Hell on Heels (10 page)

“And maybe hell will freeze over one day, too. Look, Rosa, there's no sense in this conversation. Me and Delaney are never going to happen again. She needs to move on.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. I have.”

“But you have not remarried.”

“Because I don't
want
to be married. I didn't like it the first go-round. Why would a second time be any better? I like women, Rosa. I like them
a lot,
but I also prefer them in single-serving doses. Comprende?”

“So you are a
mujeriego
,” she stated flatly.

He looked at her in question.

“A womanizer, a player,” Rosa clarified.

“I dunno. Maybe. But it's not always a bad thing,” he insisted. “At least I'm straightforward about it. I make the rules clear up front. In the end, it's their choice.”

“How did you become so heartless? Were you like this as a boy?”

“Maybe not, but little boys grow up to be men.”

She speared him with a disapproving look. “I think some do not grow up at all.”

Ty shrugged off her disapproval. His choice of lifestyle was no one's business but his own. And he was happy with it. At least for now. Las Vegas was a great place for a man like him. If and when he ever decided he wanted a wife and kids, he knew he'd have to make some big changes, but at thirty-two he still didn't see any of that happening. At least not in the foreseeable future.

Was he heartless? He didn't think so, but he'd certainly never met anyone he couldn't live just as happily, or more so, without—at least not after they'd had sex a few times. He didn't know if he was capable of anything deeper than that, and honestly didn't care to waste any more brain cells thinking about it.

M
onica returned to her office, where she spent the next several hours putting out more fires. To solve the linen-delivery problem, she'd had to call in another supplier. It still meant they'd had to delay check-in, but she figured offering two-for-one drinks in the saloon would preempt any complaints from disgruntled guests.

With that issue taken care of, she debated reviewing the accounts payables or exploring the Nevada Gaming Commission website. Knowing nothing about gaming, she opted for the latter. She needed to be better informed next time Mr. Silvestri decided to drop by. Ty Morgan had done little to smooth her path, but if she was being fair, she had to admit she probably deserved it.

Now that she'd spoken to Tom, she didn't know what to do about the hotel. She'd hoped to talk him into selling, but he still seemed bent on moving forward with Ty's plans to renovate. Rebuilding meant she'd be stuck in Vegas at least until the reopening—likely a year, possibly two. She wasn't interested in investing her time and her life in this. It might have been different if she had any enthusiasm for the project, but it was Ty's dream, not hers. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt. Her only hope was to talk some sense into Ty when he returned.

She had some big decisions to make about the hotel, and he was part of that. She had to convince him that getting rid of the hotel was in everyone's best interest. Maybe she should go ahead and line up a buyer. She certainly had enough contacts. Unfortunately, the first and best prospect that came to mind was her ex-fiancé, Evan Hirschfeld Davis III.

She pushed it all aside to immerse herself in the Nevada gaming laws instead, but after several hours steeped in legalese, she was digging for the Excedrin. She checked her watch. Almost ten—much later than she'd thought. It was past time to call it a day.

She regretted taking the suite at the Skylofts. She'd hardly spent more than a few hours there since she arrived, and at eight hundred a night, the tab had already surpassed five figures. It was time to change her living arrangements. Perhaps she should take advantage of the owner's suite here, after all.

Quickly weighing the pros and cons, she dug out her phone and called her personal valet at the Skylofts, instructing him to pack up her things. She then texted Frankie to pick up her bags. The Hotel Rodeo might not be up to her usual standards, but it would have to suffice until she found something suitable to rent. She didn't know how long she was going to be in Vegas and didn't want to sign a lease. The whole situation had her feeling restless and frustrated—as though her entire life was stuck in limbo.

Deciding on a quiet drink to end the day from hell, she headed down to the saloon. Entering through the swinging half doors, she was surprised to find Gabby and Gus polishing glasses in a virtually empty bar. “I thought the hotel was sold out this weekend,” Monica remarked. “Where is everyone?”

Gabby looked up in reply. “They're all at the bull-riding competition.”

“What time does it end?”

“Around eight,” Gabby answered, “but there's also all kinds of special sponsored events connected with it. They'll all start trickling in soon. By eleven the place'll be packed. Can I get you a drink, Ms. Brandt?”

“I don't suppose my brandy came in yet, did it?” she asked as she slid onto the barstool.

“As a matter of fact, it just did.” Gabby retrieved the green bottle from under the bar. “But it's not chilled. You want me to mix you a cocktail?”

“Straight up is fine.”

Gabby poured and slid the brandy snifter in front of Monica. She took a savoring sip, basking in the apple essence. “I love this stuff. Ever tried it?”

“No, but it smells great.”

“I acquired a taste for it the year I spent in Europe. Here it's considered more of an aperitif, but in parts of France they even drink it in their morning coffee. Send a bottle up to my room, if you would, please.”

“You're staying in the hotel now?” Gabby asked.

“Yes. I've decided to move into the owner's suite, at least for the time being. So how long does this whole rodeo thing last?” Monica asked.

“This competition is three days, but it's not really rodeo.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rodeos feature a lot of different events in addition to bull riding—roping, steer wrestling, bronc riding, and barrel racing. This is just bulls.”

“Oh. I didn't know that. So bulls are enough to draw crowds in?”

“Oh yeah,” Gabby said. “Bull riding is the new extreme sport. It's grown like crazy since it broke off from traditional rodeo about ten years back.”

“I didn't realize this kind of thing was so popular.”

“It is,” Gabby said. “All types of people enjoy it. And this is the last big event before the World Bull Riding Championships next month. That one goes on for five days. Ty does a lot for those competitors,” Gabby continued. “He always hosts a party for the final fifteen riders and even puts up the entry fees for any of them who are strapped for cash.”

“Does he really?” Monica remarked. “That's pretty generous considering he already gives them free rooms.”

“Ty's a generous man, but he doesn't like attention brought to it,” Gabby warned.

Just like Tom.

“So next month is the big finale?”

“Yes, the world championships. You should go,” Gabby suggested.

“Maybe I will,” Monica said, finding her interest piqued.

“If you're serious, you should tell Ty. He has connections. Otherwise you'll probably end up in the nosebleed section.” Gabby doffed her black Stetson. “Here, try this on for size.”

Monica settled the hat on her head, only to have it slip down over her brow. “Not exactly one size fits all,” she remarked dryly.

“It's really not your color either.” A deep voice sounded in her ear. “I'd say you need about a six and seven-eighths and something in straw. Buy you a drink, pretty lady?”

Monica spun on her stool to face one of the cowboys who'd just walked in. He looked her up and down, a smile spreading slowly over his mouth. He was good-looking but young. Way too young. “Are you even legal?” she asked.

“Depends on what you're asking?” he quipped back. “I've been legal for most things for about five years, but I still do some stuff that probably isn't—or at least shouldn't be.” His grin stretched. “Give me half a chance and I'll rock your world.”

“No offense, cowboy, but I'm not looking for company. Just a quiet drink.”

If she was eighteen instead of twenty-eight he might have stood a chance, but the horny young cowboy in the bar wasn't who she wanted. Maybe if he was more like . . . a vision of a tall, smug-as-hell cowboy flashed in her mind. She'd tried not to think about him that way, but to her annoyance, she couldn't seem to dismiss Ty from her thoughts.

“It's no fun to drink alone.” He straddled the stool next to her, uninvited. “My name's Kade McDaniel. I'm a bullfighter. Now you're supposed to tell me about yourself. That's the way this whole conversation thing works.” She guessed his line must impress a lot of women. Her, not so much.

“A bullfighter, eh? Is that the guy who wears clown makeup?”

He frowned. “That was the old days. Only the barrel man wears greasepaint anymore. He's the entertainer. Keeps the crowd occupied while we work the bull. Cowboy protection's my gig. Ever seen freestyle bullfighting?” The poor kid was obviously trying a bit harder than he was accustomed to.

“No, can't say I have, but I'm really not into that kind of thing. And I'm not looking for conversation either.” She'd tried to let him down easy, but he wasn't taking the hint. What was it about cowboys, anyway? They were as incomprehensible to her as if they were a completely different subspecies of male. Now she was going to be surrounded by them.

Her phone buzzed. She turned back to face the bar.

It was Ty, finally answering the text she'd sent about needing bail money. Either he'd seen through her ploy or didn't really care if they'd taken her off to jail. Either way, she was annoyed he'd taken so long to answer.

She furiously typed her reply. After they had exchanged a few more barbs, she snapped her phone shut and tossed it into her purse, miffed that he'd
still
managed to get the upper hand. Although she had to admit the
1-800-UR-Scrwd
was pretty funny.

Thankfully, Kade had now turned his attention to the bartender. Maybe he'd gotten her brush-off message at last. She was about to leave when she overheard him asking Gabby about Ty.

“Ty's not here,” Gabby replied. “He had to go out of town for a couple of days.”

“During the regional finals?” Kade remarked with a look of surprise. “That's hard to believe. I didn't think he ever missed it.”

“I think he plans to be back in time for the short round,” Gabby said.

“Hope so. Wouldn't be the same without Ty. I wish he'd come back to the tour.”

Wait a minute.
“You're a friend of Ty Morgan?” Monica's interest suddenly sparked. This kid trying to pick her up was from Ty's world, and
he
at least looked like the kind of cowboy she could handle.

“Yeah. He and my brother, Zac, used to rodeo together back in Oklahoma. I was just a kid then, but Ty taught me almost everything I know about bulls.”

“Ty fought bulls?” she asked in surprise. He'd told her about his father, but he hadn't shared that he'd gone down the same road. With every revelation about Ty, her reluctant fascination with him only seemed to increase.

“Yes, ma'am. He also used to ride ‘em. Matter of fact, back then Ty was the only one who could ever give Zac a run for his money. It was only after Ty switched from riding to fighting that Zac became the regional champ.”

“Really? So he and your brother both rode bulls for a living?”

“They were traveling buddies for about five years. Now Zac's a contender for the world championships. Who knows how far Ty coulda gone if he'd stuck with it.”

“Why didn't he?” she couldn't help asking.

“No one really knows. One day he just up and left. Next, we all heard he was out here running the hotel. Ty doesn't ever talk about it.” He shrugged.

“Tell you what, cowboy,” she laid a hand on his starched sleeve, “why don't I buy
you
a drink and you can tell all about it.”

Kade's grin stretched even broader; then with far too much familiarity, he placed a hand on the small of her back. “It'd be my pleasure, pretty lady.”

 

After a couple of hours, more than a few drinks, and a number of attempts to politely rebuff her cowboy Casanova, Monica finally excused herself to go to the ladies' room. When she was certain the coast was clear, she slipped out of the saloon and up to her room. Sliding the key card into the door, she held her breath as it opened into the owner's suite.

She didn't know exactly what she'd imagined, but it was a far cry above her expectations. The suite was tastefully furnished and decorated in masculine tones of rust and beige with indigo accents. It appeared to have once been two guest rooms with a wall removed, converting one room into a spacious living area and the other into a bedroom. The two bathrooms had also been combined to form one huge bath featuring an oversized Jacuzzi tub complete with private dressing room.

It wasn't bad. Not bad at all. She entered on an exhale of relief and kicked off her shoes, determined to soak away all her cares and frustrations in a hot bath. She turned on the tap and slithered out of her dress as the tub filled. She then wandered out to the living room, happily noting the bottle of Calvados chilling in a bucket of ice.

Although she already felt the lightheaded languor of one too many drinks, she poured herself a half glass of the chilled brandy and stared out the window at the colorful mosaic of flashing neon that animated Las Vegas. Although New York was called the city that never sleeps, it appeared that her hometown had nothing on Vegas.

She brought the glass to her lips, thinking there would have been something wicked and decadent about sipping apple brandy while parading around in her lace underwear . . . if she wasn't by herself. Yet here she was, unattached and alone and feeling more than a little sexual frustration. Hell, she was almost raging with it. She was also lonely.

She hated being alone. All her life she'd been surrounded by people, millions of people, but feelings of isolation always crept in. She felt lost in Vegas. Completely out of her element. She still couldn't fathom how everything had changed. She'd worked so damned hard to carve her own path in life, only to have it all turn upside down.

Only weeks ago, she'd believed her future was safe, secure, and wrapped in a neat bow. She had a dream job and one of New York's most sought-after bachelors as her fiancé.
Evan.
He was the best her world had to offer—handsome, rich, powerful, and successful. They'd shared all the same goals for success, but he hadn't made her laugh. He hadn't really made her happy. He hadn't filled the void.

Was he seeing someone else by now? Did she care? No, she didn't. Not really. Just as she'd hoped, time and distance had provided perspective.

She couldn't regret walking out. They'd been engaged for six whole months, yet he hardly even registered in her thoughts anymore. Maybe he had at first, but not now. Ty, on the other hand, almost never seemed to leave them. He was everything Evan wasn't, so why was she so damned fixated on the cowboy?