Read Online Books/Novels:
Cowboy in Colorado (Fifty States of Love #2)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
It should have been simple and straightforward—business, and nothing but business. A quick trip to Colorado to scout out a location for my newest real estate development acquisition. Fly in, drive to the location, talk the owners into selling, sign some papers, and go home.
A business trip like any other, something I’ve done hundreds of times without issue.
This time, however, I was waylaid. First by a runaway horse—and then by an angry, stormy pair of vivid blue eyes, a massive, mountainous set of brawny shoulders, a strong, powerful pair of hands, and a voice like thunder over the horizon.
Will is a man out of another era, a man of stillness and action in equal measure—a man in complete possession of himself and his world in a way I’ve never experienced. And suddenly, somehow, he comes to possess me, my mind, my heart, and and my body, in a way neither of us are ready for, and neither of us know how to resist.
What should have been a simple business deal quickly spirals out of control, becoming a struggle of life and death, a battle of hearts and passion
|Books in Series:|
|Books by Author:|
“Miss Bellanger?” The voice of my secretary interrupts my train of thought as I review some contract revisions that require my signature.
“Hmm?” I don’t bother looking up—thinking she probably needs to reschedule some meeting or other.
“Your father has requested a meeting with you.”
This breaks me out of my concentration entirely. “He did?”
Andrea, my secretary, seems hesitant, pensive. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Did he say when?”
“Ummm, now. He just called directly, himself. He’s in his personal conference room.”
“I suppose he didn’t say what the meeting was about?”
Andrea looks shocked at the suggestion. “Of course not, ma’am.”
“No, of course not.” I sigh.
He probably wants an update on the Coselli project—I’m not the official lead on it, but I am a lead in pretty much every way that matters. I gather my materials on the project, stuff them into my leather portfolio, and head for the private elevator which will take me to Dad’s warren of offices at the top of the Bellanger Tower. I press my thumb to the keypad, wait for it to scan my print and recognize me as authorized for access to the top floor, and then ride up the sixteen floors to the very top. The elevator door opens onto a hushed foyer, brightly lit with natural sunlight from the windows, which stretch from floor to ceiling. The floor is thickly carpeted, the walls are a neutral gray with prints of famous paintings here and there—some of them, like the Monet outside Dad’s personal office, is an original. I’ve always thought this whole top floor is rather understated for the personal offices of Thomas Holden Bellanger—one of the most wealthy and powerful men on the planet, but that’s how Dad likes it. He has no need to impress anyone, and anyway, no one outside his direct, personal staff has access to this floor…and me, of course, being his daughter.
There’s no one to greet me, no secretary or receptionist—if you make it this far, you know you’re expected and you know where to go. I head for the conference room, a surprisingly small corner of the floor—small, but encased in glass on two sides, allowing for a breathtaking view of Manhattan from up here on the sixtieth floor.
I take a seat on one side of a conference table which seems to be roughly a mile long—there are doors at each end of the room, and a giant, floor-to-ceiling flat-screen TV on one wall, with a bank of controls and connections on a nearby table to allow for various setups for telecommunication meetings and presentations.
Why Dad wants to meet me up here, I have no idea. Usually, when he wants a report or an update from me, it’s because he wants my input on something outside my official duties as a senior project manager. As his daughter, I’m being groomed to take over eventually. Usually, those meetings happen in his office, informally. The conference room is formal, for official business—there’s recording software running 24/7, so every meeting that takes place here is on the record.
At that moment the door opens and James, Dad’s personal assistant, walks in, followed by Dad’s secretary, Harriet, and then Dad himself.
James Marshall Fenworth III, Esquire is, honestly, one of the single most frighteningly competent and terrifyingly efficient human beings I’ve ever met in my life, and I’ve met two presidents, two White House Chiefs of Staff, and the CEOs of dozens of the most successful companies in the world. Harriet Sheridan isn’t any less scarily efficient—she’s worked for Dad for twenty-five years, has an eidetic memory, and absolutely zero patience for wasted time.
As his right and left hands, James and Harriet are never present at my update/intel meetings with Dad, so their presence signals that this is definitely not an ordinary, unofficial meeting between me and my dad—rather, if James and Harriet are here, and it’s taking place in the conference room, this is a meeting between Thomas Holden Bellanger, founder, president, and CEO of Bellanger Industries, and me, Brooklyn Bellanger, senior project manager working several pay grades down—and even though I happen to be his daughter, I know this is no ordinary meeting.
Dad takes the seat at the head of the table and smiles at me. “Hi, honey.”
I blink slowly, clearing my throat. “Hi, Dad.”
James sits on Dad’s right, and Harriet on his left, and once they’re settled, Dad glances at James, and they have a silent exchange, and then Dad accepts a file folder from James—my personnel file, I assume. Eeek—this is really official. Something big is happening, and I focus on keeping my heart from hammering out of my chest.
Finally, he looks up at me. “I’m sure you’re wondering why the formality.”
I shrug, nod. “It’s a bit out of the ordinary, yes.”
He nods. “You know very well I’ve long dreamed of being able to pass my position on to you someday, and until then, have you beside me as my second-in-command.”