Flowers and Financiers by Alina Jacobs

1

Amy

Muscular flesh rippling, the two huge males crashed into each other, screaming. I shivered. I just wanted to run my hands all over the beasts and feel the power vibrating through all that muscle and sinew…

One of the horses lunged at the other, snapping his teeth. His rider jerked him back.

I swooned.

“Take more pictures!” I demanded, batting at Grace. “I need a close-up of his face!”

“Nothing like being at a polo match with a horse girl,” my friend Ivy remarked, pouring the last of the champagne into my glass.

My friends and I were in the VIP section at the annual Hamptons charity polo tournament. Our private booth contained buckets of expensive champagne, comfy lounge chairs, and beautifully prepared hors d'oeuvres, including smoked salmon crudité and caviar.

“Ah! This is the good life!” I announced, toasting my friends.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Elsie said dryly. “Come Monday, we have to start on the Petrov wedding with the world’s worst bridezilla.”

“Too bad all our brides can’t be awesome and gift us tickets to her personal VIP box!” I said, wishing I had more of those amazing lobster croquettes I had been eating.

“Not that I care all that much for horses,” Sophie said, “but I’ll take free food and alcohol any day!”

“And dishy waiters,” Brea added with a snicker.

A server dressed up in riding boots and a polo shirt came into our box with another tray of food and fancy pressed juice.

“Enjoying the show, ladies?” he asked with a wink and set out the snacks.

“I am now that you’re here!” Sophie replied with a giggle.

He laughed and struck a pose. “It looks like you girls need more champagne. I’ll have someone bring more up shortly.”

I settled back in my seat and admired the polo players out on the field. Seeing them in their tight pants, above-the-knee leather boots, and partially unbuttoned shirts made it my kind of sports match.

“I could totally quit my job and be a polo groupie,” I said with a sigh. “I’d just fly around to exotic locations, stay in fancy hotels, and spend all day brushing the horses and braiding flowers into their hair.”

“And banging hot guys!” Grace interjected with a cackle.

“Hey, horse guys are my kind of guys!”

“And you like the horse guys because they have money for such an expensive hobby!”

“No,” I said primly, “I want them because we share a common interest.”

I reached down to pat Baxter on the head. He was a miniature pony someone had abandoned at my grandfather’s farm. He chewed on one of the flowers hanging off the straw hat I had placed on his head.

“I just can’t follow this game,” Brea said, sipping the last of her champagne. “And please don’t try to explain it to me again,” she warned us, “because if I didn’t understand it the first five times you tried to explain it to me, I’m not going to get it now!”

“Especially not after drinking a whole bottle of champagne,” Ivy said, fanning herself.

“It’s hot out here!” Brea complained.

“It still probably says something about us,” Elsie commented, “that we went through five bottles of champagne in an hour.”

“They were small bottles!” Sophie protested.

“Super small.”

“And there are six of us,” I reminded them. “Plus, you have to wash the snacks down with something! It’s a polo tournament. You’re supposed to go high end.”

“Speaking of, I need some more champagne,” Ivy said, looking around.

I blinked behind my dark sunglasses. No, they weren’t designer. I had bought them at a gas station, but they had rhinestones on them and were bright yellow, and one socialite had even given me a compliment on them, so there.

I peered at the entrance to the VIP suite, willing the waiter to appear.

“I might have to start drinking juice.”

“Heaven forbid!” Elsie said.

I dragged myself up to pour some water out for Baxter when the door to the suite opened, and a tall man walked in. He was wearing knee-high leather boots, white pants that looked like he had been poured into them, and a shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and muscular chest.

“There you are!” I said loudly. “We’re practically dying of thirst!”

The handsome man scowled and paused in the entryway.

“Where’s the champagne?” I exclaimed. “Our waiter promised you all were bringing up some more.”

He grunted.

I handed him the last empty bottle. “Can you take that back and go pick up more champagne, pretty please?” I grinned at him.

“I am not taking your trash,” he snarled, voice startlingly deep.

“Oh, er…” Drunk Me was having trouble processing the fact that no champagne was incoming forthwith. “But can you get champagne?”

The man took a step toward me. “Do you even know who I am?”

Though Drunk Me was a bit slow on the uptake, she was starting to get with the program and realize the handsome stranger was probably not a waiter.

Baxter didn’t know who the strange man was, but he knew he didn’t like him. The miniature pony took off as fast as his short legs could carry him and slammed into the man.

He snarled out a curse and looked down.

“You brought your dog here?”

“He’s a horse,” I cried, petting Baxter, who had a mouthful of the hot guy’s pants in his teeth.

“That is not a horse. I have horses,” the man snarled as I tried to pry Baxter off him.

Now that I was closer to him, I could tell the man was definitely not a waiter. He smelled expensive, like old wood, saddle oil, and leather. The insignia on his shirt was also for the polo team that was favored to win the tournament.

Crap.

Rip!

“Baxter!”

The pony pranced happily around the VIP booth with a piece of the white pants in his teeth.

“Your stupid horse ruined my pants.”

Urgh. Those riding pants had to be expensive, and my credit card did not have room to buy him replacements.

“Sorry?” I gave the handsome polo player what I hoped was a sexy smile.

“You’re not sorry,” he sneered at me. “You horse girls are all the same—you come out here to gawk but have absolutely no idea how much work goes into training horses. You think they’re just a big, expensive toy that your dad or whatever sucker you find for a husband is going to pay for.”

“Now look here, mister!” I scolded, hands on my hips. “I actually have a horse—”

“That’s not a horse.”

Baxter snapped at him, and he cursed.

“He is,” I insisted.

“He’s wearing tennis shoes,” the hot guy said, “and a hat and a shirt. He’s a walking stuffed animal.”

“You’re going to hurt his feelings!” I screeched. “Baxter volunteers at the children’s hospital and at the courthouse as an emotional support pony for foster kids in the system.”

Hot polo guy’s lip curled back. “Cute, but I donated ten million dollars to the children’s hospital last year, and my company is working on several lifesaving biotechnology products specifically for children. But sure, you and your little stuffed toy are totally making a difference.” He turned on the heel of his boot to leave.

“Don’t come back here unless you’re bringing champagne,” I shout after him.

He swung around and took two steps to stand inches from me.

I gulped and craned my head to look up at him.

“I can’t tell if you’re stupid or naïve to try to order me around,” he said in a low voice. “I’m going to go with naïve, though. You’re like those girls who dream of having their own horse, then once their daddy buys them an expensive Morgan, they immediately get thrown face first in the ring on their first ride.”

He lowered his head so that his face was a breath away from mine. “Don’t even think you can control me, because I’ll have you on your back in the dirt faster than you can scream, Horse Girl.”

I should probably have just kept my mouth shut—I always had a problem with keeping my thoughts to myself—but he was just so damn arrogant.

“I can’t tell if I’m threatened or turned on by your little speech,” I said.

His eyes widened slightly then narrowed. “You should feel threatened.”

“Mmm…nope,” I said, thinking a moment. “Definitely turned on. You know, maybe it’s the boots and the tight pants.”

He scowled. “You’re despicable.”