Two
Anger licked along Wyatt’s nerve endings like kindling catching fire. Luthor Sutherland had deliberately deceived him.
The man had no intention of “retiring” to the original homestead as he’d led Wyatt to believe when he’d insisted the parcel be excluded from the sale, and Sutherland’s daughter was one of the employees Sutherland had been so eager to protect. If Wyatt had known, he would never have signed the employee agreement Sutherland had insisted on.
But if Luthor expected Wyatt to cut his princess any slack, he’d be disappointed. If Hannah couldn’t carry her weight, she’d be fired—per the performance clause Wyatt had included.
What incensed him the most was that he knew he had no one but himself to blame for deception getting past him. He’d been neck-deep in closing an international distribution deal and because he didn’t have the time, interest or knowledge in running a horse farm, he’d delegated the job of finding a self-sufficient operation—one that wouldn’t require him to be on-site—to the best buyer’s agent in the business.
Sutherland Farm met all his criteria. He couldn’t help wondering if there were any more surprises in addition to the leggy brunette liability yet to discover. Whatever the issues, he would find and eradicate them.
He had enough problems without having to deal with a pampered heiress who had been living out of her daddy’s deep pockets. The snippets of conversation he’d overheard through the patio door made it clear that description fit Hannah Sutherland from her silk shirt to her polished high-heeled boots.
He’d bet his seven-figure investment portfolio that Hannah had coasted through life on her beauty and pretty-please smiles. His gut warned him she’d be nothing but trouble. And his instincts about people were rarely wrong. He didn’t need to see the two carats of diamonds in her ears or the watch on her wrist so pricey that a thief could pawn it to buy a car or her short but perfectly manicured nails to confirm her overindulged status.
“I want every employee’s file before I leave today,” he demanded without looking away from the smoky blue eyes shooting flames at him.
“That’s confidential information,” Hannah protested.
“Hannah,” Sutherland’s lawyer interjected, “as the new owner of Sutherland Farm, Mr. Jacobs has unrestricted access to employee records.”
“But—”
Wyatt nailed her with a hard look. “I’ll start with yours. I have a pretty good idea what I’ll find. Private schools. Sororities. European vacations paid for by Sutherland Farm.”
Hannah glared at him. Tension quivered through her slender, toned body. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, and despite his aversion to spoiled women and his anger over his predicament, awareness simmered beneath his skin.
Something about her got to him. She had a subtle grace and elegance about her that both attracted him and, because of his past relationships with her type, repulsed him. He’d been burned by her kind before.
“I graduated from an accredited veterinary school,” she said through barely moving lips. “My credentials are valid, and since Warmbloods are a European breed, visiting the established and successful breeding farms to study their setups and evaluate their stock for potential matches is a necessary part of my job.”
“I’m sure you have references from your previous employers to prove your worth as an employee.”
Her chin jerked up a notch and she managed to look down her straight nose at him in the way only wealthy women could—a lesson he’d had driven into him like a railroad spike when he’d been seventeen and green and working at his stepfather’s stable. Back then he hadn’t been smart enough to know rich daddy’s darlings didn’t marry boys who cleaned stalls for their stepfathers’ stables no matter how intimate the relationship might have become.
“I have worked here since graduating—almost five years. I’m good at what I do.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
She folded her arms and cocked back on one of those long legs. “Tell me, Mr. Jacobs, what exactly are your credentials for determining whether or not staff members are performing well?”
“Hannah—” the attorney cautioned, but Wyatt silenced him with a look.
“I’m CEO of Triple Crown Distillery. I employ over six hundred. I recognize incompetents and slackers when I see them.”
Anger stained her cheeks a fiery red, proving she’d picked up his implication that he considered her one. “As I’ve already stated, the Sutherland team doesn’t have any weak links. We’re a cohesive unit, one of the best in the industry.”
“That remains to be seen.” Wyatt was beginning to wish he’d chosen one of the other dozen properties the real estate agent had presented. But as wise as that option now appeared, none of those farms had fit Sam’s descriptions and all would have required Wyatt’s input as a manager. Input he didn’t have the time or inclination to give.
When Sam reminisced about the Kentucky thoroughbred farm he’d once owned, he sounded so lucid Wyatt could almost forget his stepfather was fading away right before his eyes. Sutherland Farm resembled Sam’s old farm more than any of the other properties, and Sam deserved to be comfortable, happy and, most importantly, safe for however long he had left. He would be here. Wyatt would make damned sure of it.
And he had no intention of letting Hannah Sutherland prevent him from repaying the debt he owed to the man who’d been a better parent to him than his own flesh and blood.
“Just watch your step, doc. Your father may have indulged you, but I won’t. You’ll earn your keep if you want to remain employed here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have files to review and you need to get back to work.”
Exhausted, Hannah plodded down the driveway toward her cottage, a hot bubble bath and a glass of wine.
One of her rescue mares kept pace beside her on the opposite side of the white board fence. Hannah found the horse’s undemanding company soothing. Unlike people, who were easily disappointed, horses never expected too much.
It had been a tough week. Since her world crashed she’d been juggling her usual duties plus the new ones thrust unexpectedly on her. The staff had turned to her for answers—answers she didn’t have.
The mood in the barns grew more oppressive, like an impending summer storm, with each day that Wyatt Jacobs failed to make an appearance. Usually affable employees were on edge and snapping at each other. Even the horses had picked up on the bad vibes and been harder to handle than usual. Hannah wished Jacobs would show up just to break the tension. Not that she wanted to see him again.
The phone on her hip vibrated. The digital display read private caller. Could be a client or, if she was lucky, a wrong number. She didn’t have the energy to deal with another crisis or panicking coworker.
She hit the answer button. “Hannah Sutherland.”
“Wyatt Jacobs. Come to my office in the house. Now.”
Click.
Her feet stuck to the pavement as if she’d stepped in fresh tar. She scowled at the now silent phone then she looked across the lawn toward the main house. A light glowed in her father’s—Wyatt Jacobs’s—study.
The usurper had arrived. And he’d hung up on her. The rude, inconsiderate jerk. Anger charged through her system, riding on the back of a burst of adrenaline. How dare he demand an appointment this late in the evening?
She considered calling back and telling him she was off the clock and she’d see him tomorrow. But according to the clause in her new contract, which Brinkley had pointed out, she couldn’t refuse the boss’s summons without jeopardizing her job.
She