courtship on some book you’d read.”
“ Landing a Billionaire was a bestseller for a reason.”
“You tricked me.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Rielle released a nervous giggle. She spoke shyly until he heard her snigger twist an inhale into an annoying snort. In an attempt to cover her piggy tone she ticked off, “You’ve attended the rodeo before, Warner—haven’t you?”
“Sure have. Then your thoroughbred persona revealed its donkey likeness and our cowboy exhibition was over.” Warner snarled, “Let’s recap.”
“No—”
“You tried to screw my brother.”
“Well.”
“Withdrew funds from my bank account.”
“I hoped to pay you back.”
“You’ve got two hundred thousand dollars you can give me?” He didn’t think so.
“I could.”
“Let’s not forget the biggest shitter of them all.”
“Stop.”
“Faking a pregnancy to secure our engagement.” His hands gripped the phone tight. He didn’t realize he’d get this worked up again over her, but he did.
Rielle released a puff of air over the line. “Why I never…” She cleared her throat, ramping up for a second attempt. “Plenty of time has gone by for you…to cool down. You should be as calm as a June bug, sugar.” Rielle pressed on. “I’m fixin’ to swing by your St. Barth’s home tomorrow. We can talk about us in person.”
“Stay in Dallas. There is no us .”
“I’m not in Texas, baby. I’m at the Delano in Miami.” Amused with herself she snorted, twice.
“You are not welcome here.” Warner leaned close to the desk’s edge. “We have nothing further to discuss, please do not contact me again.” He smiled in hopes she’d hear the sincerity and conviction in his voice and offered, “Have a wonderful New Year’s, Rielle, and a great life. I’m hanging up now.”
“Sugar pie.”
“Goodbye.”
“Warner, I’m coming to St.—”
He returned the phone’s receiver to its cradle and rested his head on the desk.
Warner hadn’t visited Secrète de St. Barth’s in months. Not since he’d called off his nuptials to Rielle. He hadn’t done much lately, spent time with his family in Newport, Rhode Island, toured his hotel properties in Middle and Far East Asia and spent the fall season in his favorite city in the world—Manhattan.
A knock sounded on the office door. “Come in.” It was Kip Von Scott, his general manager.
“My apologies for Rielle’s call,” Kip took ownership of the situation. “Our operator didn’t have your accepted phone number list when she patched her through.”
“It’s okay, Kip. The holidays make people nutty. Rielle would’ve flown down here if I didn’t talk to her.” Warner sat back in the chair as his heartbeat returned to normal. If his ex-fiancée was in Miami and flew to St. Barth’s, she’d arrive in three hours. Assuming she’d probably connect in St. Maarten. He prayed that was just another Rielle threat. He didn’t want to see her face.
“Yes sir.” Kip stepped farther into his own office, which Warner used during his visit.
“It’s nice to be back. Your team has kept the property in great shape.” Like most Manhattanites in his circle, he hated the snow and enjoyed St. Barth’s winters.
“We’re happy to have you with us this week.” Kip glimpsed around, his face showing he was missing his office.
“Thank you for offering your desk up this week.” He smirked. “Who do we have staying with us this New Year’s?”
“The usual. Mr. and Mrs. Hayashis from Tokyo, the Yesikovs from St. Petersburg, Chile’s prime minister is here too. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
It didn’t take Warner’s MBA from Harvard University to ascertain when a property manager answered with a “nothing out of the ordinary” to conclude something quite extraordinary had or would be taking place.
“Why did I see paparazzi when I came into the lobby a few hours ago?”
“Right…” Kip looked at the floorboards.
“ Secrète de St.
“ Landing a Billionaire was a bestseller for a reason.”
“You tricked me.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Rielle released a nervous giggle. She spoke shyly until he heard her snigger twist an inhale into an annoying snort. In an attempt to cover her piggy tone she ticked off, “You’ve attended the rodeo before, Warner—haven’t you?”
“Sure have. Then your thoroughbred persona revealed its donkey likeness and our cowboy exhibition was over.” Warner snarled, “Let’s recap.”
“No—”
“You tried to screw my brother.”
“Well.”
“Withdrew funds from my bank account.”
“I hoped to pay you back.”
“You’ve got two hundred thousand dollars you can give me?” He didn’t think so.
“I could.”
“Let’s not forget the biggest shitter of them all.”
“Stop.”
“Faking a pregnancy to secure our engagement.” His hands gripped the phone tight. He didn’t realize he’d get this worked up again over her, but he did.
Rielle released a puff of air over the line. “Why I never…” She cleared her throat, ramping up for a second attempt. “Plenty of time has gone by for you…to cool down. You should be as calm as a June bug, sugar.” Rielle pressed on. “I’m fixin’ to swing by your St. Barth’s home tomorrow. We can talk about us in person.”
“Stay in Dallas. There is no us .”
“I’m not in Texas, baby. I’m at the Delano in Miami.” Amused with herself she snorted, twice.
“You are not welcome here.” Warner leaned close to the desk’s edge. “We have nothing further to discuss, please do not contact me again.” He smiled in hopes she’d hear the sincerity and conviction in his voice and offered, “Have a wonderful New Year’s, Rielle, and a great life. I’m hanging up now.”
“Sugar pie.”
“Goodbye.”
“Warner, I’m coming to St.—”
He returned the phone’s receiver to its cradle and rested his head on the desk.
Warner hadn’t visited Secrète de St. Barth’s in months. Not since he’d called off his nuptials to Rielle. He hadn’t done much lately, spent time with his family in Newport, Rhode Island, toured his hotel properties in Middle and Far East Asia and spent the fall season in his favorite city in the world—Manhattan.
A knock sounded on the office door. “Come in.” It was Kip Von Scott, his general manager.
“My apologies for Rielle’s call,” Kip took ownership of the situation. “Our operator didn’t have your accepted phone number list when she patched her through.”
“It’s okay, Kip. The holidays make people nutty. Rielle would’ve flown down here if I didn’t talk to her.” Warner sat back in the chair as his heartbeat returned to normal. If his ex-fiancée was in Miami and flew to St. Barth’s, she’d arrive in three hours. Assuming she’d probably connect in St. Maarten. He prayed that was just another Rielle threat. He didn’t want to see her face.
“Yes sir.” Kip stepped farther into his own office, which Warner used during his visit.
“It’s nice to be back. Your team has kept the property in great shape.” Like most Manhattanites in his circle, he hated the snow and enjoyed St. Barth’s winters.
“We’re happy to have you with us this week.” Kip glimpsed around, his face showing he was missing his office.
“Thank you for offering your desk up this week.” He smirked. “Who do we have staying with us this New Year’s?”
“The usual. Mr. and Mrs. Hayashis from Tokyo, the Yesikovs from St. Petersburg, Chile’s prime minister is here too. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
It didn’t take Warner’s MBA from Harvard University to ascertain when a property manager answered with a “nothing out of the ordinary” to conclude something quite extraordinary had or would be taking place.
“Why did I see paparazzi when I came into the lobby a few hours ago?”
“Right…” Kip looked at the floorboards.
“ Secrète de St.
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