Fall Into You

“Char—”

“She can stay with me,” a deep voice interrupted.

Both she and her brother turned to look at Grant, the unexpected statement silencing their argument.

“Do what?” She must’ve heard him wrong.

Grant tipped his hat up a bit. “You can stay in the cabin you were in last night. You’ll be safe there. And when you’re not on-site, you can check in with me by phone so that someone always knows where you are. You’ll have a bit of a drive into work for a while, but at least you won’t have to take time off.”

“That’s a great idea. Thanks, man,” Max said, smiling and thumping Grant on the back. “Grant has top-notch security at his place. You’ll be protected there.”

Charli stared at Grant. He was serious? He didn’t know her from a woman on the street, but he was going to give her a place to stay and play bodyguard. Just to be helpful? No, she corrected herself. This wasn’t about being helpful. This was about debt. Max had saved Grant’s life, and now there was an opportunity to pay him back. She was a transaction. Just like the time Max bribed his friend to ask her to the prom so she wouldn’t be without a date. Then said friend had proceeded to tell everyone he was there with her as a favor. Total humiliation. Served up hot. “I appreciate the offer, but no, thank you,” she said, smiling with forced politeness.

Max frowned. “Well, then I’ll call in the last of my vacation time and move in with you for the next two weeks. I can keep watch until we get all your window locks replaced and install a high-tech alarm.”

Oh, hell no. She loved her brother to pieces, but sharing her tiny place with him twenty-four-seven while she was trying to investigate her story would be a nightmare. She’d never be able to get away without him wanting to know where she was, who she was with, and what she was doing. Her brothers had always been protective, but since her father had died, Max had made it his personal mission to be the most annoyingly overbearing parental substitute ever. Two weeks of that and she’d be signing herself into the loony bin. Or jail—for choking her dear brother.

“I’ll stay with Grant.” At least there she could be alone in her own cabin without a babysitter. And though Grant had been the one to offer, he looked about as excited at the prospect as she did, so he probably wouldn’t bother her much.

Max gave a triumphant smile and leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “My baby sister, always the voice of logic and reason.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“Better than underestimating the threat and having regrets later,” Grant said quietly.

She glanced over at him, but he was staring off in the distance, hands in pockets, as if he had made the statement to someone else.

Something flickered over Max’s face when he looked at Grant—sadness? Sympathy? But before she could pinpoint it, Max’s attention was back on her. “Listen to what he says. He’ll keep you safe.” He touched the tip of her nose. “Now go get packed.”

She gave him a narrow gaze.

He smiled. “Love you.”

She gritted her teeth. She loved him, too. But at the moment she was having a hard time remembering why. She turned on her heel to head back toward the house.

What a way to cap off the most fantastic day and a half ever. All of her story research was gone, her car was trashed, and now she was going to have to figure out a way to live on the same grounds with a guy who made her thoughts run into each other when he got too close.

A guy who saw her as a job, a favor.

An A-plus day all around.

FOUR

“I really appreciate you doing this,” Max said as Grant secured Charli’s suitcase in the back of his truck. “I know it’s a lot to take on, as busy as you are.”

Grant climbed down from the truck bed and slammed the tailgate shut. Max had no idea how much this was costing him. He hadn’t planned to make the offer, but he owed Max. And he knew Charli wasn’t going to give in and go with her brother. But as soon as the words had fallen out of his mouth, he’d wanted to take them back.

Keeping an eye on Charli would be challenge enough, but keeping his hands off her in the process would be downright painful. He’d spent most of the morning forcing himself not to make a move. When she’d looked so forlorn there in the driveway, it’d taken everything he had not to pull her against him. “Not a problem. Your family is my family. I’ll watch out for her.”

Max’s lip curled. “She’s not gonna make it easy. You know that, right?”

“I’ll manage.” Grant glanced toward the house, making sure Charli hadn’t come out yet.

“I know you will. I trust you.” He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I love my sister, but sometimes her drive can get in the way of her good sense. She thinks she can take on anything and anyone.”

Grant imagined Charli probably could hold her own more than most, but he wasn’t about to test that theory and leave her unguarded. “I can keep my distance and still make sure she’s safe. My property is locked down tight.”

“Yeah, I’m sure, can’t have anyone sneaking in and stealing the wine.”

Right. Because the wine was what he was protecting behind The Ranch’s gates. Not the sexual secrets of Dallas’s elite. Not his own secrets.

Grant adjusted his hat but forced himself not to shift his gaze away from Max’s—a trick he’d honed from years of having to lie bald-faced to enemies. “Gotta protect those grapes, my friend.”

“Look, I’ve got to head back if I’m not going to take any vacation days. And I don’t think I want to suffer Charli’s wrath anymore today, anyway.” He stuck his hand out to Grant. “Seriously, thank you, man. I don’t think I’d be able to leave her with anyone else here and be able to sleep at night.”

Grant shook Max’s hand, guilt nipping at his boot heels. Max was trusting him with what he treasured most—his family. Now Grant had to figure out if he was worthy of that kind of endorsement. Though, with the way Charli had looked at him when she’d realized he’d called her brother, he may not have to worry about it. She wasn’t exactly president of his fan club at the moment.

A few minutes after Max left, Charli stepped off her front porch with a bright red scratch on her cheek, her hair falling out of her bun, and a blue plastic carrier. She headed down the driveway and looked toward the end of her street. “So Mr. Save-the-Day is gone?”

Grant eyed the blue box warily. “Had to get back to work.”

“Sure he does. The chicken.” She handed him the carrier and it hissed. “Tom Brady doesn’t like to travel. He may throw up by the time you get back to your place.”

“Now, wait a second.” The box jolted and the cat made some noise that sounded like it was in its death throes. “I invited you to stay, not…quarterback kitty.”

“We’re a package deal, cowboy. You should’ve listened when I told you not to call Max. Now he’s thrown a kink into both of our worlds.” She leaned against his truck, eyebrow cocked. “You know you can still back out. I won’t tell him.”

“Not a chance, freckles.” Grant cringed when the carrier jolted again, and he yanked open the passenger door, setting the hissing beast inside the cab. “I know you’re upset I called, but I would’ve wanted him to do the same thing for me if the roles were reversed. And I made him a promise. I don’t make those unless I intend to keep them.”

“Come on, you know this is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman. I’ve taken self-defense classes. Do I look like I need a babysitter?” She pushed off the truck, standing to her full height, which would probably be eye to eye or above most men. Too bad for her, he was six-seven and not afraid to use the advantage.

Before she could blink, he grabbed the crook of her elbow, spun her around, and hauled her against him, locking his arm around her waist and pressing his other thumb against her neck, mimicking a knife blade. She struggled, tried to stomp on his foot, but a few self-defense classes were no match for CIA training. “First rule of combat: hubris will bring you down every time.”

“Let me go.” She struggled for another second, but when she realized she wasn’t going to escape, she stopped fighting him. Her muscles softened beneath his hold, her chest rising and falling with quick, choppy breaths—breaths that could indicate fear. But when he glanced down her body and saw the tight beads of her nipples pressing against her shirt, he realized her reaction was anything but. His cock stirred at the sight, and he quickly released Charli, stepping back before she could feel exactly how much she affected him.

She spun around, her cheeks flushed but her jaw clenched. “That was dirty fighting, cowboy.”

“Only trying to show you that overconfidence can get you hurt.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, fighting the urge to touch her again. “Look, I get it. No one wants someone hovering over them. And I don’t have time to be glued to your side, anyway. I have a business to run. I’m going to give you your space as long as you follow a few rules to keep safe.” He saw her stiffen at the word rules but kept going. “We’ll get through whatever this threat is and then you can get back to your normal life, and I’ll get back to mine.”

She stared at him for a second longer, then leaned over to pick up her purse, which had slipped off her shoulder when he’d grabbed her. She missed it on the first swipe, clearly flustered, and then yanked the strap upward on the second attempt. “I’ve got to go into work and take care of some things. I called my insurance company and got a rental car lined up. If you don’t mind giving me a ride over to the car place, I can sneak Tom into work.”

He took her lack of combative response as victory. And though the last thing he wanted to do was traipse around with a vomiting feline, he needed to offer an olive branch. “I can drive you over and keep the cat with me. I have a quick meeting with a supplier to pick up a few things, then I’ll be headed back. I’ll make sure he’s not left alone in the car.”

“Okay, well, thanks.” She hooked her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll head back to your place after work. You can enlighten me on these so-called rules of yours.”

He smirked at her tone. “Look forward to it.”

“I bet you do. You look like a guy who loves a rule.”

Oh, you have no idea, freckles.

Charli gave up trying to keep her bun intact and secured her out-of-control hair into a ponytail before heading into the main offices of the Texas Sports Network. Even after the drive over, her hands were still shaky from the earlier moment with Grant. When he’d restrained her against him, she’d wanted to melt into the hold, give into it. But, of course, it had been a gesture meant to instill fear and prove a point, not to inspire images of a naked cowboy and sweaty sheets. Leave it to her to get turned on by a freaking choke hold. Her long stretch between relationships was apparently making her hormones light up over anything.

Luckily, Grant hadn’t seemed to notice her body’s instant reaction. When they’d broken apart, she’d been left a jittery mess, but he had looked cool as a November morning—all business and matter-of-fact.

She scoffed. Like he’d have any real interest in her anyway. She’d known men like him. They liked their women prim, yielding, and sweet. Those three words had never been used to describe her. If she was going to be hanging out at Grant’s place, she needed to get her libido out of the clouds and steer clear of the cowboy. She’d only end up making a fool of herself if she kept entertaining illicit fantasies about him anytime a southern-soaked word slipped past his lips.

She shook the errant thoughts from her mind, trying to focus on work. Despite all the drama of the past two days, she did have one positive thing going for her—the potential for a monster story. She didn’t have her fat file of notes since whoever had broken into her house had made off with that, but she still had the information from her investigative trip yesterday and the details she knew by memory. It wasn’t enough to break a story yet, but it was a damn good foundation for a killer scoop. Her boss Trey was going to flip his shit when he saw how big this could be. The on-air position would be hers wrapped up with a bow.

This was going to be her moment. Finally, she could prove her mother wrong. This girl was meant to be on TV. Her dream wasn’t something to laugh at.

Charli pushed open the doors to the main lobby and was greeted by the massive digital scoreboard that covered the back wall. All the scores of each Texas team’s last game were displayed in bright blue numbers. She gave a little wave to the receptionist, then stepped into the elevator, her stomach flipping over for reasons other than the rush to the top floor.

The elevator dinged and the funeral-like hush of the executive floor greeted her. Two levels down, where Charli worked, there was constant noise—phones ringing, all the sports channels cued up on the television screens, chattering over the walls of the cubicles. She loved the energy of it, the adrenaline. All this peacefulness on the top floor would drive her crazy.

She made her way to the far end of the hall and rapped on Trey’s partially ajar door. The door nudged open a bit farther from her knocking, and she could hear he wasn’t alone. She probably should’ve called up first, but trying to catch Trey when he wasn’t busy was like trying to find a break in traffic at rush hour.

“Yeah,” he called out.

She pushed the door fully open and stepped in. “Sorry to interrupt, Tr—Mr. Winger.” Though she’d known Trey since college and had dated him briefly back then, she did make an effort to address him formally in front of others. “I needed to talk to you about something. I was hoping you’d have a minute.”

“Sure, Beaumonde, come on in,” Trey said, his voice like a barking dog. “I was just finishing up with Stormy here.”

The leggy blonde rose from her seat and flashed a toothpaste-ad smile Charli’s way.

Trey came around his desk and pressed a palm to the small of Stormy’s back as he guided her toward the door. “Let me know if you have any more questions, all right? I’m so happy this worked out.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Winger,” she said, her tone as perky as her Wonderbra. “And thank you. I know you’ll be a great mentor.”

Charli’s eyebrows lifted. Was Trey blushing? She’d seen the former-football-player-turned-executive get red with rage before, but never a blush. She pressed her lips together to keep from smirking.

Trey walked the girl out without introducing her to Charli, then came back to sit behind his desk. Charli sat in the chair the blonde had vacated. “Is she the new intern or something?”

“Not exactly.” Trey adjusted his suit jacket as if it had suddenly grown too small for his shoulders and frowned. “I called you earlier this morning, but you weren’t at your desk.”

“I had car trouble on the way back from an investigative trip. I sent you an e-mail about it.”

He glanced at his computer screen, which was apparently in sleep mode, and grunted. “You’re not supposed to be on investigative trips. I hired you to do lifestyle pieces.”

“I know. And I’m sorry about being late, but I think you’ll forgive me when you hear what I saw while on my trip. I drove out to take a look at Jensen Lerner’s place. You should’ve seen the number of suits going in and out of his house.”

“Beaumonde—”

She plowed on, too excited to share the information to pause for Trey’s questions. But by the time she was done spilling all of the evidence she’d gathered, she could tell he was only half listening.

“Sounds interesting. And hard to prove.”

She clenched her teeth, uninspired by Trey’s lack of enthusiasm. “I understand that. I plan to get facts. But you know how big this could be if it’s true? If they’re cheating and boosters are really paying players, that could shut down the entire football program.”

He waved his hand, a dismissive flip of the wrist that told her he was planning to ignore everything she’d said. “Keep me up to date with what you find. But make sure you don’t lose focus on what I hired you for in the first place. Your notes on the elderly fantasy football league story lacked your usual enthusiasm and level of detail.”

She resisted the urge to shake him. She’d been hired to research what most of the office considered fluff. Feel-good pieces that filled the space between the daily score updates and hard-hitting stories the network was known for. She enjoyed her job and believed those stories were just as important to tell, but she knew she’d need to bring in more breaking news–worthy pieces if she wanted to be seen as a serious on-air contender. She craved being in the action, there on camera sharing her passion in front of a live audience instead of from behind a desk. “I brought you the facts. You know I’ve never slacked. I don’t plan to start now.”

Trey’s face softened and the vein that had begun throbbing at his temple smoothed. Suddenly, he looked like the kid quarterback she’d met her freshman year again—the guy with whom she’d attempted her first real relationship. “I know. You’re a good reporter. But this is distracting you, and I don’t want you spinning your wheels on something that will be near impossible to prove.”

She could hear the underlying message in his words—Don’t fuck things up, Beaumonde. He’d gone out on a limb to get her in this position, and his name was riding on her doing the job he’d hired her for. “Right. I won’t let it interfere again.”

She rose to leave.

“Hold up, Charli. There’s something else I need to talk to you about.”

She sat back down, a little stunned that he’d used her first name. He never did that—even when they’d dated, he’d called her Beaumonde. Maybe this was going to be it. The day she’d been dreaming about. Her heartbeat ticked upward. “Yes?”

“We didn’t select you for the sideline reporter position.”

A short, emotionless sentence—one that managed to hit her like a dump truck.

She blinked, words escaping her. She hadn’t gotten it? They’d picked that smarmy-ass Pete over her?

Trey took a sudden interest in the pen he was rolling between his fingertips. “We just didn’t think it was the right fit. We feel your strengths are in the behind-the-scenes work.”

If the first revelation stole her breath, this one downright demolished her. Not only had she not gotten the position, but they didn’t think she was meant for an on-camera job? Her heart climbed up her throat and lodged there. “I don’t understand. You told me you thought I’d be a great candidate for it. And Pete froze up when we did our auditions. You think he’s better suited for TV?”

Trey shifted in his seat, set the pen down, and folded his hands on his desk. “No, we didn’t go with Pete either.”

Thoughts raced through her mind, knocking into each other, and tumbling. “Then who?”

Trey’s gaze flicked toward the door and he cleared his throat. “Uh, well…”

Oh, shit. She knew that look. He’d had the same one when he’d admitted he’d run up a gambling debt in college and had used money she’d lent him for rent to pay it off. It was the I-just-totally-screwed-you look. She followed his gaze, and realization clamored in her brain.

She gripped the arms of her chair to keep herself from leaping across the desk and choking Trey. “The blonde?”

He winced. “She’s been really successful hosting a fashion show on the web.”

“Fashion?” Her voice had gone too loud, but she couldn’t help it. “You’re going to put a fashion reporter on the sidelines? Does she even know what a touchdown is?”

“She was a baton twirler in college so she has been on the sidelines before.”

“Oh, Trey, come on.” Her head felt ready to explode. Being on the pep squad was now a qualification?

“She has good timing and a great speaking voice.”

“And big tits and legs up to her ears,” Charli countered.

His jaw twitched, though he was obviously trying hard to keep his impassive business face on. “When we showed audition tapes to a focus group and our sponsors, she got the best scores.”

“No doubt that focus group was all dudes.”

“Eighty-five percent of our viewing audience is men. And yes, men don’t mind watching a pretty girl deliver their sports information. I didn’t create that fact—it just is.”

And she wasn’t a pretty girl. He hadn’t said it, but he might as well have. “So if I looked like her, then I’d be the one with the job?”

“No.” Trey rubbed at the spot between his eyebrows, as if stalling to search for the right words. “Charli, I think you’re great. Your sports knowledge is unparalleled. But the group didn’t find you easy to watch. It’s not about looks as much as vibe. Viewers want a guy with an air of authority or a real girly girl. Not…”

“Me.” The tomboy. The girl who felt more comfortable in a locker room than a nail salon. The ugly-duckling daughter who wasn’t worth sticking around for.

He met her eyes. “I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

Trey did look like he felt like shit about it. And at least he hadn’t pulled punches. She’d rather hear the truth than some manufactured attempt to make her feel better. Even if the truth had sliced and diced her.

She rubbed her lips together, willing herself to keep it together. “What about the weekend anchor position coming open next month?”

He sighed, tilting back in his chair. “Obviously, you have the right to apply for it. Pete already put his name in for it, too. But I can’t see there being a different outcome. The same criteria are going to apply.”

“I’ve got to get to my desk,” she said, standing, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles in her pants. She needed to get out of there before she cried like some loser.

Trey rose as well. “Beaumonde, don’t let this get you down. There are behind-the-scenes positions that pay more than the on-air ones. With your skills, you’re going to move right up the chain.”

The gritted teeth smile she gave him made her face hurt. “Right.”

“And—”

She raised her hand, cutting him off. “Stop. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

His shoulders sagged in relief. “Of course you are. You’re the toughest woman I know.”

And therein lay the problem.

She walked out of his office, the tattered threads of her childhood dream unraveling at the seams with each step.

Maybe her mother had been right to laugh at her.

FIVE

“Get down from there,” Grant said, using his most authoritative tone. “Now.”

Charli’s cat licked a paw and gave him a glance from atop the cabinets that seemed to say, I’m sorry, were you talking to me? Because I couldn’t give a shit. Grant grunted. The damn feline had gotten himself stuck up there and anytime Grant climbed up to get him out, Tom hissed and swatted at him. He didn’t think he could find a Tom Brady he disliked more than the quarterback version, but this cat was moving up the charts.