people didn’t have the extra money to do that. Billie kept the fact to herself. “I’m still helping the Montanegros navigate their home purchase in Houston,” she said, which was true. “So I still have to be there occasionally, anyway.”
“Oh, right. Your old neighbors. The ones you’re forgoing your sales commission for.”
“The ones who are storing my stuff in their garage,” Billie added humorously. “It’s the least I could do. So where’s the meeting place?” She made a note when Maddie told her.
“How is business going at Austin Elite? Any new listings?”
It was all too easy to conjure Grayson’s face in her mind. “No new listings. But a new client looking to buy came in today specifically asking for me.”
“That’s great, Billie! I knew it wouldn’t be long before you were right back in the swing of things. Word gets around when you’re a good agent. So what size fishy cracker are we talking?”
Billie chuckled. “He’s a big one, if I haven’t just jinxed everything by admitting it.”
“He?” Maddie’s voice piqued with interest. “Is he single?”
“Maddie! I don’t know who is worse—my cousin with sex on his brain, or you with romance on yours.”
“May I just say that those two elements can work quite well together? I’ll take your nonanswer as the affirmative, though. So is the male big fish eligible? Do tell.”
She could imagine Maddie’s reaction if she knew just how eligible. “There’s nothing to tell!” Particularly when DeForest Allen walked past her office again, giving her a close look. “I’ll tell you as much as I can on Friday if I can make it. Right now, my boss is giving me the stink eye. And I’ve told you what he’s like.”
“That’s what you get for defecting back to Austin,” Maddie said humorously. “Fine. But I’m holding you to it, my friend. So be prepared with details the next time I see you!”
* * *
Grayson slid the key card over the lock on his hotel suite on the top floor of the Kimpton and pushed open the door. His mother, seated on a couch positioned to take in the lake view, looked up at him. She had her usual calendar spread in front of her, along with her phone and a foot-high stack of glossy Grayson publicity stills that she was signing.
“How’d it go?”
He dropped his hat on the table next to the stack. “Did you know that Billy with a y is actually Billie with an i and an e?”
“Don’t let your sexism show, son.” The fact that Deborah followed his statement at all was proof enough that she had known. She signed another photo with a flourish. “I can’t help what you assumed.”
“Then did you know how young she is?”
Deborah leaned back against the couch. As usual, her long brown hair hung over her shoulder in a thick braid, and she had another pen tucked behind her ear, almost hiding the few sprinkles of gray she possessed. “Everything I’ve heard about Billie Pemberton when she was in Houston is that she is an excellent agent. Astute. Hardworking, and most importantly—according to your specifications—very discreet. Why would you care whether she’s twenty-one or ninety-one?” The fine lines at the corners of her eyes crinkled. “Or was she attractive, too?”
There was a price to be paid for having his mother act as his manager. When most men were off on their own, catching grief for not calling home often enough, Deborah Fortune handled almost every detail in Grayson’s life. With finesse and grace when necessary, but more often than not with plain speaking and a no-bull attitude. It’s how she’d raised him and his brothers when they were kids, and it was how things were now.
“Yeah, she was attractive.” He sounded grouchy and didn’t care. He flung himself down on the other couch and started to stretch out his legs.
“Don’t get comfortable. You need to sign some of these, too.” She pushed a stack of stills toward him. She waited until he’d sat forward and grabbed a pen. “So you liked her.”
After so many years traveling on the road together, they usually both knew how to give each other privacy and space. Evidently, this was not going to be one of those times.
He slid his gaze across the table toward her as he signed his name. Autographing the photographs they gave away during his appearances had gotten so mundane, he could do it in his sleep. “Like you said. She seems competent so far.” And beautiful. Intelligent.
And sexy as all hell, the way the bridge of her nose wrinkled when she really concentrated.
He turned back to the stack of photos, but the image in his head was all Billie. “I’m meeting her tomorrow morning to look at a couple properties.”
“Tomorrow.” Deborah sounded surprised. “That’s nice, but that’s not what I was asking.”
How well he knew it. “I’m looking for a new ranch, Ma. Not a wife.”
Deborah clucked her tongue. “Don’t be so reactionary. I’m not suggesting you get married tomorrow. I’m merely suggesting you don’t have many opportunities to meet nice young women, and when you do, you should pay attention.”
“I meet nice young women all the time. I don’t need to be dating my real estate agent.”
“So you’ve already thought about it.”
His glare at her had no effect. So he gave up and grabbed more photos from the stack. “How many of these did we print?”
“Five thousand. And usually, the women you meet are reporters and sales reps and buckle bunnies.”
“Ariana’s a reporter.” Or a novelist. He wasn’t exactly sure what Jayden’s new wife was working on at the moment. “She wasn’t a nice young woman?”
Deborah sighed noisily. “You know I already love Ariana and Bianca like daughters. And don’t get me started on how EJ’s already wrapping his hands around my heart.”
“He is a cute little dickens.” Grayson’s brother Nathan would be a heck of a stepfather for the four-year-old now that he’d married Bianca. “I took out that rep from Change Sportswear I met a couple weeks ago. Dinner at a place with tablecloths and everything.” Followed by a very entertaining evening in her bed. Like him, Livian Reed wanted nothing more out of their very brief acquaintance than that.
Good food. Good sex. Goodbye.
Just the way he liked it. No promises, no strings.
Too-young-for-him Billie Pemberton might be perfect in every way. But she wasn’t a no-strings type. He hadn’t even needed to see all the family photographs crammed on her filing cabinet to know it.
“Livian Reed’s a buckle bunny, too. She’s just dressed in Ann Taylor.”
He couldn’t help but grin. “And Livian would eviscerate you for the comparison if she ever knew.”
His mother’s expression
