Dodging Temptation (The Retreat) (4 page)

May Loving had hired her to do a job. She was good at that job. And she wasn
’
t leaving until the job was done—plain and simple. She was so over getting pushed around by men in thousand dollar suits who thought she was their pawn to move around on a chessboard.

“I wouldn
’
t bet on it,” he said.

“Good thing I
’
m not a gambling kind of girl, otherwise you
’
d be out a good deal of cash.” Harper hopped down from the table, placed her spoon into the dishwasher, and closed it with a firm click before strutting to the door. “Don
’
t stay up too late frothing at the bit, Dodge. I
’
d be disappointed if you weren
’
t at the top of your game tomorrow.”

She sashayed out the door, making sure to give her hips a little bit of extra sway as she made her diva-worthy exist. Her entire body buzzed from an excitement that had nothing to do with a sugar rush and everything to do with her momentary victory over the man snarfing down the last of her mint chocolate chip.

Chapter Four

C
ell phone
glued to his ear, Dodge found his mother right where he knew she
’
d be at nine in the morning after leading a group of guests through a yoga session—on the family
’
s private veranda with a cup of chai and a plate of flax seed muffins. May might be on the hippie- dippie side, but the woman loved a routine. It was the one thing they
’
d always been able to agree on. If
anyone was going to understand the importance of getting back to their regular schedule, it would be her.

“You still there?” the Retreat
’
s chief of operations, Randy Hayward, asked.

Dodge paused in the veranda
’
s doorway and answered into his phone. “I
’
m here. You got rid of him?”

“I wish it had only been him.” Hayward sighed, and his chair creaked repeatedly. That wasn
’
t good. Dodge could picture the bowling ball of a man rocking in his well-padded office chair just like he did whenever a crisis approached. “We found a freelance reporter, a tabloid photographer, and a scout for a TV crew poking around by the front gates right as a shuttle was taking some guests into town to go antique shopping.”

His ulcer woke up and said good morning, piercing his gut with a railroad spike. “All gone, I hope.”

“Of course, but that
’
s not all.”

“What now?” It wasn
’
t even lunch and he already needed a bottle of antacid, a whiskey neat, and a certain redheaded sexpot to get the hell away from his resort.

“Several of the guests are asking questions.”

For a bunch of people who swore they valued their own privacy, they sure as hell loved snooping their way into everyone else’s business. “About what?”

“Other guests, the staff, everything,” Hayward said. “I think someone might be trading a little positive media exposure for themselves in exchange for a scoop about whomever we have here drawing all the media attention to The Retreat.”

“Great.” No matter the non-disclosure agreement each guest signed at check-in, gossip about one of the most famous rock stars in the past half century holing up post-rehab at The Retreat would be too good not to share—if they found out he was here. The media circus would go from one tent to twenty by nightfall. The Brasch Group would withdraw their financing offer, and his scumbag grandfather would reap the rewards of Dodge’s failure.

Hayward cleared his throat. “And Mrs. Von der Gunston is checking out early. Said the place isn
’
t up to her usual privacy standards. Others are starting to grumble. You know how guests are like sheep. We have to find a way to get rid of the press, or we
’
re going to have more guests leaving or, even worse, someone finding out that you-know-who is here.”

Like Dodge didn
’
t know that. “I
’
m on it.” He hung up, turned the phone to vibrate, and shoved it into his inside jacket pocket. The key to making a deal was knowing your partner
’
s quirks. His mother hated cell phones, and he sure as hell didn
’
t need an ill-timed ringing to put her off his plan to make things right.

The Brasch Group
’
s representatives would be here in a few weeks for an in-person review and to sign the paperwork. By then, everything needed to be back to normal at The Retreat. He
’
d gone down in flames with Harper last night, but he hadn
’
t given up. Not by a long shot.

“
Good morning, darling.
” His mom held out a small purple plate. “Would you like a muffin?”

About as much as he wanted Harper to lead the press straight to Garth Hampton
’
s cabin.
“
Thanks.
” He took the smallest bite possible, but the gritty dry whole wheat, flax, and God-knew-what-else concoction stuck to the top of his mouth like flavorless peanut butter.

“Chai?” She reached for her favorite teapot.

He choked down the muffin. “No, I
’
m good.
” There was no way he could have the muffin and the chai without his meat and potatoes stomach going into system failure as a protest. “I stopped by to ask a favor.”

May settled back into the wicker chair
’
s forest green cushion. “Anything, you know that.”

He rested his ass against the stone railing so he faced her. His mother, with her hemp shirt and long braid, might look like a pushover, but he
’
d learned a long time ago that wasn
’
t the case. The woman had a spine as hard as the porch railing and hated it when people beat around the bush. Time to go straight at it.

“The press is hanging around here like hungry jackals trying to get an exclusive photo of Harper or, even better, an exclusive interview,” he said. “I need you to get her to do an interview so the press will back off.”

“And you think one interview and photo shoot will get them to go away?”

“Yes. The tabloids are only paying out for the first exclusive. After that, it’s old news.”

“Since that’s the case, why don
’
t you ask her to do the interview?” May asked.

“I have. She said no.” This is where he should have added in Harper
’
s turn at blackmail, but something held him back. He needed his mother
’
s help, not for her to go all mama bear and push Harper even further into a corner.

May shrugged and took a sip of chai. “Well, that
’
s that.”

“You don
’
t understand.
” He pushed off the railing and paced the short length of the porch, each step winding the tension tighter instead of releasing it. “The longer the press sneaks around here trying to get a photo or surprise quote from Harper, the more likely they are to discover that Garth Hampton is here.”

“And he wouldn
’
t like that?” May took another sip of chai as if that discovery wouldn
’
t have far-reaching effects on The Retreat, his plans for expansion, and his plot for revenge.

“Not in the least. He
’
s a fifty-year-old recovering alcoholic who just got out of rehab. The last thing he needs is the stress of dealing with the press right now. He asked for total privacy, and I guaranteed it.” He didn
’
t go back on his word. Ever.

May cocked her head to the side and gave him a considering look. “There
’
s more.”

“Guests are already talking, and some have checked out.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tightness there. “Plus, The Brasch Group
’
s team is headed here in a few weeks to finalize the expansion agreement. If they get here and see a reporter hiding in the bushes and news vans parked between the tumbleweeds, the deal will go south faster than Stone got bucked off his last bronco.”

“And you think all the reporters will disappear once Harper talks to them.”

“It
’
s a busy news cycle,” he said as he stopped pacing and turned to face his mom. “They
’
ll be gunning for the next big exclusive.”

Quick, easy, and efficient, an interview was the best solution to fixing a shitty situation before it got worse. His mother had to see it. Looking into her eyes, the same shade as his own, he saw understanding dawn. Tension ebbed out of his upper back, and he rolled his neck with relief.

“The universe is giving you an amazing opportunity here with Harper coming into your life.” May sat her empty mug down on the side table and clasped her hands together. “She
’
s what you need, so stop trying to piss her off and find another solution to your reporter problem.”

His ulcer threatened to rip a hole right through his stomach, and his chest tightened. Fisting his hands at his side, Dodge clenched his jaw shut and inhaled a deep breath. He had to figure out what the hell his mother was talking about and why the universe according to May always seemed to fuck with his plans. Then he could clean up this mess. The fresh Wyoming air filled his lungs, and he focused on the smell of freshly mowed grass, a reminder that the deal to take The Retreat global wasn
’
t falling apart around them. Yet.

Releasing the breath, he forced calmness into his tone that he was far from feeling. “
I don’
t want the universe
’
s help.”

May shook her head, her straight posture melting into a slumped
C
. “No, you just want your revenge.”

That cut his bluster off at the knees. “You know about that?”

He
’
d never told her about his plans to pay his grandfather back for the way he
’
d tossed his own daughter aside. Showing the twisted old fuck that they didn
’
t need him—would never need him—had fired Dodge
’
s drive since he was sixteen and had found the letter the bastard had written May. Cold, cruel, and concise, the letter outlined exactly why his grandfather was disowning his daughter. For a sixteen-year-old trying to understand who he was and where he was going, that letter provided all the direction an ambitious teenager needed. At that age, nothing felt as good as telling The Man to fuck off.

“I
’
m your mother, so there
’
s not a whole lot I don
’
t know about you, Dodge.” She stood, crossed the porch to him, and gave his shoulders a quick squeeze. “While I appreciate you wanting to right the wrongs done to me, you don
’
t have to. I made my peace with my father and what he did a long time ago. The longer you hold on to this grudge, the more it will cloud your vision until you can’t see all the good things that are right in front of you, or in the library for that matter.”

“I can’t forget or forgive.”

May sighed and pointed to the newly planted cottonwood trees that in a few years would grow big enough to provide a little privacy for the family
’
s veranda. “Just look at those saplings. If they don
’
t bend to the never-ending Wyoming wind then they
’
ll snap in half before they ever get a chance to grow into strong trees.” She poked him in the ribs. “You have to learn to bend a little, Dodge, or you
’
ll break.”

That wasn
’
t going to happen. He
’
d bend the rest of the world first—starting with Harper. He just needed to find out what button to push to make her agree to the interview. Maybe he could wheedle some information out of her employer.

“What company did you say Harper worked for?”

May averted her gaze. “I didn’t.”

Dodge’s trouble detector went into overdrive. “Why?”

May’s sigh was long and deep, the kind that alerted the world that bad news was coming. “Because your grandfather owns the company, and I knew it would only upset you.”

Heat blasted through, temporarily blinding him to anything but his long-nourished hatred of his grandfather. Did the old man know about Dodge’s plans for The Brasch Group? Had he sent in a spy? The bastard would do it.

“What were you thinking?” Harsh and cold, he flung each word like a dagger.

May didn’t flinch. She raised her chin and gave him
the look
every kid knows too well. “That she was the best person for the job.”

“But she works for
him
.” She had to be a spy. How much had she learned about their operations already? The Brasch Group representatives would be here soon. Was she planning sabotage?

May patted his cheek, a sad understanding softening her momentary hard edge. “You have got to let this grudge go before it eats you up.”

Dodge didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He was too busy figuring out how to use this information to force her hand about the interview before kicking her sweet ass off his property.

“
Well, I
’
ll leave you to your stewing.” May gathered up her cup and the muffin plate before walking to the door. “I have a yoga class in fifteen.”

He didn
’
t stew. He plotted. He planned. He—

Harper, accompanied by Griff, walked into his line of sight and destroyed every other thought in his head. Faded jeans had never looked as good as they did hugging her full hips and high, round ass. She laughed at something his brother said, and the soft sound carried across the air, taunting him with its easy joy when he knew damn well there was nothing easy about her.

Stubborn, determined, and more than willing to fight dirty, Harper had gotten under his skin. That didn
’
t happen often, if ever. He needed to go inside and figure out what his next step should be, but he couldn
’
t leave the railing, not while the sun turned her auburn hair into a fiery gold halo around her. Good thing he knew she wasn
’
t anywhere near as angelic as she looked, otherwise he
’
d be in trouble.

She spotted him watching, and a flash of heat sizzled between them, making his zipper work overtime. Insta-hard didn
’
t even begin to describe it. The woman was probably a corporate spy who was blackmailing him and she still gave him a hard-on. That wasn
’
t right.

Her step faltered the tiniest bit, and Griff grabbed her elbow before she lost her balance. Turning her head, she said something to him that Dodge couldn
’
t hear, but she must have thanked him, judging by how his younger brother gave his best aw-shucks smile and tipped his cowboy hat. He didn
’
t let go of her arm as they walked around the corner and out of sight.

There was no reason for Griff to have kept touching her like that. Harper was more than capable of walking on her own, not that he cared if she fell into his little brother
’
s bed, but it could cause more problems. Office romances got messy fast, especially when it came to Griff, who wasn
’
t known for staying tangled in the same sheets for long. Dodge
’
s gut tightened, and the hip-high stone wall bit into the palms of his hands. Fuck it. If she wanted his brother, he wouldn
’
t stand in her way. Maybe Griff could get her to agree to the interview, and Dodge could have the pleasure of banning her from The Retreat. Then everyone would be happy, except for his bastard of a grandfather.