Her Tycoon to Tame by Emilie Rose Page A

I’ll show you the portfolio of the horses we’ve rescued and placed.”
    â€œFinancials first. If the numbers aren’t good, then the rest is irrelevant.”
    Her mouth went as dry as a drought-ridden pasture. A bottom-line mindset spelled nothing but disaster for FYC. “What about your tour?”
    â€œIt can wait.”
    â€œIt’ll take me a while to pull the reports together. Study the portfolio in the meantime. I’ll get the books to you tomorrow.”
    â€œTonight.”
    She bit the inside of her lip to hold back a grimace. She wasn’t going to be able to stall him. “The files are on the computer in my cottage. It’s late. I’ll print them out after dinner and deliver them to your office first thing in the morning.”
    â€œI’ll follow you home and get them now.”
    That sounded more like a threat than a promise. “If you insist.”
    â€œI do. And for future reference, Hannah, don’t waste my time trying to evade the issue. I always get what I want in the end.”
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    Rain drummed on the car’s roof, almost drowning out Hannah’s pounding pulse. The short, tense ride from the rescue barn to her cottage couldn’t have been more miserable.
    Wyatt parked. She debated inviting him inside but his scent enveloping her as surely as the expensive leather upholstery cradled her body muddled her thinking.
    Her cottage was the only part of her life he hadn’t managed to invade, but if she wanted to persuade him to keep funding FYC despite its dismal bottom line, then she had to endure his presence until she could find another solution. Besides, she had pictures inside that he really needed to see.
    Resigned, she reached for the door handle. “Come in while I get what you need.”
    She shoved open the door and sprinted toward her front porch, but not even a chilly rain could banish the strange awareness of the man shadowing her like a hawk ready to swoop down on a hare. But she wasn’t a defenseless bunny. She could fight for what she wanted.
    She stepped into her foyer and held open the door. Heswept past her. “Make yourself comfortable. This’ll take a few minutes. Can I get you a glass of wine?”
    â€œNo thank you.” Most visitors paused to study the wall covered with framed photographs, but not Wyatt. He marched between her matching camelback sofas, his boots barely making a sound on her wooden floor as he headed for the stone fireplace and the portrait hanging above it.
    â€œWho’s this?” he asked without turning. “You look like her.”
    â€œMy mother and her favorite horse, Gazpacho. He was a Grand Prix champion many times over and twice a world champion. Gazpacho was a rescue horse. So I guess you could say my mother laid the foundation for Find Your Center by rescuing Gazpacho before I was born.”
    Wyatt glanced over his shoulder from her to the oil painting and back, his skepticism clear in his expression. “You expect to find another champion in every nag you rescue?”
    His sarcasm stung. Now he sounded like her father. “Of course not. I’m not stupid. Champions are rare. Most of our horses go to therapeutic riding schools after they’re rehabilitated.”
    â€œWhat is a therapeutic riding school?”
    She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect opening for her sales pitch. She inhaled slowly, gathering her thoughts and words and trying to put them in perfect, persuasive order.
    â€œTherapeutic riding is a form of physical therapy used to help individuals with disabilities or brain injuries strengthen their core muscles and improve their balance through finding their center of gravity. Hence, our name.”
    â€œPutting someone with balance issues on a horse is dangerous and foolhardy. Sounds a liability and an insurance nightmare.”
    Alarm raised the hairs on her nape. The close-minded were always the hardest to convince.