Tycoon's Tryst (Culpepper Cowboys Book 10) by Merry Farmer, Culpepper Cowboys Page B

on the table for the box. “I don’t know.”
    “You’re not allergic to cookies, are you?”
    That won a smile from her. “No. They look amazing.”
    She reached into the box, taking out something that looked like chocolate chip with both milk and white chocolate pieces. She broke it in half, then offered Sly part of it.
    Sly rushed to take it. “I shouldn’t be eating your cookies. These are for you.” He finished with a gigantic bite in his mouth.
    Gorgeous, sexy as the day was long, and yeah, a little bit funny too. Sly was kind of the complete package of everything she’d wanted in a man. And kind of completely not.
    “Take a look at the results of your handiwork.” She slumped back in her chair and bit sullenly into her half of the cookie.
    “What do you mean?” He leaned forward to look at the papers.
    “Right there. It’s all in print. With your lawsuit, Korpanty Enterprises drops below the profitable level for the second quarter. That puts me a measly hundred thousand dollars below the level of profit when my dad died.” Sly would know that a hundred thou in business was like a dime to average spenders. She was so close to making the profit she needed that it stung. “Without your lawsuit, I’ll be skating right along the line.”
    “Will you break even?” His playful expression had been replaced by a serious, business face.
    Rachel shrugged, not sure she had the will to fight anymore. “Breaking even isn’t making a profit. Bev would still get my shares.”
    “But there’s still a way we can turn things around, right?”
    Rachel’s brow flew up. “We?”
    Sly smiled. “I’m here to help, at your disposal.”
    Rachel gaped at him. Was he being audacious and condescending or was it possible that he really wanted to help her?
    That wasn’t the only thing she gaped at. The hotel had been moderately busy all morning, the doors opening and closing. This time, they opened to reveal the figure of a petite, over-tanned, bleached-blonde with boobs that preceded her by a mile. Striding in behind her was a six-foot-five, muscle-bound, Nordic god of a man with long, blond hair. Rachel’s stomach knotted painfully around the part of the cookie she’d eaten.
    “What?” Sly asked, then turned to see what she was staring at.
    As he did, the petite blond glanced around, then spotted Rachel and zeroed in on her. Her collagen-injected lips pursed.
    “Can I help you?” the guy at reception asked her, but the woman ignored him. She stomped straight across the lobby in her four-inch René Caovilla wedge sandals, coming to a stop on the other side of the coffee table, one fist resting on a cocked hip. Her other arm held a Gucci bag in the crook of her elbow.
    “I got the latest reports,” she said without any introduction. “Might as well throw in the towel, Rachel. Your stupid company will be mine by the end of the year anyhow.”
    Rachel swallowed the desire to either punch Bev so hard she flew across the room or to break down into a puddle of misery right then and there. “I still have three months to turn a profit,” she answered, also without preamble or introductions.
    Ah, introductions. Right.
    “Sly, this is my sister, Beverly Korpanty.”
    Sly stood slowly, thunder in his eyes.
    Before he could so much as hold out a hand, Bev snorted in disgust. “Ugh, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me Beverly. It’s Bev. Beverly is a grandma name.”
    “My grandma’s name was Helga,” the behemoth standing next to Bev said in a thick Nordic accent.
    “Shut up, Hans. Let mommy take care of this,” Bev snapped without looking at him. She tipped her head down to look over her Tom Ford sunglasses and scanned Sly from head to toe. “Yummy. Who are you and how soon can I get you naked?”
    The only good thing about Bev was how fast she had Sly’s jaw dropped to the floor. The fact that he didn’t look at all happy about being propositioned was a surprising confidence booster.
    Sly