“Well, that budget had better have room for Clint Griffin’s asking price or we won’t be featuring him on our show. He’s interested but only if we pay his price and only if we highlight his favorite charitable organization.”
Samuel sat back on his squeaky, scratched, walnut-bottomed chair and stared over at her with a perplexed glare, then let out a grunt that brought his bifocals straight down on his nose. “Charities? We’ve never done nonprofit work. We need drama and conflict and action. People behaving badly. Ain’t any ratings in do-gooder stuff.”
Victoria nodded, considered her options. “I told him I’d talk to you and then we can both talk to him. At first, he wasn’t interested but I tried to explain the advantages of signing on with us.”
Samuel’s frown lifted then shifted into a thoughtful sideways glance. “Such as exposure on one of the highest rating shows on cable? Such as endorsements that will make him blush with pride? Such as—”
“I mentioned some of the perks,” she said, wishing again Samuel hadn’t sent her to do this work. Where were all the big shots and lawyers when a girl needed them? “I also pointed out that he’d appreciate the money, of course.”
“You mean he badly needs the money.”
“I was trying to be delicate since that is only a rumor and hasn’t been confirmed. He denied that the ranch is in trouble. I think most of his trouble might be personal.”
Samuel snorted at that. “You don’t have a delicate cell in that pretty head, V.C. But you’re perfect to persuade Cowboy Clint that he needs to be a part of our team.”
“So you sent me because I’m female, Samuel? Isn’t that against company policy...being sexist and all?”
“I didn’t mention anything about that,” Samuel said, looking as innocent as a kitten. “I sent you to just get a feel, to see the lay of the land. This man makes the supermarket tabloids on a weekly basis. Now he’s playing all high and mighty?”
Victoria pushed at her ponytail. “I got a feeling that Clint Griffin doesn’t give a flip about any reality show and I saw the lay of the land, and frankly, the Sunset Star seems to be thriving. I think the man just likes to make a commotion. I’m beginning to wonder if all those rumors aren’t the truth after all. He’s certainly full of himself.”
“There is always truth in rumors,” Samuel said, repeating his favorite saying. “You need to go back out there. Something isn’t connecting here. He’s hot right now because he’s a headline maker. He’d be stupid to turn down this offer.”
“He’s not stupid,” Victoria said, remembering Clint’s words to her. “He’s smarter than he lets on, I think.”
Samuel grabbed a pen and rolled it through his fingers. “I’d say. He played you, V.C. Which is why you need to get right back on that horse and convince him to take the deal before he asks for even more money.”
“I can’t, not until you tell me yes or no on the asking price. And I mean his asking price, not what our team has offered. I know we can afford that, at least.”
Samuel squinted, looked down through his bifocals. “Now we bring in the lawyers and his manager,” he replied, a dark gleam in his brown eyes. “You gave him a nibble. I’d bet my mother’s Texas Ware splatter bowl, he’s talking to his people right now.”
Victoria wondered about that. Did he really want this kind of exposure? Or did he need it in spite of how he felt about doing a reality show? She figured Clint Griffin had already forgotten about the whole thing, including meeting her and having her camera in his face.
* * *
HE KEPT REMEMBERING her face. It had been two days since Clint had met Victoria Calhoun but he hadn’t heard a word back from her about the so-called deal she wanted to offer him with Cowboys, Cadillacs and Cattle Drives. He’d talked to his accountant, his manager and even the family minister, but he still hadn’t decided about taking on this new venture. His accountant’s eyes had lit up at the dollars signs mentioned. His manager’s eyes had lit up at the possibility of asking for even more dollars. Greedy, both of them. The minister—probably sent by Clint’s mother to check on him concerning other areas of his life—had lit up with the possibility of more funding for some of the church mission work.
Everyone wanted something from Clint. Either to take over his soul or save his soul.
And all he wanted was one day of peace and quiet. Just one. He’d had the house to himself all week but he’d had more people dropping by than ever. He needed to get out of the state of Texas, just to rest.
Or to be restless and reckless.
But it’d be worth taking this deal to have a little fun on the side with that perky but slightly buttoned-up camera operator and production-assistant-story-time-girl-Friday named Victoria.
He’d have to make up his mind soon. Clint knew offers such as this one came and went by the dozen. But an interesting working woman? Well, he hadn’t been around many of those lately. It’d be worth his trouble to have some good times with her. That and the nice salary he’d get for agreeing to this.
He could secure a good future for his only niece, fifteen-year-old Trish, or Tater, as he always called her. His little sweet Tater.
Still, taking on Victoria Calhoun would mean having to deal with one more female in his already full-of-females life. And he hadn’t exactly asked how anyone else around here would feel about constant cameras in their lives.
Clint listened to the sound of girly laughter out by the pool, his eyes closed, his mind in turmoil while he sat in the shade of the big, open patio, watching the steaks sizzle on the grill. With a cowboy hat covering his face to shade him from the bright glare of the afternoon sun, he listened to the women gathered for a quick swim before dinner.
“Well, he said he’d take me to the party.”
That would be Tater. The young, confused, teenage one.
“But did he ask you to the party? Because you wanting him to take you and him asking, that’s a whole different thing.”
That would be Susan. Or Susie. The bossy older one.
“Take, ask, what does it matter? I want to go with him but he treats it all like a joke.”
“It is a joke. Men like to treat us that way.”
“You two need to quit worrying about boyfriends and get outta that water and help me finish dinner.”
And that would be Denise. Denny—the nickname she hated. The divorced, even older one.
Man, he loved his sisters and his niece but sometimes they got on his last nerve. Favorite, Forceful and Formidable. That’s how he labeled them in the pecking order, youngest to oldest.
“Can’t a man get some shut-eye around here without all this squawking?”
“And you, Mister Moody. You need to turn those steaks ’cause your mama is on her way over right now.”
Clint opened one eye and squinted up at the one he liked to call Denny just to irritate her. Tater technically belonged to Denny, but everyone around here was trying to advise his niece on how to get a date for the summer party coming up in a few weeks. “Mama? You invited Mama for a cookout?”
“She does live right over there—sometimes,” Denise said, one hand on her hip while she pointed toward the white farmhouse near the big pond at the south end of the yard. When he’d built this house, their stubborn mother had insisted on staying on out there. “And she does come for dinner at least once or twice a week.”
“And she doesn’t