We need to talk.
Preston Del Rio’s stomach knotted as he read the text glowing beneath the rosewood table in his father’s corner office.
He hated surprises.
Ever since the new dating app k!smet’s “SurpriseMe!” function had set off the chain of events that led to his sister getting engaged to the second eldest son of their family’s bitter rival, it had been one unwelcome revelation after another.
The heirloom Del Rio necklace being found in the basement of the Winters ancestral estate.
The letter explaining how it got there.
The implosion of the tenuous truce between the Winterses and Del Rios.
And now this.
Stuck in an endless one-on-one meeting, listening to his father drone on while his brain whipped itself into a frenzy over a text from his recent one-night stand.
Before Preston could reply, his phone vibrated with a second message.
Cattleman’s Club. 8:00 p.m. by the statue. You know the one.
Oh, he knew it all right.
Six weeks earlier, in the patch of shadow cast by the statue’s imposing form, he had kissed Tiffany Winters.
If kissing had been all they’d done the night of Maggie’s engagement party to Jericho Winters, Tiffany might not be texting him at all.
But what had started as a flirtatious reprisal of the role that had earned him the nickname Romeo Del Rio in high school had ended with them making out behind the Cattleman’s Club’s iconic bronze Texas longhorn.
From there, they’d barely made it to her house before their clothing disappeared along with their sanity.
Preston’s blood heated at the memory as his hand tightened on the phone.
I’ll be there, he texted in return.
“Coffee?” A gentle tap on Preston’s shoulder brought his attention back to the present, where his father’s executive assistant held a copper carafe in the golden afternoon light. Though it gleamed like manna from heaven, Preston shook his head.
His half-finished mug of black brew had turned into acid, eating at his gut. His third of the meeting, it failed to deliver the jolt he needed after another night of less than five hours’ sleep. Despite the family feud, he’d been counting on using this evening to catch up on the notes Jericho Winters had given him regarding their shared refinery optimization project.
Staring down at Tiffany’s message, he felt those hopes evaporating.
“...son?”
Preston realized—too late—that his father had asked him a question. He glanced up to find Fernando Del Rio III looking at him expectantly. In his late fifties, he still had the face of a king. Wise, but shrewd. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes did nothing to soften his iron gaze. Ditto for the subtle patches of silver sprouting at his temples and flecking the dark goatee framing his downturned mouth.
“I’m sorry, Dad.” Preston set his phone facedown on his lap. “Can you repeat that?”
His father rested his forearms on the table where they always sat for these weekly chats. He had taken off his suit jacket and rolled the sleeves of his custom dress shirt to his elbows. His habit when the two of them were alone.
“Is the subject of my retirement failing to keep your attention, son?”
Oh, the acute irony of his father having to ask this.
Since he’d sat on his father’s lap at his first board meeting for the petrochemical company Fernando had turned into an empire, all Preston had wanted was to someday sit at the head of the table. He’d wanted it so much, he’d welded himself to his father’s footsteps. Choosing the same alma mater, the same major, playing the positions on the same sports teams and mirroring the same monkish devotion to his drive.
Here he was, poised for the very moment he’d been dreaming of, and all he could think about was how good Tiffany Winters had felt in his arms.
“Of course not, Dad. I’ve just had a lot on my plate now that Diamond Gate put Project Optima on hold.”
Saying the name the press had chosen for the ongoing battle involving the Del Rio family jewels set Preston’s teeth on edge. The discovery of their family heirloom in the basement of the Winterses’ ancestral estate had been the death knell to the brief cease-fire that his sister’s engagement to Jericho Winters had wrought. And the mediation required to broker peace, as good as a brick wall for the energy optimization project Preston and Jericho had been working on together.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about, son.” Fernando leaned back in his chair. The smile that slid onto his face did nothing to release the tension gathering in Preston’s chest. “I think I found somebody else to help us get Project Optima off the ground.”
Preston stared at his father. “You know Maggie is still engaged to Jericho Winters, right?”
“But not married yet. And especially with how quickly they rushed into things...well. As we know, a lot can happen between a proposal and the walk down the aisle.”
Preston couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Or he could, but thought that at least where Maggie was concerned, their father had put his feelings about the Winters family aside.
“You’re suggesting that we cut Maggie’s fiancé out of a project he came up with for our benefit?” Preston asked.
“I’m suggesting that, with a project as important and vital as Optima, you have to be willing to look past familial concerns to identify the best potential partner.”
Familial concerns.
A wild understatement for the generations-long feud that had begun with Preston’s great-grandfather Fernando the first, and Teddy Winters, his much-loathed adversary.
“And what if I think Jericho is the best potential partner?”
His father’s expression hardened. “Then I’d say your soft spot for the Winters family makes me concerned about whether you’re truly ready to step into the role of CEO.”
Retirement. The carrot his father had been dangling in front of him as long as Preston could remember.
A finish line that seemed to recede into the distance no matter how hard Preston ran to reach it. All through college, he had given up friends. A social life. Even relationships, save for one completely disastrous and short-lived engagement to a classmate he’d met through his father’s friend.
To have doubts about his commitment to the company thrown in his face after all that left Preston bitter and hollow.
“There’s certainly been a good deal of talk about your and Tiffany Winters’s interaction at your sister’s engagement party.”
Preston’s palms began to sweat against the wooden arms of the chair.
“There’s always been a good deal of talk about everything concerning our interactions with the Winterses. Maybe I just recognize that prolonging this ridiculous feud is only poisoning the well we all drink from here in Royal, Texas.”
Preston knew this wasn’t strictly the truth, but neither was it a lie. When it came to the Winters family, his father’s ability to see clearly would always be suspect.
“It seems you’re not in the right frame of mind to discuss this at the moment.” The icy calm in his father’s voice preceded an inevitable dismissal. “Why don’t you call it a day. Go for a run. Give you time to sort out your thoughts.”
Priorities, more like. Suggesting both solitude and physical exercise had ever been his father’s resolution to conflict. Or to give him the chance to realize that he was the source of it.
Preston had no intention of taking his father’s suggestion, but knew to argue with him further would be pointless. Better to take the opportunity to make a smooth exit.
“Sounds good,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”
“You’re not coming over for dinner tonight?”
Shit. He’d entirely forgotten the plans his mother and Maggie had made earlier via their WhatsApp family thread.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Preston said, tucking his phone in his pocket. “I have some work to catch up on. I’ll let Mom know.”
Fernando studied him, his dark brows lowered over narrowed eyes. “All right, son.”
Preston was at the door to his father’s cavernous office, nearly home free when a coda was added.
“Think about what I said.”
As if he hadn’t already.
As if he hadn’t been thinking about it since he was just a boy, when his father stood beside him before the windows of this very office, looking out over their vast oil refinery and the flat sprawl of Texas countryside beyond.
As if he didn’t know exactly how much he stood to lose if he lost his father’s faith.
Preston glanced at the digital readout as he slid behind the wheel of his Alfa Romeo. Just after 6:00 p.m.
He’d stop by home first.
Shower the day off him and change out of his Future CEO of Del Rio Group attire.
Two hours had seemed an eternity, and yet, the fizz of excitement made the minutes pass in a blur once he’d arrived home.
Every time he glanced at the clock on his phone and found more minutes gone, Preston was taken aback by the fierce pulse of pleasure.
He’d known that he wanted to see Tiffany Winters again.
But until her text, he just hadn’t known how much.
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