the-charmer

by Myra Scott

  “I learned from the very best.” She winked. “So, does this blueprint go into the shredder, too? Or are you going to hold onto it a little longer?”

  I mulled it over, scratching absentmindedly at my chin. Then, I gave in.

  “Okay,” I told her, reaching for the blueprint. “I’ll keep it.”

  Jennifer lit up, looking much more enthusiastic about the idea than I felt. “I think I can handle the rest of these papers myself,” I told her. “Thanks for the help. And the completely unasked-for but ultimately helpful advice.”

  She laughed. “You’re welcome. Anytime.”

  As she was about to leave, I got another idea, one that surprised even me.

  “Jennifer?” I called.

  She turned around. “Yes, sir?”

  “Could you call Mr. Anderson and make an appointment for a dinner meeting?” I instructed, my heart pounding. Jennifer grinned and I tried to maintain my composure.

  “Of course,” she said. As she walked away I stared down at the blueprint in my lap, wondering if I was making the right choice or not. Somehow, I got the feeling that I was about to jump headfirst into something that could possibly change my life forever.

  CHAPTER 4 - ZANE

  I made my way into the restaurant without holding back the confidence in my stride. As usual, people I walked by, both guests and staff, tended to make way for me. Whenever I entered a room, I turned heads and attracted respect.

  This restaurant knew me well enough. I brought business associates here fairly often. It helped warm my clients up to show them that I knew the rhythm of one of my favorite places, knew the names of the staff, and knew which wines were worth trying.

  Nonetheless, I made sure to arrive later than him. He got the upper hand at our last meeting, so I was going to twist his arm a little this time around.

  When I rounded the corner near the table where he was seated and saw his face when those smoky eyes of his fell on me, I knew I was worth every second of the wait. I held back a smug smirk, even as my eyes drank him in in turn.

  “Glad you could make it, Mr. Castillo,” I greeted him smoothly, making no mention of the fact that he had reconsidered my invitation. “Have you ordered a drink yet?”

  “A pleasure, Mr. Anderson. I have not, I must confess that I have not been here before.” Either he was turning on the charm right back at me, or that was just the way he was.

  “Really?” I said bemusedly as I sat down across from him and leaned back in the booth, crossing my legs and lowering my eyelids. “I should get you out of that dusty office a little more often then so you can see the city.”

  He raised an immaculate eyebrow and cracked a smile. “Dusty now, is it? You looked rather impressed when you stepped in.”

  “Maybe I should take a second look some time,” I shot back. He opened his mouth to quip back, but the waitress appeared at our table, a bright smile on her face.

  “Good to see you again, Mr. Anderson,” she greeted me with her usual candor.

  “You too, Rebecca.” Whenever the staff saw me with someone unfamiliar, they knew good and well they could fish for a bigger tip by flattering me in front of them. I took care of people who served me well, though, so I couldn’t blame them. “Will it be the usual to start with?”

  “I think my friend and I would enjoy the Artadi Pagos Viejos, if you still have a bottle of the 2011,” I said, raising a questioning eyebrow at Diego to confirm.

  His smile was surprised and pleased. “That was a very good year. Sounds lovely.”

  “How do you feel about octopus?” I asked, tilting my head to the side.

  “You’re reading my palate very well,” he replied. My smile broadened before I turned back to the waitress.

  “Pulpo Gallego to start, I think,” I ordered, and she gave a quick nod before darting off to see to our order.

  “This is a tapas place,” Diego remarked, peering at the menu.

  “One of the best places nearby, but the owner is from Barcelona, so it won’t be exactly like home cooking for you,” I admitted modestly.

  Our red wine arrived within minutes while I made small talk about some of the Spanish restaurants both of us had visited over the years, and I was pleasantly surprised by the grilled octopus that accompanied it so quickly. The smell made my stomach rumble.

  “So,” he said as he speared one of the paprika-sprinkled pieces of meat before us and slowly spun it around in front of those full lips of his. “I have decided I would like to give more thought to this nightclub idea of yours. Not to agree to it, but to give it more thought.”

  “It can be hard to concentrate on thinking at a restaurant,” I teased, and his lips curled up in amusement.

  “Oh? Perhaps we should go to your casino restaurant then, it might be a little quieter.”

  As I took a sip of wine, I narrowed my eyes at him.

  So, it was going to be that kind of evening.

  “The hotel restaurant is booked up for the evening. But if you wanted to meet me somewhere more private, Mr. Castillo, you should have just said so.”

  “Speaking of privacy,” he deflected after a playful pause, “one concern I have for this nightclub is just that. Nightclubs are for drinking. I picture drunks stumbling through the hotel halls, foot traffic between the casino and the club, trying to keep customers from stumbling across from your tower to mine…”

  I arched an eyebrow. Another challenge. My fork moved in subtly and stabbed the piece of octopus he was reaching for. I never broke eye contact with him, but I heard the prongs of our forks clink subtly.

  “While I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the bridge I’m proposing is a two-way passage,” I corrected him, “a benefit of a nightclub is just that. Rather than encouraging drinking at the casino bar, it keeps all of that activity in one place, encouraging people to keep drinking in a place where they’re less likely to get wrestled to the ground by some towering bouncer.”

  “And what do you know about wrestling men to the ground, Mr. Anderson?” His smooth voice asked in a low tone.

  “I know that the noise complaints from your casino floor mean you could stand to learn a little about it,” I fired back with a smug smile, and the sight of his perfect eyebrows going up in surprise made my chest swell with pride.

  The jabs we were making at each other were just under the surface, but it was a delicate dance we were doing, and we had to know when to concede that one of us had pricked the other.

  “I hope you’re enjoying everything,” the waitress interrupted us with a nervous smile as she reappeared at the table. She could sense the energy between us, but she was good at her job. “What can I get for you gentlemen?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu,” Diego remarked, but I got her attention first. I rattled off four selections off the menu that complemented each other nicely with our red wine, and Diego watched me with a playful smile.

  “You are rather bold in your assumptions, Mr. Anderson,” he remarked.

  “But am I wrong about your tastes?” I teased back, and he peered at me over his glass of wine for a few long, hard seconds before he gave a nod of agreement to the waitress, who hurried off.

  The poor girl was in over her head, getting between the two of us.

  “Nightclubs tend to attract unsavory types, do they not?” Diego went on once she was gone, swirling his wine in the glass. “I do not know what the usual crowd of the Sentry is like, since I have never been, but La Torre is not the type of place to attract seedy clientele.”

  “That wasn’t the impression I got when I toured,” I mused, “but I can tell you exactly what I told 30 Under 30: Las Vegas is not the place it used to be. I have full confidence in my hand-picked head of security and his selective staff that the Sentry will remain a safe place for all respectable adults.”

  We spent a few minut
es discussing the profit margins of other nightclubs my research provided, and by the time our tapas arrived, it was time for another round of wine. Drinking on nearly empty stomachs was making both of us a little bolder in how we attacked each other, but coming within inches of letting the gloves come off was a good way to judge your enemy.

  But every time I watched his long fingers run through his curly hair idly, I had to remind myself that he was just that—the enemy.

  Because damn, he was a beautiful man.

  I found myself admiring more and more about him. The measured patience he took in forming his responses. The deadly venom in his quips. The subtle ways his body moved as he judged me.

  I cursed myself as I realized I even enjoyed hearing the ways he could try to make jabs at me and my casino, and I was getting the impression that he took just as much pleasure in what I had to dish out.

  “...moreover,” he went on as we discussed the potential drink selection of the nightclub, “I worry that bringing the nightclub culture—fancy mixed drinks and liquors—will detract from the more classic feel I have worked so hard to cultivate at La Torre. I am sure the Sentry would not notice the difference, of course.”

  “On the contrary,” I said without missing a beat, “we currently have two kinds of bars at the Sentry—liquors and beers in the casino, fine wines and top-shelf liquors in the hotel bar. The division has let the clientele sort themselves out a little better and keeps the mood of each intact. It sounds like you aren’t used to mixing work and pleasure, so you might find yourself getting into new things in many different ways, working with me,” I added, dropping my tone a little.

  The two of us let our forks hover over a final piece of the food, our eyes locked, but Diego finally stabbed it and devoured it fiercely.

  “You make some interesting points, but I feel that I cannot change my first opinion,” he said with a suddenly disinterested sigh, a smug smile on his face as he leaned back.

  I was stunned. Our back and forth had been fierce, but that was just the play of the game—if he was too compliant or too disinterested, that would have told me that this was going nowhere, but negotiating like he was usually meant he was already won.

  “Why don’t we discuss the layout over dessert, then?” I suggested. “The layout of La Torre is not something I would personally pick for my own establishment, but—”

  “That will not be necessary,” he said, making his way out of the booth and giving me that infuriating polite yet cocky smile. “I believe I have made up my mind, for the time being. The way your mind works is fascinating, Mr. Anderson. I rather enjoy picking it. But you may have to find someone else to tickle this particular fancy of yours,” his low voice purred.

  With that, he swept away, his hand brushing against my arm.

  But I didn’t turn to watch him go. My jaw was set, and my mouth slowly broke into a chuckling smile.

  He accepts my invitation to dinner and doesn’t come planning to do business, then has the gall to leave me with the check. I had planned to pay anyway, but the assumption was a careful insult.

  So, that was the game he wanted to play, was it?

  I had a lot more on my hands with Diego Castillo than I gave him credit for.

  CHAPTER 5 - ZANE

  I swept into the lounge of the Sentry without breaking my pace as I swung the door open. I had called a last-minute meeting with the others to discuss everything I’d set in motion, and I was pleased to see that everyone was already there by the time I arrived.

  Call me dramatic, but much like meeting business partners I don’t know, being the last to arrive at meetings like this turned heads. Everything paused when I entered the room, and everyone was waiting on my word.

  It was second nature to me.

  “Glad you could all make it on short notice,” I greeted them all with a smile as I stood over where they sat, hands on my hips.

  The Sentry’s VIP lounge was a furnace of red carpets and golden walls and ceilings with geometric designs built in around the chandeliers. Long, dark red couches sat in the middle of the room facing each other, and a massive black coffee table sat between them. A piano stood behind the sitting area, and a bar stocked with top-shelf liquors was on the far end of the place. Naturally, the windows offered a jaw-dropping view of the Strip. It was the kind of view that made the place feel brand-new, even though I’d owned the Sentry for some time.

  It was easy to see why I liked holding private meetings among the four of us here. After all, what was the point of having these kinds of things if you couldn’t enjoy them yourself?

  Mick and Bart were sitting on the couches already, Mick leaning forward with his hands clasped and Bart leaning back with his legs crossed in a wide stance, arms over the back of the couch. Gage sat on the piano bench, his eyes locked onto me from the moment I entered, his usual warm smile shining bright. Bart had a drink in his hand already.

  Whiskey, neat. He was predictable as the sunset, but I admired a man who knew what he liked.

  “We’re guessing this is about your nightclub project,” Bart said. “Got some news for us?”

  “You’re absolutely right,” I said, and I flashed him a grin as I tossed my jacket on the couch while crossing the room. I unbuttoned my sleeves and rolled them up my thick forearms as I reached the bar and started making myself a Moscow mule. “And I absolutely do, but I want us to be able to put our heads together before moving forward.”

  “We’re all ears,” Gage chimed in.

  I held up a finger to finish making my drink before I continued. In about a minute, I had a frosty copper mug filled with vodka and ginger beer, beautifully garnished with a sprig of mint that floated in the crushed ice.

  I may have had more particular tastes, but like Bart, I knew what I liked, and I knew how to make it fast.

  “Diego Castillo is the owner of La Torre,” I explained, slowly making my way back to the couches. “He’s a Spaniard, and his tongue is as sharp as his mind.”

  “You callin’ him stupid?” Bart grunted, furrowing his brow.

  “He means he’s smart and probably insulted Zane,” Mick explained with a smile. He then turned his steady gaze on me. “Sounds like you’ve got a rival you enjoy, for once.”

  A cocky smile crossed my face. I admired having Mick’s quick mind close to me. I’d never gotten tired of picking his brain from the moment I got him to open up to me.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” I said dismissively, “but regardless, what’s important for us is that he seems to feel that way about me. I’ve met with him twice now.”

  “Damn, you’ve been busy then,” Bart said. “You still haven’t said what exactly you’re meeting about, but it sounds like it’s going well.”

  “I’m getting there—but on the contrary, no, it isn’t, and that’s what’s puzzling me.”

  All three of them quirked eyebrows at me, and I made eye contact with each before continuing.

  “The first time was in his office. Remember what I said about that nightclub?” They nodded, and I took a swig of my drink. “What I went to La Torre to propose was just that: a collaboration.”

  “Do what now?” Bart said, leaning forward and putting a hand on his knee while his brow knit. Gage looked as intrigued as Mick, but Mick looked more wary.

  “You heard me.” I took out my phone and pulled up a picture of a more detailed sketch I drew in my own office, and I passed it around for the guys to see. Mick nodded in understanding before the rest, realizing what my design was implying.

  “So, these are supposed to be…?” Gage trailed off, and I nodded to him.

  “That’s right. The Sentry and La Torre, with a bridge between them. The plan I pitched to Diego was to have both of us pitch in for the expenses of the nightclub on the fiftieth floor of each of our buildings and jointly fund a bridge between the two that will serve as a lounge.
It would cut overall costs almost in half and double the revenue we can bring in to mitigate it, even after splitting the profits with La Torre.”

  “If you can’t beat them, join them,” Mick mused quietly, repeating my words from a few days ago. I pointed a finger at him and winked.

  “Exactly. What do you all think? I’ve been jumping on this a mile a minute, but I want all your input before we go any further.”

  “I love the idea,” Gage gushed, and he stood up to move to the window and point to La Torre. “A bridge between the two places would be worth the investment on its own—can you imagine people raving about the views? Some of the high-end gamblers put the feeling of luxury above anything else. I think this would draw in some heavy hitters.” He turned to nod at me. “If it were me, I’d be pushing full steam ahead.”

  “Good. Bart? What are your thoughts, would we have the manpower to keep the place safe and secure? That was one of Diego’s first concerns.”

  “Frankly? No,” Bart said, and Gage and I frowned. “We’re stretched thin as it is, but a nightclub takes heavy security on a good day. That extra income would need to go to putting more guards on the payroll, and fast.”

  “We could share security with La Torre,” I suggested without missing a beat, “give them another angle to cut costs back.”

  “Those cost cuts are what make it worth it for me,” Mick said. “Regardless of anything else, we need the money. Period. I’d back it on that basis alone.”

  “That’s the problem I’m running into with Diego,” I said after another deep drink of my vodka. “He seems to think I’m only proposing this because he’s cutting into our profits. Regardless of whether that’s far from the truth, he’s dangling that over my head, and I don’t like it.”

  “Already on a first name basis with the owner?” Gage asked, tilting his head to the side. I chuckled.

  “Not in person, no,” I said, “but the two of us have a lot of common ground. I’ve been working it the way I usually do, and if this were any other man, I’d have him wrapped around my finger already.”