The Cowboy's All-Business Bride (Billionaire Cowboys Book 5) Read online

  The Cowboy's All-Business Bride

  The Cowboy's All-Business Bride

  Holly Rayner

  Contents

  The Cowboy's All-Business Bride

  1. Leyla

  2. Kane

  3. Leyla

  4. Kane

  5. Leyla

  6. Kane

  7. Leyla

  8. Kane

  9. Leyla

  10. Kane

  11. Leyla

  12. Kane

  13. Leyla

  14. Kane

  15. Leyla

  16. Kane

  17. Leyla

  18. Kane

  19. Leyla

  20. Kane

  21. Leyla

  22. Kane

  23. Leyla

  24. Kane

  25. Leyla

  26. Kane

  Epilogue

  My Bestie's Brother

  1. Chrissy

  Also by Holly Rayner

  Want More?

  Copyright 2020 by Holly Rayner

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Leyla

  “Thank you so, so much.” Leyla squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears, her heart fuller than it had ever been.

  The award was smooth and heavy in her hands, a representation of the dreams and hard work that had been a part of her life for years.

  “It’s a true honor to be standing here today, accepting this award,” she went on. “I want to thank the Academy, my friends—”

  A sharp knock interrupted the speech.

  Opening her eyes, Leyla caught sight of her reflection in the living room mirror. The fantasy dissipated, the “award” clutched against her chest becoming a rolling pin once again. There was no audience, no stage, no gown that cost thousands of dollars draped across her form.

  It was just her, a twenty-nine-year-old unknown actress wearing blue jeans in the middle of Austin, Texas.

  “Coming,” Leyla called, pretty sure she already knew who it was.

  Sure enough, London stood on the other side of the apartment’s front door.

  Leyla’s best friend’s face scrunched at the sight of the rolling pin. “Are you baking, or planning on fighting off intruders with that thing?”

  “I was visualizing,” Leyla laughed. “You know, getting in the feeling place of my desires.”

  “Hmm…”

  “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy.” Spinning on her heel, Leyla walked back into her living room.

  London didn’t need an invite. She practically lived at Leyla’s anyway, even though her own apartment was literally right across the hall.

  “We watched that video together,” Leyla added, depositing the rolling pin on the kitchen counter and continuing to the bathroom.

  “I remember.” London leaned against the bathroom’s doorjamb and watched as Leyla dug around in her makeup bag.

  “Then what’s that face for?” Leyla laughed.

  They locked gazes in the mirror, and London scrunched up her freckled nose.

  “The idea of baking made me hungry. You wanna make some muffins?”

  “I have an audition.”

  London straightened up. “Ooh. That’s right. For a… gas station commercial, right?”

  “An oil company. ClayFuel.” Leyla located her favorite lip liner and leaned close to the mirror to apply it.

  “Nice. What time do you think you’ll be back?”

  “I’m sure it won’t be that long. The audition is downtown.”

  “Think you can let Sharkie out this afternoon?” London asked. “Amanda asked me to cover her shift at the salon.”

  “Yeah. Course.”

  Though London’s pug could be a lot to handle due to his constant wheezing and whining for food and pets, he was also adorable.

  Leyla straightened up and inspected her reflection. “I’m not sure how to do my eyes.”

  “Mascara. Nothing else.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” London said. “You’re already gorgeous without makeup.”

  “Thanks. That’s sweet.”

  “And true.” London peeked into the makeup bag. “Ooh. You got that new plumping gloss.”

  “I think I should do some eyeshadow,” Leyla decided.

  “Okay, but really. You look great. Just a touch of gold sparkle.”

  Twisting her lips, Leyla fluffed her straight, black hair. She wasn’t sure she was as beautiful as her friend claimed, but she was definitely unique. There weren’t a whole lot of actresses of Middle Eastern descent in the Austin scene, so oftentimes, roles calling for that type went to her by default.

  Still… it wasn’t always easy making a living as an actress, even though Leyla hustled like nobody’s business. As a rule, she treated every audition like the opportunity of a lifetime, since that was the type of mindset that encouraged her to always give her all.

  “Thanks, babe,” Leyla said. “If you think I look good, then hopefully ClayFuel’s CEO will think the same.”

  “He’ll be there?” London’s eyes went wide. “That’s nerve-racking.”

  Leyla shrugged. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

  A beep drew her attention from the mirror. Taking her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, Leyla found she’d just received an email.

  The little letter icon on the screen made her stomach twist.

  She’d sent a lot of emails in the last two months. Made a lot of calls. Shaken a lot of hands. Kissed up to a lot of rich people.

  Mostly, though, she’d weathered a lot of rejections.

  “You okay?” London asked.

  “Yeah, I… I’m fine.” Leyla tapped on her email app. If she didn’t check it now, she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it.

  “Is it a message from an investor?”

  “Potential investor,” Leyla reminded London.

  “Hey. Calling them ‘potential’ isn’t getting into the feeling place of what you want.”

  Leyla looked at her over the phone and laughed. “Yeah. That’s true.”

  “So, what’s it say?”

  Leyla quickly scanned the email. Even though she hadn’t gotten her hopes up, her heart sank a little.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” she reported.

  London frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Most people don’t even respond, so it’s nice to get an email back.”

  For eight weeks, Leyla had been contacting philanthropists around the city, looking for funding for her feature film script. She’d expected securing the moolah to be a challenge, but she’d never imagined this level of difficulty.

  Tons of people told her the story was great. The problem was that no one wanted to take a risk on a first-time filmmaker. Forget that Leyla had a decade of experience acting in film and television.

  “Well,” London said, “there are more people out there.”

  Leyla couldn’t meet her eyes. She wanted to believe that. She needed to believe that.

  It was just hard.

  The budget she’d figured out for the film rested at three
hundred thousand. Last year’s crowdfunding campaign had only pulled in ten thousand.

  She would have used the momentum from that to immediately hunt for private investors, but life had gotten in the way.

  Or, rather, death had gotten in the way.

  “Right.” Leyla pocketed the phone. “It’ll work out.”’

  Even as she said it, she knew it was false positivity. Nothing in the last year had worked out. Even though things had to get better at some point, it was hard to have faith blue skies would return after so many cloudy days.

  “How are you feeling about this audition?” London asked.

  “Like I’m really wishing the job paid hundreds of thousands.”

  London made a pouty face. “This is typical. You know that. If you don’t get funding for this script, there’s always the next one.”

  Leyla’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to think about the “next one.” Right then, the only thing that mattered was getting this movie made.

  It had been her mother’s dying wish that Leyla not wallow in grief, but instead to get out and live her life to the fullest. For Leyla, that meant making the movie inspired by her mother’s life.

  Or, the part of her life that Leyla knew about, anyway. The one where her mom came to America with an infant, not knowing a soul, and worked and persevered until she’d built a good life for her tiny family.

  “What time do you want Sharkie let out?” Leyla asked, eager to change the topic.

  “Between two and five. I’m easy.”

  “He’s not.” Leyla grinned.

  “I spoil him, huh?”

  “If you didn’t have him to spoil, who else would you give all that attention to?” Leyla zipped up the makeup bag.

  “Exactly. I like your mindset. It’s not like I have a boyfriend to spoil.”

  Boyfriends.

  Yet another topic Leyla didn’t want to get into.

  Her last relationship had ended over two years ago, and though there had been dates and flings here and there, nothing had stuck. Once her mom got sick, men went onto the back burner entirely.

  At this point, a hot date to make Leyla forget about everything else for even one night sounded perfect. But that begged the question: where on earth were all the good guys?

  Not on dating apps, for sure. Been there, done that.

  “I need to get ready for work, hon.” London opened the door and blew a kiss. “Break a leg.”

  “Thanks.”

  Left alone in the empty apartment, Leyla took a deep breath and looked around. She was ready to go, and with fifteen minutes to spare, but a deep unease made her want to be anywhere else but home.

  When her mom became sick about a year before, Leyla ended up staying most nights at her house. She’d cook dinner and they’d watch movies together, and after her mom fell asleep, she would work out the final draft of her screenplay or brainstorm new crowdfunding angles.

  Life hadn’t stopped, because her mom had convinced her it wouldn’t. Everything would go on as it always had, and the cancer would go away.

  Reaching up to her throat, she touched the heart necklace there. It had been her mother’s, engraved with her initials, the one piece of jewelry she had worn every day. And now, it was Leyla’s, and she was the one who never took it off.

  Leyla couldn’t blame her mother for protecting her from the truth for as long as possible. It’s the kind of parent she was.

  Shouldering her bag and grabbing her keys, she paused at the framed photo on the end table by the front door. At first glance, it looked like a picture of Leyla there, but it wasn’t.

  It was her mom in her thirties, an infant Leyla in her arms. It had been taken by a family friend.

  For not the first time, Leyla thought about how hard it must have been for her mother, coming to a land full of strangers. Though she’d asked for stories before, Maira had always been pretty tight-lipped.

  And so, Leyla had taken it upon herself to write a fictionalized version of events.

  She’d been nervous the first time her mom had read the script, but the tears the older woman had cried were happy ones. She’d loved it.

  “Bye, Mom. Have a good day.” Leyla pressed two fingers to her lips then transferred the touch to the frame’s glass. “Miss you.”

  Three months.

  Ninety-two days.

  Would she ever get used to life without her biggest cheerleader?

  Leyla wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had to try.

  Chapter 2

  Kane

  Under the polished conference room table, Kane Clayton’s hand curled into an angry fist. His face, however, remained perfectly pleasant.

  Even though it took all of his strength.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Clayton,” Omar Almasi, Kane’s contact with the Sharraini Department of Commerce, said. “There is little else I can do for you.”

  Kane cleared his throat, using the moment to calm himself down. He wasn’t usually quick to anger, but the last twenty minutes of this video call had tested him.

  “Mr. Almasi.” Kane smiled wide. “Surely, you understand what a partnership with ClayFuel would do for your country. The jobs it would create. The attention it would draw. Did you take a look at the predictions my office sent you? Twenty thousand jobs, Mr. Almasi. That’s what we predict ClayFuel can do for you.”

  On the screen, the man’s face tightened. “Unfortunately, the decision is not entirely up to me to make. King Mabrouk is the one who chooses what areas Sharrain will expand into.”

  King Mabrouk. It wasn’t the first time he’d been brought up in Kane’s calls with Sharraini officials.

  “I hear what you’re saying.” Kane nodded seriously. “Now, may I ask you this: what can I do in order to get a meeting with the king?”

  Something akin to pity wafted across Mr. Almasi’s face. “The king does not accept requests, Mr. Clayton. He makes them. I assure you, he is well aware of your desire to drill in Sharrain. Should he choose to speak with you, someone will be in touch.”

  “You’re sitting on a gold mine.” Kane leaned forward. “Except it’s better than gold. It’s oil. Does he understand that?”

  A couple seats down, Nick Gomez, ClayFuel’s Chief Operating Officer, cringed. Kane knew he’d regret his words later, but right then, he almost didn’t care.

  “Have a good day, Mr. Clayton,” the man who sat half a world away said.

  The screen went black.

  Biting back a curse, Kane covered his eyes with his palm. “I messed that up.”

  “Not too badly,” Nick said.

  Dropping his hand, Kane gave him a skeptical look. With a couple decades on Kane and five years as ClayFuel’s COO, Nick’s opinion was something Kane valued.

  Kane understood how inheriting his father’s company and rising straight to the top looked. It was why he worked extra hard. Not only did he need to prove himself, but he also couldn’t let anyone down. The first in and the last to leave. That had become his motto over his year as CEO.

  “I saw that cringe,” Kane said.

  Nick shrugged. “You might have shown a bit too much emotion.”

  “They’re playing hardball.”

  “I don’t think so,” Nick quickly responded. “You know what Sharrain is like.”

  “I’ve never been.” Kane leaned back into his leather seat, suddenly feeling extraordinarily tired even though it wasn’t yet noon.

  Every day on this job gave him a new appreciation for his father, who’d helmed the company for four decades. Kane had used to think it was probably easy, sitting on top of a company’s throne while everyone else worked their butts off below.

  “You’ve never been,” Nick said, “but you know about their reputation. They don’t easily let in foreign companies.”

  “That’s an archaic policy.”

  Nick spread his hands. “You say that to me like I can change it.”

  Kane smirked. “I’m not used to not getting what I want.” />
  As soon as he said the words, he wanted to take them back. The last thing he wanted was to come across as a spoiled brat.

  Nick, however, didn’t even bat an eyelash. “We’ll find a way.”

  “How?”

  “Beats me, but you’re Doug Clayton’s son. His drive is in your veins.”

  Kane’s face warmed, and he looked down. Even the slightest mention of his father still got him choked-up.

  “I’m not my dad,” he said to his lap.

  “Yeah, but your old man believed in you. He put you in charge of his company.”

  Kane wondered if there was some resentment on Nick’s part. He’d worked for ClayFuel for years; did he feel like the CEO position belonged to him?

  But when Kane looked up, he only found pride in Nick’s face. “You’re doing a good job, son.”

  Kane shook his head. “I wouldn’t be if you weren’t here to help me.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “Mr. Clayton?” Peggy, the secretary that Kane had also inherited from his dad poked her head in. “Everything is set up on the first floor.”

  Kane blinked, lost in a moment of confusion. Then…

  “Oh. Right.” Shaking his head, he stood and smoothed the lapel of his charcoal gray suit.

  Caught up in the drama with Sharrain, he’d forgotten all about the morning’s auditions. As ClayFuel was set to release a set of fall advertisements, casting was underway.

  The casting director Kane had hired for the job had promised to send him videos of the top candidates, but that wasn’t enough for Kane. He wanted to be at the auditions himself.