing night forcing shallow conversation. West’s new boss was a disgustingly rich oil tycoon turned politician, who had an image problem, pure and simple. West was working his magic to clean up Trout’s image to prepare the tyrant for politics—a herculean task, considering that the old man breathed trouble like most people did air. West often had to act as Trout’s substitute at these posh events, networking and making connections so that he could represent his “interests.”
“Hey, look alive,” West said. “You remember Lacy Lynch, right?”
Ugh, that guy? Even his name sounded like it belonged to the mafia. “Who could forget that cocky snake oil salesman?” Nash said, feeling the familiar disgust consume him whenever he thought of any of Trout’s “friends.” The oily owner of WhiteBoulder Private Equities took people’s money and made their greatest wishes come true, as West explained it. Lynch was desperate to get Trout to invest in his company.
“Good,” West said cheerfully, like his brother hadn’t just insulted their latest connection. “We need to be on top of our game tonight. There’s a lot riding on this deal coming up.”
There wasalwaysa deal; they werealwaysof critical importance. Nash was not cut out for this type of hysteria. “What’s he trying to sell us?”
“Property investments,” West said, “a potential oil deal might also be in the works. I might have you look into it yourself.” West set Lizardman back to the marbled floor. The puppy sniffed West’s boots as he worked on his tie. “It’s about time you earned your keep around here.”
Nash straightened, not liking the sound of that. A lot of people wanted Trout’s money, and they threw enough parties to get it. That meant more work than West could handle on his own.
To add to his already crammed schedule, West needed a few days off a month to visit their mother. He was beside himself after she’d fallen ill. They all were, but West took it on himself to control her every health decision. She’d finally been accepted on the donor list at the Virginia Heart Transplant Center, but that hadn’t been enough for West. He traveled home often to see her, encouraging her, helping her with her rehab workouts so she’d be strong enough for surgery.
Short of cloning himself, West had no other choice than to train an assistant. And for some odd reason, West had decided that his younger brother was the most like him.
Nash wasn’t so sure about that anymore. He was this close to volunteering to stay home tonight and watch the dog. His friends in Harvest Ranch would have a good laugh at seeing that the naturally rowdy Nash had turned into a lame homebody, but he couldn’t endure another desperate entrepreneur trying to get to Trout’s riches through him.
“Don’t give me that look.” West’s eyes narrowed on his brother through the mirror. “You might actually enjoy yourself tonight.”
How? These parties in Nashville were getting stale and fast, especially since his first line of duty was to play offense with Eva Trout so that she didn’t get within hugging distance of West. If Devlin Trout had any idea how madly in love his daughter was with Nash’s older brother, he’d fire West on the spot. The rich heiress was meant for far richer, scalier blood.
“Lacy Lynch knows how to show his investors a good time,” West said.
That’s what he was afraid of. “Great,” Nash muttered.
His idea of a “good time” was far from what interested these elites. Nash liked a good country dance with a pretty girl or competing in the rodeo with his bull rides. From what little West had allowed him to see of this business so far, there was a darker side to these people’s hobbies that included heavy drinking, drugs, and women who weren’t their wives.
Nash hated that his brother fed into this stuff. He was all about the money and the prestige, but Nash knew true worth and this wasn’t it. To be quite honest, if this was the best Nashville had to offer, then he was not a fan of the city he’d been named after.
“Who knows?” West said. “Maybe you’ll actually be bribed with something you care about this time. Lacy Lynch knows how to take care of his guests.”
Nash groaned. Maybe it was time to call it quits. He’d been accused of being shallow more than once over the years, and maybe he was, but there was more to life than hanging out with a bunch of “Wests” and “Evas” at these endless parties. There had to be. Plus, to be quite honest, he missed his twin.
And no—no one would ever get him to admit that out loud. Nash came from a tightknit family with five brothers, and despite valuing his independence, Nash still depended on Porter. It was hard to explain, but his twin grounded him, even if they enjoyed pulling endless pranks and taking their truck on joyrides through muddy roads.
If Nash put in his notice today, he could be home by the Fourth of July, setting off fireworks with Porter. They’d follow that with scaring teenagers at the waterfall outside of town.
“Emily Mackenzie will be at Lacy Lynch’s party,” West said in a completely offhand way.
Nash almost dropped Lizardman’s squeaky toy in his surprise. Emily Mackenzie? He caught his breath. What would River’s sister be doing at one of these sleazy parties? His stomach tightened in his sudden protectiveness. She would be like a lamb to the slaughter. “Emily Mackenzie?” he had to clarify. “Our Emily?”
West nodded, putting the finishing touches on his tie, acting like anything related to River wasn’t the bane of his existence. He’d perfected his smooth act. And more disturbingly, West had somehow guessed that mentioning Emily would get Nash moving faster.
