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“Just that the Cains live in a world of wealth and power that most people can’t even imagine. You and I both know that if you’re unprepared for that world, it will gobble you and devour you whole. This girl, she didn’t grow up with money.”
“How exactly do you know she’s poor?” he asked with a bit of a sneer. “Are you guessing based merely on the way she was dressed or is this something she told you while you were gazing into her Cain-blue eyes?”
“Very funny. But trust me, I know. She’s a waitress, with dyed red hair and one of those little studs in her nose.”
“You think rich kids don’t rebel? Because I’ve got to tell you, I’ve made a lot of money in an industry that’s all about rich kids rebelling.”
“Exactly. When rich kids rebel, they go snowboarding in Utah. Kids working jobs as waitresses at a hotel? Those kids don’t have time to rebel.”
Well, she had a point there. And he might even be willing to help her; her heart was in the right place, even if it wasn’t really her business anymore. After all, he’d always liked Portia—hell, he’d always more than liked Portia. That was part of the problem, though, wasn’t it? It wasn’t appropriate to more-than-like your sister-in-law. Not that she was his sister-in-law anymore. Was there some sort of statute of limitations on that?
But he was getting off track. Regardless of how he felt about Portia, it was hard to be too enthusiastic about helping out when her entire reason for asking for his help was because he didn’t fit into her world.
“I can’t tell Dalton where to find her,” Portia said. “He wouldn’t think twice about thrusting her into this completely unprepared. And I’m not saying that because I think he’s jerk. He just wouldn’t even think. He always put business first. He wouldn’t hesitate.”
“And you think I would?”
“Hesitate?” She shrugged. “I think you know better than anyone where this girl is coming from. She has a middle-class background at best. She won’t know what she’s getting into. She’ll be vulnerable and unprepared—”
“Yeah. I get it.” Cooper cut Portia off with a sharp wave of his hand. Jesus, was this how people had seen him when he’d first gone to live with the Cains? “It’s probably not as bad as you think. I’m sure she’ll at least be potty trained.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Portia glared at him, but she looked more exasperated than angry. “I’m trying to protect her.”
“Fine. So mentor her or whatever. Take her under your wing. This doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
“If I’m right and she really is Hollister’s daughter, then she’s your sister. It has everything to do with you.” She tilted her head just a little and eyed him. “Besides, you can’t tell me that you aren’t at least a little bit interested in winning. In doing what neither Dalton nor Griffin has been able to do. It’s a lot of money.”
An ugly thread of disgust wound through his stomach. He got so damn sick of these games people played. If asking didn’t get what you want, why not manipulate and pit people against one another? That’s exactly what Hollister had been doing for years.
Cooper pushed himself to feet. “I don’t give a damn about Hollister’s money. I never have. If I had, then I’d been one of Cain Enterprises’ lackeys right now instead owning my own company.”
“Fine. You don’t want the money? Give the money away. Give the money to me.”
“You don’t need the money any more than I do.”
“Please, Cooper—”
“Why?” he demanded. “Why on earth do you care so much about this girl?”
She bumped up her chin again. “Because family is supposed to take care of each other, that’s why.”
“You’re not part of the family anymore.”
She went instantly still, and for a second, he would have sworn she’d even stopped breathing. Damn it. It was as if his words had skewered her.
Then resolve settled in her gaze. “You’re right. I’m not part of this family anymore. But I was for ten years and I know how hard the Cains can be. I had to fight tooth and nail to get Caro to accept me and treat me with respect. I never won over Hollister, and I’m embarrassed to say I stopped trying long after I should have. He is a hard man. Brutal. And even though I love Caro like she’s my own mother, I would be very surprised if she welcomes this girl with open arms. And why should she after the way Hollister treated her in the divorce?” She blew out a breath then, and he could tell she had to work to make it sound even. To make it sound like she wasn’t already emotionally invested. “This girl is your family. Don’t you want to help her?”
Did he want to help this girl? This stranger who might be his sister? Hell, he didn’t know.
Cain family politics didn’t interest him. At all.
He didn’t give a damn about what happened to the company or to Hollister. None of this was his problem. And frankly, he didn’t buy half of what Portia was telling him.
He leveled his gaze at her. “Okay, enough with the warm-fuzzy garbage. What aren’t you telling me?”
She pulled back and blinked rapidly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on, you came here in person to beg me to do this and you expect me to believe your only motive is family loyalty to a girl you spent five minutes with?”
He half expected her to have some visible reaction, but Portia was a cool one, and even though he knew he’d hit on something, she didn’t so much as flinch. But he could see the calculations going on behind her eyes, so he didn’t trust her words when she calmly said, “Fine. You want a motive? How does this one work? I know you don’t want the money, so I’m hoping you’ll give it to me.”
For a second, all he could do was stare at her. There was a hard glint in her eyes, a stubborn tilt to her chin, that almost—almost—made her statement believable. But not quite.
“All right,” he said, wanting to see where she was going with this.
Her chin bumped up a little. “I...um...the divorce left me destitute. I need the money.”
“You’re destitute?”
“Totally broke.”
“Nice try. I don’t believe you’re broke. Not for a minute.”
She frowned, scrunching her mouth to the side adorably. “Really.”
“No. When you and Dalton got married, Hollister told me you had a trust from your paternal grandparents that was worth over fifteen million. I know Dalton didn’t touch it. So unless you expect me to believe that you’ve blown through fifteen million in two years...”
She sighed. “I could be really bad with money?”
“No.” He didn’t believe that, either. He cocked his head to the side. “But I do believe you want the money. Why?”
She frowned again, and he sensed that she was trying to decide exactly what to tell him. Finally, she said, “Have you talked to Caro lately?”
“Caro?” he asked, surprised by the sudden change in topic. “No. Why?”
“Because things haven’t gone well for her since the divorce. Personally. Socially. Financially. And I just thought...if you really don’t want the money, then we could give some of it to her.”
“She needs money?” But then he waved aside his own question. “Of course she needs money. Hollister’s such a bastard, he probably butchered her in the divorce. Jesus. Do Dalton and Griffin know?”
“I don’t think anyone knows. She and I haven’t always been close, but we are now. I see it, but she doesn’t even admit it to me. Besides, she’s not exactly their favorite person right now.”
“Yeah. I guess not,” he agreed. The mysterious letter about Hollister’s missing daughter had turned their lives upside down. Neither Dalton nor Griffin had been particularly thrilled to find out that the letter hadn’t been penned by some anonymous former lover of Hollister’s, but by his angry and bitter wife. “So Hollister eviscerated her in court and she’s too proud to tell her sons that she needs financial help. But you think she’ll take money from me?”
“I know she’s probably not your favorite person, either—”
“I have no problem with Caro,” he said quickly. “I never have.”
“Oh,” Portia said softly. “I just assumed.”
It was a fair assumption. Caro was easy to characterize as his wicked stepmother. But that didn’t mean they were enemies or that he wanted her out on the street.
“Caro and I get along fine,” he said. “But I don’t think she’d take money from me.”
“She might if it was Hollister’s money. He screwed her over. I think she’d enjoy screwing him back.” Portia’s face settled into resolve. “I could convince her.”
Which brought him back to square one: he didn’t have time for this.
“Look, it’s not about whether or not I want to help her. I don’t have the time. It’s not my problem.”
“But Caro—”
“Look, I can find a way to help Caro without finding this missing heiress.” And he would find a way to help her. Just not now. He glanced down at his watch. “And I’ve got a meeting I’m going to be late for. I’m sorry, Portia.”
He took one last look at Portia. She was perfect and pristine and untouchable. God, sometimes she was so pretty, it almost hurt to look at her. And other times, her beauty seemed almost too fragile. Like she might shatter. He was never sure if the part that would shatter was the real woman or only the outer shell that she showed the world.
In the decade she’d been married to his brother, he’d stayed far away from her because it had been the right thing to do. Now that she was single, he had other reasons for staying away. They weren’t from the same world. He’d learned as a kid what it meant to be an outsider in that world. What it meant to be Hollister Cain’s bastard son. Seeing the things other people had. Reaching for them. Having your hand slapped away.
Yeah. He knew what it meant to want things you couldn’t have.
And yeah, he knew that this mystery sister—whoever she ended up being—was going to have a hell of a time adjusting. But he also knew that nothing he did was going to make it any easier on her. She’d either be strong enough or she wouldn’t. She’d have to find her own way. Just like he had.
“She has your smile,” Portia said. “If that matters at all.”
His step faltered only a little. “If she has you on her side, she’ll be just fine.”
With that, he left the office, putting the conversation and everything it had stirred up behind him. His future rested on the outcome of the board meeting he was going to. He didn’t need this Cain family drama. He didn’t need a sister. And he sure as hell didn’t need Portia here tempting him.
Three
Three hours later, Cooper sat at the head of the conference table and watched his dreams spiral down the drain.
The board voted no.
By a wide margin. It wasn’t even close.
Nine of the twelve board members had voted against his plan to get Flight+Risk into the hotel business. Millions could be made in an upscale resort catering specifically to snowboarders. His gut had told him this was a solid venture. But apparently the board thought his gut was “fiscally irresponsible at this juncture.”
Now, as the board members started to filter out of the hotel conference room—the votes cast, the meeting officially adjourned—they could hardly meet his gaze. Which was fine, since he feared he might lunge across the table and slam his fist into Robertson’s face. The bastard had been on the board since the company’s inception. The man—a staid, lifelong businessman in his sixties—had a background in the retail industry that had proved invaluable, but he had little to no imagination. If you couldn’t sell it at Macy’s, he wasn’t interested. He’d been an opponent of Cooper’s resort plan from the beginning, but Cooper had really thought he’d won over enough of the other board members. Clearly, he’d been wrong.
With the exception of a couple stragglers, the room cleared within two minutes. An obvious sign that the board wasn’t any more comfortable with the outcome than he was. They may have voted against him, but no one wanted to face him down. As for the part of him that wanted to beat the crap out of someone as a result? Well, that was a part that he’d worked hard to bury beneath the facade of a successful businessman.
So he’d waited quietly for the board to leave. He just sat there at the head of the table, staring blankly at the stack of pages in front of him while the rats fled the sinking ship. When he looked up, only two other people remained—Drew Davis, the only fellow snowboarder on the board, and Matt Ballard, the Chief Technology Officer of FJM, a green energy company out of the Bay Area, and a good friend of Cooper’s.
After a moment of silence, Drew said, “Man, you’re so screwed.”
“I’m not screwed.” But Cooper said it grimly and with no real conviction.
“No, you’re totally f—”
“No. I’ll convince them.”
There was too much at stake in this fight. This was his company. Flight+Risk made the best, toughest gear for winter sports. The best snowboards, the best jackets, the best thermals. All of it. He knew it was the best for two reasons: first off, because he’d designed most of it himself and demanded absolute perfection. Second, because every top snowboarder in the world wanted to use his gear. Yes, it was that good. He made sure of it himself, because inferior gear put people’s lives at risk. And profits as well, though that had always been a secondary consideration for him. Still, his perfectionism, ambition and determination had made him a legend on the half-pipe and in the business world.
So why the hell didn’t his board trust that he was right about this?
“How exactly are you going to convince them?” Matt asked, rocking back in his chair. Matt had pulled his laptop out the second the meeting was over and was typing now. He was one of those unique guys who could manage to do multiple things at once. Probably because he was freakin’ brilliant. He’d been Flight+Risk’s first private investor. In fact, he’d approached Cooper as a fan and offered him start-up money before the company had been more than a business plan and prototype board. They’d become good friends over the years.
Somehow it didn’t make Cooper feel any better that the only two members of the board who voted yes with him were his two best friends. It smacked of pity votes.
He looked first at Drew and then at Matt. “You can’t honestly tell me you agree with Robertson that investing in another manufacturing facility is a better use of our money?”
“Not better,” Drew said. “Less risky.”
“My plan isn’t risky,” Cooper said stubbornly.
“You want to invest forty million dollars in this,” Drew said. “Flight+Risk will be overextended. Of course the board is going to balk.”
“The company has stellar credit and it will only be for the next eighteen months. The location I’ve picked is perfect. There’s already a resort there—”
“A dated, crummy hotel,” Matt interjected.
“And, yes, it needs renovations, but the preliminary inspector said the building was sound.” The hotel he’d found, Beck’s Lodge, was aging and currently unprofitable, but he knew he could turn it into something amazing. “The snow out there is perfect. As soon as the resort opens, the returns on this investment will be huge. You know I’m right.”
“Yeah,” Drew said. “I think you’re right. But the board cares more about what the stock market thinks.”
“Being overextended isn’t the problem,” Matt said without looking up.
Drew and Cooper both turned to look at Matt.
“What?” Drew asked.
“Then what is the problem?” Cooper asked.
“It’s a problem of perception.” Matt looked up as if surprised to be the center of the attention. “Come on. Cooper has a reputation for taking crazy risks. That incident with the model after the Olympics when you were reprimanded is a perfect example. And everyone knows Flight+Risk nearly failed in the first two years and would have if you hadn’t been pumping your own money into the company to keep it afloat.”
“You’re saying the board didn’t vote against the idea. They voted against me.”
“The media loves that stuff,” Matt said, shrugging. “It makes for great reading. But the kinds of risks you take scare the hell out of investors.”
“Those kinds of risks pay off.”
“Barely.”
“No. Every one of the risks I’ve taken in business has paid off huge.”
“Yes. They did pay off huge. After you almost failed miserably. You’ve had a lot of success, but your winning streak is going to end someday. No one wants to catch the flak from that.”
“So you’re saying everyone just thinks it’s my time to fail.”
