Hell on Heels (13 page)

“Gracias,” Rosa said. “I know they take good care of him, but this is not his home.”

“I understand,” Monica said. “I'll see what I can do.”

 

“Your request is highly irregular, Ms. Brandt.” She could almost see Mrs. Sanders bristle. “I assure you we hire only the best qualified staff.”

“Please don't take this as a negative reflection on The Oasis,” Monica appeased. “I have no criticisms. It's only that he wants to be home. Allowing Rosa to care for him is the closest thing to that.”

“But we have no room for her here. And there's a six-month waiting list for this facility.”

“I'm sure there must be some way to accommodate his wishes. Aren't you planning to build a new wing soon?” Monica asked.

“Yes, we are indeed, Ms. Brandt. But, as you know, these things are often delayed.”

“If funding is a concern, my father is a very wealthy man, Mrs. Sanders. He donates large sums every year to a number of worthy causes. His comfort is very important to me. As his proxy, I'm in a position to act on his behalf.” She smiled, her message clear. “I'm sure you can come up with some kind of agreeable arrangement.”

Mrs. Sanders drummed her fingers against her desk. “I'll see what I can do about vacating the room adjacent to your father's, but it may take a day or two. In the meantime, would a roll-away bed work? Just until we can come up with something better, of course.”

“I don't think Rosa would mind,” Monica replied. “She just wants to be with Tom, and my father needs her here. As long as it's only short-term, I think she'd agree. Thank you for the accommodation. We all appreciate it.”

Monica's phone vibrated as she left the administrator's office, but she ignored it until she was back inside the limo. She dug it out of her purse. Her jaw dropped to find a missed call from Evan.

What the hell could
he
want? She hadn't heard from him once in the entire month since she'd left New York.

“You found your phone, Ms. Brandt?” Frankie remarked with surprise.

Shit.
She'd forgotten the ruse. “Ah, yeah. This purse is a real abyss sometimes. I really need to buy a smaller one. Maybe I should do some shopping while I'm out here.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Brandt.” He eyed the purse. “If you like Prada, there's one in the Bellagio. You want me to take you there?”

Monica considered his offer. She could use a new bag and a distraction. “Sure, Frankie. I think I will do some shopping. But I really need clothes. I only packed for a couple of weeks, and I'm tired of wearing the same outfits.”

“I know just the place that can fix you up. I'll take you to the Fashion Show Mall.”

Shopping was just the kind of mindless distraction she needed. She and Ty hadn't parted on the best of terms. She was completely to blame for that, but she'd only been trying to protect herself.

A text message suddenly popped up on her phone. She was shocked to recognize Evan's number.
Just arrived in Vegas. Miss you, Mon. Want to see you.

He was here? She sat back in the seat, disconcerted by the text. Why now? Was he perhaps on the prowl for real estate? He had an avid interest in acquiring bankrupt properties in Atlantic City. Had he now decided to pillage Las Vegas as well?

Did she even want to see him? She thought about the situation with Ty and hesitated. Not long ago she'd considered contacting Evan about the hotel but never made the call. She stared dumbly at the phone, chewing her lip while she deliberated whether to answer him.

She felt a dull stab of guilt, but it was time she looked to her own priorities. Tom wasn't returning to Oklahoma anytime soon, if ever, but with both Ty and Rosa by his side, he wouldn't need her here much longer. Staying in Las Vegas purely for Tom's sake wasn't enough. Perhaps the call was serendipitous. Maybe it was time to explore her options. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that selling the hotel was the best solution for everyone. She just had to convince Ty. But how?

She punched Evan's number, surprised she still hadn't taken him off speed dial. Was there a subconscious message in that? Did part of her still want to hang on?

He picked up on the third ring. “Mon, baby.”

She stole a breath. “Hello, Evan.”

“It's great to hear your voice. I've missed you.”

“Really? Then why has it taken you so long to call?”

“With the way you left, I didn't see the point,” he replied.

“Then what's the point now?”

“Look, Monica, I came all the way out here to see you. You could at least try to meet me halfway.”

She laughed. “Please don't trouble yourself with keeping up the pretense, Evan. I don't believe for a minute that you came here only on my account. Business is the only thing that would have brought you to Vegas.”

He chuckled. “That's what I love about you, Mon. You always cut straight through the bullshit. All right, have it your way. I came on a fishing expedition, but I still want to see you.”

“Any luck with the fishing?” she asked.

“Let's just say there's not much equilibrium in most of the balance sheets out here. Speaking of which, I have some interest in a property on the north end of The Strip. I understand you might be in a position to help me acquire it.”

“And how would you know this?” she asked. Of course he'd know about her involvement in the hotel, but she refused to acknowledge anything. Yet.

“It's a small world, Mon. Word gets around.”

“How long are you in town?” she asked.

“As long as it takes to get what I came for.” Evan was nothing if not single-minded. “I'm at the Wynn. Come have dinner with me. Let's talk.”

“Is this invitation business or pleasure?” she asked warily.

“Do I really have to choose? Look, Mon, I admit I was a total dick the night you left.” His confession stunned her. “I want a chance to make it up to you.”

“I'll think about it,” she replied.

“That's not an answer.”

“Sorry, Evan, but it's the only one I can give you right now,” she replied, not wanting to appear eager, but unwilling to alienate him either. “I'll be back in touch soon.”

“I
'm so sorry, Ty,” Cassie said, “but I already have plans for Itonight.”

“That's too bad. I was hoping to make it up to you for that canceled dinner.”

“I'm free tomorrow night,” she offered.

“Tomorrow I'm taking a VIP to the bull-riding finals. He's a potential investor. I'd really like to take a look at your drawings before meeting with this guy.”

“Bull riding? I've never been to one of those. Can I join you?”

“Sure, Cassie. I should be able to scrounge another ticket. There's still a bunch of riders who owe me past favors. Wanna catch lunch before? That is, if you don't mind something simple and quick.”

“Not at all. Do you like sushi?”

“Sorry, not a big fan of fish, let alone raw.”

“Does Ty do Thai?” she quipped.

“Yeah, I've had it a time or two.”

“How about Lotus of Siam? It's in a seedy strip mall, but it's the best Thai food in Vegas.”

“I know the place. I've got a tight schedule, though. Can I just meet you there?”

“That would be great,” she gushed. “What time?”

“Let's say two,” he replied. “Don't forget the drawings.”

“I won't forget,” she laughed.

Having taken care of item number one on his list, Ty applied himself to number two. He punched the number for hotel housekeeping into his phone. Sheila picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, Sheila, this is Ty. Listen, I've got a big VIP coming in tomorrow and need the owner's suite cleared out.”

“But—”

“Yes, I know Ms. Brandt is staying there. But I'm going to need you to go ahead and pack up her things. Then I need to have the door rekeyed.”

“Sure, Ty,” Sheila replied. “What should I do with Ms. Brandt's belonging?”

“Take everything to my office. If she shows up in the meantime and gives you any shit, please refer her straight to me. Thanks, Sheila.” He hung up the phone.

With the hotel full, he had little choice but to take Monica out to his place. She might not like it, but she could hardly object with Rosa staying there as a chaperone. Now that he had “Uncle Phil” taken care of, Ty realized he still couldn't breathe easy. He didn't have a room for Delaney. Monica was one thing, but he damned sure wasn't going to put his ex up at his place too!

He scrubbed his face with a martyr's sigh. Damn all women. The world would be so much simpler without them.

Ty left his office to go down to the saloon, hoping a beer might bring inspiration. Entering the bar, he was surprised to find the place packed in the middle of the day. He nodded to a number of cowboys he knew from his days on the road, taking note of a couple of working girls, a bleached-blonde he didn't know and a redhead named Tamara.

The latter flashed him a wink and a smile. He tipped his hat.

Tamara was actually a class act when you got to know her—attractive, educated, and well-spoken. He'd even heard she was a former law student. He wondered why she'd given that up. Ty didn't exactly encourage hookers, but he didn't begrudge them a living either. Live and let live—as long as they kept a low profile.

“What's up, Gabby?” Ty asked, slinging a leg over the barstool.

“Hey, Ty!” She smiled back. “How was Oklahoma?”

“How'd you know?” He shook his head. “Never mind that question.” Gabby knew everything. Sometimes he wondered if she was psychic. “The trip was thankfully short and hopefully profitable, but that last part remains to be seen.”

“Oh yeah?” She filled a mug from the beer tap and slid it in front of him. “And how's that?”

“Too premature to talk about it. 'Sides, if I tell
you
, the whole place'll have wind of it within the hour.”

“That's not fair, Ty!” she protested, her black eyes glittering with mock affront.

“Sweetheart, we both know they shortened your name to Gabby for a very good reason. The riders come in yet?”

“Yeah, we got a bunch of 'em in yesterday.”

Ty took a sip of his beer. “See anyone familiar?”

“I assume you mean Zac?” she asked. “He and Kade arrived early yesterday.” She paused. “You might be interested to know that Kade was putting the moves on Boss Lady.”

“Kade?” Ty snorted into his beer. “You're screwing with me. That scrawny little shit? He wouldn't have a snowball's chance with a woman like her. She's way out of his league.”

“You think so, huh? Kade's not so scrawny anymore, Ty. In fact, he's quite the hottie, if you ask me. Reminds me of a young Brad Pitt. You know, from
Thelma & Louise
? I loved Brad in that flick. Even had his poster on my wall. Maybe Boss Lady had that poster too 'cause it seemed to me she and Kade were getting pretty friendly.”

“When was this?” Ty quizzed.

“Just last night. They spent a couple hours down here together.”

“They did?” Ty tensed on instinct and then forced out a breath.

Maybe the two of them had been together in the bar, but in the end she'd gone to her room
alone
. He didn't have a clue what Monica might have wanted from Kade, but it certainly wasn't what Ty had given her. Nevertheless, he was still tempted to beat the story out of the sly little sonofabitch when he saw him.

“Speak of the devil,” Gabby said, nodding to the door.

A half dozen cowboys had come in and were headed toward the bar, laughing and shooting the shit until the biggest of the bunch caught sight of Ty. His brows met, and all the laughter died. Ty returned a nod, snatched up his beer and waited. It was long past time they buried the hatchet, but the nod was as far as he was willing to go this time. The rest was up to Zac.

They were once the best of friends, but things went south when Ty's marriage broke up. Delaney had blamed Zac for it and had forced Ty to choose between them. Being none too fond of ultimatums, Ty had walked. Delaney filed for divorce that week. Although he didn't fight the divorce, the whole ordeal still had soured the friendship.

Zac murmured something to his buddies and then swaggered over. “Ty,” Zac greeted him with a tip of the hat. “Been a while.”

“Take a load off, Zac.” Ty inclined his head to the stool beside him. “Gabby, how about a beer for my ol' friend?”

“Sure thing, Ty.” Gabby answered.

“So you've made it to the finals. Congrats. Competition's a whole lot tougher than it used to be.”

Zac accepted the beer from Gabby with a grunt of thanks. “You're right about that,” he said. “Now that it's a big-money sport, everybody wants in. I'm past ready to be done with it now, but that prize money sure could make for an easier retirement.”

“Oh yeah? Not in it for the head rush anymore?”

“Shit no. That thrill wore off about five years ago. I'd retire yesterday but can't afford to. I
need
this win.”

“So where are you in the standings?” Ty asked.

“Twenty-fifth after last night. That's up five notches from where I started. If I come up five more I'll make the cut for the world championships. I know I'm a long shot at my age, but I can still hope. I've got two more rides until the final go. I just gotta draw the right bull and hope riders one through nineteen all eat dirt.” His mouth twitched a little at the corner. It was about as close as Zac ever got to a smile.

Tamara was watching them from across the bar. Zac's gaze flickered briefly in her direction. She smiled back at him, but he didn't make a move to buy her a drink. Ty wondered why women always flocked to Zac. Maybe his reserve was the source of his appeal. With a twice-broken nose and a number of scars, Zac wasn't the best-looking guy on the tour, and he certainly wasn't blessed with personal charm, but Zac
was
a good bull rider and tough as hell. Ty recalled the time he rode with a broken leg and even made the whistle. Women liked gritty, and Zac had that in spades.

They drank in companionable silence, or as close to companionable as it had ever been in the last seven years. They'd seen each other from time to time over the years, but the past always clung to them like fresh dung to a new boot. Although things could never be as they once were, Ty was glad to know they might finally be able to get beyond all the bad history.

“How are you doing these days?” Zac finally asked.

“I've been better,” Ty shrugged, “but I've been a helluva lot worse, too. Did you hear about Tom?”

“Yeah.” Zac's expression sobered. “How's the ol' man doing?”

“As well as can be expected, I s'pose. He's paralyzed on his right side, and he can't talk, but he's still the same Tom. He's over at a private nursing facility called The Oasis. You should drop by and see him. I'm sure he'd like that.”

“Shit.” Zac shook his head. “I'd hate to end up like that.”

“I promise you he ain't too happy about it either,” Ty said.

“So where does all this leave you?”

“Don't know yet,” Ty said. “His daughter's taking care of all his business affairs. She wants to sell this place, but I'm working on some things.” Ty chose not to elaborate, figuring it best to keep it under his hat, at least until it was a done deal.

Zac's gaze narrowed. “You thinking about going back to the ranch?”

“Hell no! That's the last of my choices.”

“I heard some crazy story about your wife breeding bulls.”

“My
ex
,” Ty corrected in no uncertain terms. “Beats the hell out of me why she's doing it, but I don't care overmuch as long as she makes a profit.”

“So it's
true
?”

“Yup. And speaking of the ex-from-hell, she's coming to Vegas for the bucking-bull futurity.”

“Delaney's coming
here
?” Zac looked more than just surprised; he seemed damned near pissed off. Ty knew there was still bad blood between Zac and Delaney, but it still seemed like an overreaction, especially from someone as stony and stolid as Zac.

“She is,” Ty continued, “which creates a real problem for me. She naturally expects me to put her up, and I'm already oversold.”

“Give her my room,” Zac offered before he could even ask. “I can double with Kade.”

“You sure about that?” Ty asked. “This
is
Vegas, after all.” He nodded toward the redhead.

Zac shrugged. “Maybe it'll cramp little brother's style, but he'll survive. It's only a coupla nights. As for me, I'm done with all that. I've had my fill and then some.”

Now
that
was another revelation. Zac had never chased women, but he sure as hell had never turned any away before.

“Thanks, Zac.” Ty exhaled in relief. “You've saved me a lot of grief. The last thing I wanted was to put Delaney up at my place.”

“Hell, Ty,” Zac laughed, “it's not like you're asking much, considering you comp the damn rooms.”

 

After hitting two of her favorite haunts, Neiman Marcus and Macy's, Monica picked up Chinese takeout and returned to the hotel with plans of boiling herself alive in a Jacuzzi bath while eating vegetable lo mein.

Exhausted and loaded down with bags and boxes, she'd snagged a luggage trolley and a porter. Digging her key card out of her purse, she slid it in and out of the lock. The light flashed red. She flipped the card over and repeated the motion. The light still flashed red. She growled a curse and flipped it again, this time switching the end she inserted. Still no good.

“Would you give it a try?” she asked the porter.

He went through exactly the same routine. She threw up her hands with an exasperated sound. “You can go, Mitch. I'll call security to open the damned door.” She pounded the switchboard number into her phone. “This is Monica Brandt. I'm having trouble getting into my room. Could you please send up security to open it for me?”

“Security?”

“Yes. They have a master, don't they?”

“We don't have any security.”

“Damn it, I mean Gus!”

“The bouncer?”

“Yes! Gus the bouncer. Please send him up here with a master key.” Monica hung up and then plopped down with a groan onto the luggage cart. Why were the simplest things always so damned complicated around here? Her stomach gave a loud growl of protestation. With a sigh, she opened her brown paper bag and withdrew the takeout container and a set of chopsticks.

She was slurping noodles when the elevator chimed. Her gaze trailed from the floor upward, over the toes of the boots, the long, muscular, denim-clad legs, the broad chest, and finally came to rest on Ty's face. Wishing she had something to drink, she forced the noodles down with a hard swallow and almost choked.

“Having some trouble there?” He gazed down with a mocking grin. “Need me to do the Heimlich?”

She glared back at him. “That's not funny.”

His gaze swept over the boxes and bags. “Looks like you did some shopping. Is there anything in those bags that isn't black?”

“What?”

“I've only seen you in black. Black dresses, black skirts with white blouses. You should wear other colors, Ms. Brandt. I think you'd look mighty fine in red, preferably something short and tight.”

“I'm not a hooker, Ty,” she snapped. “And I am wearing color. This skirt is
navy
.”