"Of course." There was a pause, and John said, "It's nice to have you back, sir."
An unwilling grin crossed Tor's face as he got ready to put his brainstorm into action. "You say that now," he said. Who would have guessed that all he needed to get his voice back was the right motivation?
One beautiful, brunette medical coder.
"Who hates rich men," he muttered.
"Sir?" John asked.
"Nothing. Call the hospital's lead neurologist, too. Get me an appointment."
Two years was long enough.
It was time to get back to being himself.
Maybe even a better version than before.
Chapter 10
I'm nervous, Leta realized to her surprise.
Flipping down her car's visor, she checked her lipstick for the second time, then forced herself to step out of the Kia and smoothed her long, red dress along her hips.
At the entrance of the Dallas Modern Art Museum, she stood clutching her sequined evening bag nervously. Blue light poured out of windows, stretching from the ground up to past the second-floor interior balcony. The lobby's black-marble floor reflected silver-blue glints, like stars in a night sky, while couples in formalwear circled the food stations and ignored dance floor in the middle.
Did rich people at fundraisers not dance?
Not that Leta would be dancing with anyone.
So what if I'm alone?
I don't need anyone.
Not even at a gala event.
She hadn't ever been to the hospital's fundraising ball before—it was usually reserved for the big donors. But every year, the hospital raffled off several tickets for employees.
Leta didn't even remember entering this year.
Then again, between the fiasco with Brent and then with Tor, it was little wonder she'd been walking around like a zombie for weeks on end.
But, having won, she was expected to show up and make nice with the donors.
They're just billionaires, she told herself as she stepped inside. Just like Tor. The thought made her giggle, but it made her feel better, too.
The other employee who had won tickets, Janie from Accounting, was supposed to meet her at the bar—safety in numbers, Leta supposed. Glancing around, she was surprised at how many of the men in tuxedos were also wearing cowboy hats and boots.
The sight tugged at her heart a little, but she shoved the feeling back down.
It doesn't matter if I miss Tor. She forced her inner voice to sound fierce. He lied. Just like Brent.
And if that voice sometimes whispered that by the time he could talk to her, she had already complained about one rich asshole? She buried it under piles of reminders of all the times he hadn't told her he owned the ranch, was the boss, usually lived in the main house and not in the bunkhouse.
No. He had plenty of chances. He chose not to take a single one.
She took a glass of red wine from the bartender, and glanced out the windows. The blue lights from inside the museum lobby, along with all the city lights of Dallas, blanked out the stars above, though the reflection from the dance floor almost made up for it.
Almost.
As she looked out into the dark, a glint of white caught her eye. Was it a sculpture on the grounds of the museum?
The music died down, and the click of a microphone being handed off alerted Leta that the speeches were about to start. Or something. She wasn't entirely certain how these kinds of fundraisers worked, to be honest.
In any case, she was here by accident, so she would do her best to smile look nice.
And wish I could be staring at the stars above a ranch in Necessity.
"Hi, y'all." The voice that came over the loudspeaker was deep, and rich, and slightly halting. Leta's heart began pounding.
Surely not.
"I know it's been a while since most of you here have seen me."
Slowly, Leta turned around to face the stage, where Tor stood, microphone in hand, smiling directly at her. "Some of you more recently than others." His voice all but caressed her—and what his voice didn't manage, his deep gray eyes did.
Several people in the room followed his gaze, staring at Leta with open curiosity.
She didn't move.
"I'm going to give the floor back to the pros in just a minute, but I had to ask for time to say something. Most of y'all know about my accident a couple of years ago. It's been a good long time since I've been able to say anything important to any of you. Words didn't come easy to me."
He might've been speaking to the whole room, but Tor never stopped staring at Leta. "Words like 'Hi, I'm Tor Edwards, and I'm a billionaire.'" The crowd laughed a little. Even through the microphone, Tor's voice took on an intimate, personal tone.. "Or 'I'm sorry,' or 'I think I'm falling in love with you. And there's no way I'd be able to say any of those things if not for the staff at Dallas General. Or ask this one question, either."
The room had fallen entirely silent now, with people openly staring back and forth between Tor and Leta, but her feet felt glued to the floor, her eyes wide and unblinking.
"Leta Delaney, can we start over?" With that, he placed the microphone on its stand and stepped toward her, holding one hand out.
As she were being drawn to him magnetically, she found herself moving forward, but when she put her hand into his, she was shaking her head.
"No?" he asked, his hopeful expression falling.
"No," she said, "because I don't want to lose that week."
The light reignited in his eyes. "But?" the word trailed off hopefully.
"But we could go from here," she said. Applause broke out all around them—Leta hadn't even remembered that they'd had an audience.
Then she didn't care, because Tor's lips claimed hers, even as he swept her onto the dance floor.
After a long moment, he whispered into her hair, his breath sending shivers down her back, "Hey. Want to come back to my ranch? It's got a great view of the stars at night."
"Maybe," she said, grinning.
"I got your money back from Chet Tyler for that crappy cabin, if that will help you make your decision."
Leta grinned. "It might."
"I've got to tell you something first, though." His eyes glinted with suppressed laughter.
"What's that?"
"I didn't drive tonight."
She tilted her head and frowned at him. "I guess we can take my car."
"The thing is, I need you to know—I brought my plane. So if you leave with me, we'll have to fly."
Leta turned her head to look out the window again. That wasn't a sculpture. Tor had actually arranged to park a plane on the museum grounds?
How long had he been planning this?
"I don't know," she said, her lip quirking up in a grin. "Should you tell your boss about me?"
"Oh, I already have. In great detail—entire paragraphs chock-full of specific descriptions."
She laughed. "Oh, really? How detailed?"
"Don't worry. My boss is the silent type. He'll never tell."
Her peal of laughter rang out across the room, but was quickly silenced as his lips landed on hers again.
"Yes," she said, a long time later. "Take me home, Tor. Let's fly."
About the Author
Margo Bond Collins is addicted to coffee and SF/F television, especially Supernatural (maybe because of those Winchesters). She writes contemporary and paranormal romance, urban fantasy, and paranormal mystery. She lives in Texas with her daughter and several spoiled pets. Although she teaches college-level English courses online, writing fiction is her first love. She enjoys reading romance and paranormal fiction of any genre and spends most of her free time daydreaming about heroes, cowboys, vampires, ghosts, werewolves, and the women who love (and sometimes fight) them.
You can learn more about her at http://www.MargoBondCollins.net and follow her on all the usual social media outlets.
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The Billionaire Cowboy's Speech (Necessity, Texas) Page 7
