7 Chapter 7

Beatrice

Our hotel suite looks like a multi-generational slumber party. Diane and Bessie are sleeping on the chaise longue, and Olivia and Rosalind have more or less passed out on large cushions on the floor after drinking the mini-bar's selection of mini-booze. I'm the only one awake because I fell asleep before the drinking began, and now with the edges of my exhaustion sated, my mind isn't letting me sleep anymore. Outside, it's still dark, but the sun is about to rise. Through the windows, I can see the sun peeking over the mountains in the distance.

Peace.

Looking at the sleeping women, who only days ago were perfect strangers, touches me in a deep way. We've lied, saying that we're family, but in some respects, we've become family. What else is it called when there's so much caring and compassion involved between people? They're working hard for me to be happy, and I can't wait to be able to do the same for them.

Olivia has become a new person, more self-assured, even though she's facing a very uncertain future. Rosalind has also changed during Operation Billionaire, moving her focus from how she's been blocked from realizing her life's goals to helping other in realizing theirs.

I'm grateful to both of them, but I need some fresh air. I need alone time. Quietly, I change into jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers and leave the hotel room.

Even though it's July, it's chilly outside. I can hear the soft whinnying of the horses in the distant stables, but otherwise the ranch is still bedded down for the night. I have the whole area to myself. I walk quickly past the paddocks and the rodeo arena and through the meadow toward the mountains.

I'm an L.A. girl, and I'm not used to the fresh, clean air, but I'm getting used to it pretty quickly. I stick my hands in my sweatshirt pockets against the cold and let my mind wander. In the face of such natural grandeur, I can't help and reflect on how unimportant my problems are. After all, who cares if I've had bad relationships? So what if each man I've ever been serious with has left me? Maybe I'm just attracted to the wrong guy. Maybe I haven't met the real Mr. Right yet. If that's true, I can't trust my judgment. If that's true, I have to be suspicious of anyone I'm attracted to.

Like Cole Stevens.

Just because he's an ultra-alpha, ultra-sexy, mega-rich guy, who makes my heart skip a beat, that doesn't mean that he isn't a low down, dirty dog. In fact, he's probably a no-account jerkface who will play with my heart and then dump me and steal my curling iron. Maybe not my curling iron, but he would probably take my Roomba. Oh, how I miss my Roomba. Stupid men.

Stupid men!

True, a billionaire doesn't need to steal my Roomba, but he would probably do it just to hurt me. Because if I like him, he'll probably hurt me. That's my M.O. I attract men who hurt me...not in a Fifty Shades kind of way, but in an I-don't-love-you kind of way and you-don't-deserve-a-robot-vacuum kind of way.

So, Cole is doing me a favor. He's sending me a signal, preventing another heartbreak. The message is simple: If I'm attracted to him, then it means that he's no good. Oh, phew. I'm so glad I figured this out before we went too far. Not that he's interested in me. "Interesting" doesn't mean interested. "Interesting" means I'm great to study, to experiment on. Well, I've had enough of that! I deserve love. I deserve the perfect man to love me, perfectly.

So go to hell, Mr. Aerospace King, cowboy sexy man with a fine ass and abs of steel. I don't need you. I don't care if I never see you, again. I'm finally free.

I snap out of my thoughts long enough to get a good look at the breathtaking sunrise. I've climbed up pretty high, and I can see the whole ranch from here. It's bigger than I thought, and Cole probably owns a big chunk of land around it, too. It's like he owns Yellowstone. I wonder what his property taxes are, and it must be crazy expensive to insure.

But enough about him. I'm a new woman! I'm empowered! I'm proactive! I'm other words that Gloria Steinem would use!

I'm lost.

Uh oh.

I'm standing on a rock. I can't see any kind of trail, and I'm scared of heights. Turning around, I realize that I have to go through the forest to get back down, but I haven't kept track, and I don't know the way. "Take a deep breath," I tell myself, and it helps. No biggie. Sure, I'll probably be lost on this mountain for a few hours, but I'll eventually find my way down.

I mean, I'll make my way down if the giant bear doesn't get me first.

I can hear its giant feet pounding the ground and ripping through the brush. I suck air, which I realize will probably be the last air I ever suck.

Boy, am I going to miss air.

Being eaten by a bear has got to hurt. I'm not good with pain. I mean, I needed general anesthesia to get my ears pierced. I don't want to be Leonardo DiCaprio'd. I don't want to become Purina Bear Chow. I take a peek below me, but it doesn't look like I can survive the descent. I'm trapped like a rat.

Or a single woman.

I should have eaten the chocolate fountain at the party last night. I'm never skipping chocolate again.

Covering my head with my hands and closing my eyes against the sight of my untimely death, I don't learn the truth until I hear him. "Beatrice Hammersmith," he says, and even I understand that bears don't talk.

In front of me, Cole Stevens is sitting high on top of his gorgeous black stallion, which is pawing the ground and kicking up dirt. I run my fingers through my hair, as if that was what I was doing all long and not shielding myself from getting eaten by a nonexistent bear.

"Hello, Mr. Stevens," I say, as if I'm not lost, not scared of heights, didn't think that he was a bear, and don't care if I never see his Gerard Butler in 300 gorgeous body.

"You look lost. Be careful, there. It's a long drop down."

"I'm not worried," I start to say, but of course I look down, and this time, I'm gripped with a good dose of vertigo and I lose my balance.

Crazy things come to my mind as I start to plummet to my death: I'm worried that hip-huggers are going to come back in style. I wonder how they get the tops of jars to vacuum seal. I flashback to getting my period on the Ferris wheel at the Del Mar Fair and farting during my confirmation.

And then Cole Stevens gathers me up from the rock with his arm around my middle, stopping me from falling, and pulls me up onto his horse, as if I weigh nothing at all. I oomph when he hikes me up, squeezing the air out of me...which comes out the other side, and I fart.

It's my confirmation all over again.

He settles me on the saddle in front of him so that my butt is wedged between his legs. If I wasn't totally over him, this would be awkward. "How about I take you back," he growls into my ear, which makes me squirm against his how-do-you-do.

"Not necessary," I croak. For some reason, I have a big frog in my throat, and I sound like Bill Clinton.

Cole ignores my response and gently kicks his stallion into a walk. He keeps one arm around my waist so that I don't slip off and his other hand holds the reins. "That's two," he says.

"Two?"

"I've saved you two times."

"I wouldn't call it saving," I say, trying not to give in to his sexy, knight in shining arm charms.

"The first time you were almost burned alive, and the second time you almost broke every bone in your body."

Say bone again. Say body again. "I'm sure you're exaggerating, but I guess I should thank you."

Look at me...I'm immune to his charms. I'm a cold-hearted bitch. Yay, me! I guess I'm finally getting some backbone. I guess I really am interesting. Or maybe I just don't want to have my feelings hurt, again.

The horse treads down the mountain, carefully, stepping around bushes and over rocks. Cole doesn't seem to be in a hurry to return. As time passes in silence between us, I begin to feel guilty about being a cold-hearted bitch. After all, he did save me twice, and he is hotter than Krakatoa. "Nice ranch," I say, trying to bury the hatchet. "Big."

"Thank you. Not a lot of people comment on the bigness of the ranch."

I try harder. "And what you're doing-you know, for the charity-is nice."

"Nice is good. Thank you, again. And of course, now you're a part of it. I wanted to tell you how much I like your ideas for the gala." Oh. He knows who I am, that I've been working on the gala. So, more than cyber stalking me, he's checked up on me with my bosses in a big way. Interesting. "Do you like being an event planner?"

He's showing interest in me. Wow, I didn't know men did that. "Yes, but I'm just a junior planner."

"That's not what I hear. I hear that you were instrumental in all of the plans for the gala."

I swallow, and a red-hot heat crawls up my neck into my face. He's complimenting me, and it feels like foreplay. I love being complimented, especially about my competence. But do I like being an event planner? It's not exactly my life-long dream. I've never had a passion for a career like Rosalind has. I just want to be happy, to have love and friendships in my life. The event planning helps me feel useful, and I enjoy the socializing.

"I do like being an event planner, especially when it's for a worthy cause."

"The rodeo is a worthy cause. I've been hosting it for the past seven years. It's a big economic boon for this part of the state, and a life-changer for thousands of horses. With the gala, we'll be helping foster kids, too. Do you like kids?"

My heart stops beating. No man has ever asked me if I like kids. What does he mean? Is he joking? Playing with my mind? Is this some kind of test? Is liking kids indicative of being a good event planner? If so, I guess I should say yes. But what if he's asking if I really like kids? Then the answer is, why are you asking me if I really like kids? I've fallen into some kind of Twilight Zone rabbit hole where a man wants to know if I like kids. Hold on. Does Cole want to have kids with me? Is that what this means? Kids mean commitment, if you don't count Olivia. Commitment with billionaire hottie Cole.

Jackpot!

Thank you, Operation Billionaire!

The path gets steeper, and Cole pulls me tighter against him so that I don't slip down on the horse's neck. Wedged up against his crotch is like a sixties acid trip. I'm living an alternate reality. It's almost like this isn't really my life but just part of Rosalind and Olivia's plan. I take a minute to come back to myself and take stock. Here I am, a junior event planner on a black stallion with a gorgeous titan of industry and a philanthropist who thinks it's interesting to kiss me. And now he's saved me for a second time. Is that a sign from the universe that he's my savior? Is he the one to love me forever?

What did he ask me? Oh, yes... I like kids. I would like the kids he impregnates me with even more.

"Kids are good. I played Lego's with Olivia's kids yesterday in the hotel room."

I bite my lip. What can I tell him about Olivia? That she's helping me trap him to be my life partner forever husband? That she's a virtual stranger I'm living with while I negotiate a future with another virtual stranger? Nothing at all?

"Your sister's children?" he asks. "I heard that you brought your family with you." I'm about to tell him the truth. Well, not the whole truth, but at least enough truth so he knows that Olivia is a friend and not a family member, but then he pulls the truth from me, and I'm stuck with the lie. "I like that you're traveling with your family," he says. "Family is very important to me."

Family isn't important to me. I'm the only child of over-achieving parents who've over-achieved in their careers and in their retirements, but not in parenting. I was kind of the forgotten thing in their lives. So, I left home at eighteen and have only gone back for Christmas and the occasional Thanksgiving since then.

"Family is very important to me, too," I say, sinking deeper into the lie. "Love my family. We're like the show Seventh Heaven except I'm an only child and my father isn't an accused sex offender."

We get down the mountain, and Cole kicks the horse into a canter across the meadow. As soon as we get to the ranch, he slips down and lifts me off the horse. We lock eyes as he lets me down, gently. I wonder if he's going to kiss me again, and I wonder if I should take the bull by the horns and kiss him, instead. But in the pause due to the wondering, the moment passes, and nobody kisses nobody. My brains searches for something to fill the silence.

"Thank you, again. It was a good thing you stumbled on me up there."

Cole smiles, and I notice for the first time that he has a dimple on his left cheek. "Since we're being so truthful, I guess I should fess up. I didn't stumble on you. I saw you walking up the mountain, and I followed you."

Like a billionaire stalker? Could I be that lucky?

"Oh. Well, thank you, anyway."

"Do you want to know why I followed you?"

More than anything I want to know why he followed me, but if it entails the word interesting, I don't want to hear it. So, I choose to keep the mystery alive. I shake my head. The horse paws the ground, and we walk toward the hotel.

"I'm very busy in the lead up to the rodeo, but I would like to see you again," he says. A date? A date? I would love a date. "Are you involved with someone?" A laugh escapes me, and I slap a hand over my mouth. "I guess that's a no and good news for me." He stops and turns toward me. "Why aren't you involved with someone?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Men always leave me." There it is. The truth, at last. When it comes down to the most important kernel of who I am, I can't tell a lie.

Who am I? Men always leave me.

It's who I am.

Cole furrows his eyebrows and squints. "Do you leave women?" I ask, but what I'm really asking is, "Are you going to leave me?"

"No," he says. "I've never been with a woman. I mean, for more than a week."

"Oh."

And now we've arrived at his truth. He doesn't do relationships. He does one week. He does a kiss in a dark hallway. He saves the damsel in distress and then moves on. At least he's honest.

He steps forward and leans over. With hot, gentle lips, he kisses me, slipping his tongue into my mouth. I've never been kissed like this. Sizzle. Pop. Rawr. It's not just passion; it's something else entirely, too. It's like a fusion meal in an upscale restaurant: I can't quite figure out what it is, but it's delicious, and I want more. When he pulls away, I see that he's surprised by the connection, too.

"And maybe we can see each other after the rodeo is over."

"That's more than a week from now," I point out.

He smiles again and searches my face for something. It occurs to me that I don't have any makeup on. Olivia is going to kill me. I went out unprepared. I suck at seduction. Cole takes my hand, and we continue toward the inn. When we get to the driveway, he says goodbye, again. It's like he's afraid of getting too close to the building.

"Would you like to come in?" I ask, gathering all of my courage.

"I'd like to, but the employees get stressed when the boss is around, and I don't want to give them extra stress. It's a big week for them."

"Oh," I say and fight against a strong desire to jump on him, wrap my legs around his waist, and beg him to love me. "See you later," I say, instead, and I walk down the driveway. Behind me, I hear Prince Charming jump on his noble steed and gallop away.

I break out into a run myself and bolt into the hotel and straight to an elevator. Arriving at the suite, I slam open the door and wake up the slumber party.

"Beatrice Stevens!" I shout. "Mrs. Beatrice Stevens! Mrs. Cole Stevens! Doesn't that trip over the tongue beautifully?"

"Easy, girl," Rosalind says.

Olivia jumps up, wild-eyed. "Take birth control!" she shouts.

I don't see Cole again. Not even on Skype or Facetime. Not even a text. Not a single emoji. Is it so hard to throw me a smiley face colon and end parenthesis? Is that too much of an effort?

I don't know. Olivia and Rosalind won't let me contact him to ask.

It's been three days since I rode on Cole's saddle. Since then, I've worn Spanx every second, high heels, and two inches of makeup. Rosalind doesn't want me to screw up again and let Cole see me au naturel because billionaires want a polished, put together beauty, not a farting woman who sets herself on fire. So I do whatever Rosalind and Olivia tell me to, and I haven't been physically comfortable in three days.

And the hotel is out of Toblerones.

And like I said, I haven't seen Cole again. Luckily, I've been busy every day since he rescued me, so I'm not obsessing about him too much. Despite our efficient staff, there are a million details to cover for the gala. As the first of its kind at Cole's ranch, we need to make sure it goes off without a hitch and gets the funds for foster kids that they need. Unlike the rodeo, which mostly attracts Western locals, the gala is bringing in a herd of private jets and the upper echelon of the world's upper crusters. Despite his jeans and cowboy hat, Cole Stevens is the top level of the upper echelon of the world's upper crusters, and they're coming to pay homage. Now I not only want to do a good job, but I want to impress the hell out of Cole. He'll be sorry he forgot about me.

But looking at the A-list guest list, I realize that I don't have the smallest chance of capturing the Aerospace King. How can I compete with supermodels and celebrities who never fart and have legs that go on forever?

By the time the rodeo starts, I'm more relaxed. Sure, I still have the makeup on, but now my jeans are stretch, and my boots fit. With a day off before the gala, Rosalind and I help Olivia take the kids to the rodeo. After the petting zoo, three of them get pony rides, while I hold the baby. Diane has stayed back in the hotel, ordering room service and watching her programs on television, and Bessie is schmoozing around somewhere. There's a distinct drop in optimism about Operation Billionaire among our little group since Cole decided to give me the silent treatment. That is, all except for Bessie, who still thinks I'm in the running to snag Cole. She doesn't think emojis are important, either.

"Smile, Mick!" Olivia yells, snapping photos as her kids ride around a small ring on the ponies. "Keith, look at momma!" She's dressed more or less like me, but in Uggs instead of cowboy boots. Rosalind is wearing business couture, as usual. Her pointy heels sink into the dirt with each step, but somehow she keeps her balance with perfect posture.

The rodeo grounds are packed with people of every age. Families walked in groups, and everyone seems to be having a good time. Outside of the rodeo ring and grandstand are food stalls, picnic grounds, and various activities for young people, like roping a plastic steer. Red, white, and blue balloons and streamers decorate the entire area, and the loudspeaker announces different events.

"Hurry up!" Bessie urges, as she joins us. "The pulled pork sandwiches last only so long. You don't want to miss out."

She has a ring of barbecue sauce around her mouth, which clashes with her plum lipstick. She's wearing another loud cowgirl outfit, and she glances at what I'm wearing and shakes her head. "This is a party," she tells me, as if I have dementia and shouldn't be allowed to dress myself.

"How about I buy you a pulled pork sandwich?" I suggest, which mollifies her.

The ponies end their circuit, and we help Olivia take the kids to the barbecue picnic grounds. The children are halfway between the mania inspired by ponies, crowds, loud music, and enough cotton candy and funnel cakes to choke a horse and the meltdown coma-state from too much sun and excitement. They alternate between skipping toward lunch and crying about not riding the ponies or watching the cowboys lasso. Just as their excitement is contagious, so are their meltdowns. A few steps from the barbecue area, the three that can walk aren't walking. They're lying face down in the dirt, among chewed chewing tobacco, spit out sunflower seeds, and wads of chewing gum.

They won't move. They're mad about the walking, mad that they're tired, mad that they don't have mouths full of cotton candy. They're throwing a hissy fit like I've never witnessed before.

They're really good at it, like they have a lot of practice.

Olivia's eyes fill with tears, and I don't blame her. I want to cry, too. I can see the long line for the pulled pork, and I'm worried they're going to run out.

"What happened to the babysitter?" Rosalind asks, looking into the crowd. "Aren't we supposed to have a babysitter?"

A babysitter? I think we need a whole herd of babysitters. My heart goes out to Olivia. I've no idea how she copes on a daily basis without a husband or money for childcare. It's an insurmountable task. She tries to get the kids up off of the ground, but they're kicking and screaming, and she's obviously mortified. Her hair is stuck to her face in long, sweaty strips, and her face is bright red from embarrassment and exertion. I try to help her, but I'm already holding the baby, and it turns out that a two-year old is stronger than I am.

"Let me help," I hear. Even with the sounds of the crowds and the blaring loudspeaker, there's no doubt in my mind whose voice it is. I turn around and look up into the face of the world's best-looking cowboy. He has a weird tick where he gets more handsome each time I see him, and I wonder if he's getting some kind of work done on his face in his off hours and if I can get the phone number of his dermatologist to get a touch up.