Her Las Vegas Wedding

by Andrea Bolter

  Bustling over, Audrey stopped dead in front of the display. Barely clocking in at five-foot-two herself, she had to crane her neck back to fully study Shane’s likeness. The discomfort she always felt in his presence was just as palpable here in this massive photograph.

  A wild toss of dark hair seemed to grow from his scalp in every direction as though it belonged on a mythological Medusa. A folded blue bandanna was tied across his forehead and under his hairline. Those black-as-night eyes were framed with long eyelashes and crowned by heavy brows. A straight nose led to full lips, parted slightly, surrounded by beard stubble above his mouth and across his lower cheek and square jaw.

  The look on his face was a dare. To say this man was smoldering and dangerous was the understatement of the century. He was almost too much to take in, even in cardboard form. Thank goodness she was marrying safe Reg.

  Audrey bit her lip to stay grounded and continue her survey of Shane.

  His chef’s coat fit well from one broad shoulder to the other. The coat’s sleeves were cuffed twice to reveal hefty forearms with a dusting of dark hair. The arms crossed at his chest showcased black leather cording that formed bracelets wrapped around each wrist. One huge hand held a chef’s knife.

  An embroidered insignia on the chest of the chef’s coat depicted his restaurant logo of a four-legged table with the name Shane scripted above it. The coat’s hem hit Shane at mid hip, shorter than a typical chef preference. Fitted jeans encased the lower half of his body, with its straight hips and muscular legs. The jeans gave way to black motorcycle boots. One foot crossed over the other in a defiant stance.

  Audrey’s eyes did a ride up from the boots to the powerfully built chest to the heart-stopping lips. She followed individual locks of jet hair as each made a different wavy descent down around his face.

  All she could say to herself was “Whoa!” as that flush swept across her neck again.

  Audrey hated cardboard cutout displays that presented a person as some sort of whacked-out Greek statue or national monument. To her, they were a crass and crude form of advertising. But there was no question that Shane Murphy was a drop-dead sexy man. She was painfully aware of it every time she was around him. While it didn’t directly have anything to do with his cooking, she wouldn’t doubt that his fiery good looks contributed to his restaurants’ success.

  Nonetheless, Audrey was not about to have that eyesore muddy the sophistication of a Girard hotel. So she lifted cardboard Shane Murphy at his waist, tucked him under her arm and proceeded to her bungalow. As soon as she swiped her key card and let herself in, she propped Shane in a corner of the room facing the bed.

  Dropping her bags, she made a three-hundred-sixty degree turn as she took in the finished renovation of the bungalow. The photo and video tours she’d seen didn’t do it justice. An interior archway divided the suite into two distinct areas. In the sleeping portion, teal and brown bedding appointed the king bed, a palette that evoked the original sixties style. But a flat-screen smart TV mounted on the wall and tech stations on the two lightwood nightstands brought the room straight into the needs of today’s guests. An armchair upholstered in stripes echoed the teal and added in green and cream colors. A reading lamp perched on an end table beside it.

  Through the archway, a lightwood desk and chair provided a place to work or eat. Bright abstract paintings adorned the walls. A sitting area with a sleek gray sofa and low coffee table gave way to the sliding-glass door. Each bungalow had a private patio with two forest green lounge chairs shaded by a partial veranda to give protection against the desert sun.

  Audrey delighted at the perfection of the remodel. This was what put the Hotel Girard brand on the map. Everything carefully crafted from fine materials and designs perfectly executed.

  Except for that stupid cutout of Shane Murphy, of course.

  * * *

  “There he is.” Daniel nudged Audrey as they sat in a finished section of one of the hotel’s cocktail lounges.

  They both stood as Reg Murphy approached. Audrey’s future husband was a slim man who stood ramrod straight. He wore a three-piece pinstriped suit. Audrey couldn’t remember the last time she saw a man wear a vested suit.

  She hadn’t had a chance to unpack but had pulled an outfit from her garment bag for the evening. A conservative gray sheath dress and black sandals.

  “Nice to see you, Reg.”

  “I guess this is finally it,” he said as he extended his right hand as if to shake hers. Then he seemed to change his mind midstream and instead lifted her hand and turned it over to kiss the back of it. His supple palm pressed her fingers against his open lips. The whole maneuver was awkward and a bit moist.

  “How was your flight?” Daniel asked as Reg vigorously shook his hand up and down.

  “Fine, sir.”

  Audrey remembered Reg as being a bit more poised. Perhaps it was wedding jitters that made him appear so nervous. He stared at Daniel slack-jawed like he wanted to say something, but instead pulled a white handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and dabbed his upper lip.

  “Are you in Vegas now until the opening?” Audrey asked.

  “I may have to fly back to New York. You?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. I’ve got our wedding to coordinate.”

  “Right.” Reg nodded as if it were just sinking in. He glanced at his phone and read something on the screen that brought a huge smile to his lips. “Please pardon me a moment while I return this message.”

  He tapped onto the screen, grinning the entire time.

  “Well,” Daniel said using his right hand to pat Audrey’s back and his left to tap Reg’s, “I’ll leave you two to your evening.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  After Daniel walked away, Reg and Audrey each perched on a stool beside the table. One of the four bars on the property, this space was located inside the main lobby and had stylish fun in mind. The decor was done with white barstools upholstered in deep purple velvet set around chrome pedestal tables. Behind the chrome cocktail bar was a giant glass tank filled with undulating purple goo similar to the lava lamps of the 1960s.

  Once again, Girard’s interior designers had worked through an idea to perfection. And then capable crews were able to bring the vision to fruition. Audrey could imagine the lounge with chic music playing in the background and filled with trendy patrons choosing drinks from a cocktail menu that offered libations with names like Flip-Out Frappe and Yin-Yang-Yum.

  “After all of the talk about us marrying, this has come about rather suddenly, hasn’t it?” Reg asked.

  “Is there a problem with that?”

  He seemed to be a million miles away. “Not at all.”

  “I think the extra push makes sense. Do everything at once. Open the hotel and Shane’s Table. Shane’s cookbook. Our marriage. It’s a cascade of publicity on several levels.”

  Audrey knew that the Girard hotels had never really recovered from the events of three years ago. When her mother was dying and her father was unable to concentrate on the business. Audrey had tried as best she could to fill in for him. It was a gift to have the work to focus on since her mother hadn’t wanted her at her bedside.

  All of her life, it had been assumed that she’d grow up into the family business. As a teenager, she developed a knack for coming up with advertising ideas and events. The marketing side of the brand was a perfect fit for her after college.

  Hotel Girard Incorporated was Audrey’s entire world. Running around the properties as a kid, she had known every secret passageway. Every painting that hung in every guest room. Every item sold in the gift shops. Any happiness she could recollect took place within the borders of the hotels. The staff were loyal to Audrey and she was loyal to them. She’d do anything needed for their good. Even get married.

  Besides, she thought Reg was a good match and she had become quite amenable to the mar
riage idea. He was smart. Nice-looking, too. Maybe a little too much hair product. Those short curls might look better if they weren’t so stiff. He was poised and polite and she didn’t know what the medical condition was that made a person have a sweaty upper lip but, hey, she thought she could overlook that.

  And he was, safely, nothing like his brother. That split second ten years ago on St. Thomas flickered in her mind again. A freeze-frame in time that she still secretly compared everything else to.

  “Should we go to dinner?” she asked. Reg seemed so uneasy tonight, perhaps a change of atmosphere would help. Devotion to the hotels was one thing but she wasn’t going to go as far as to beg him to wed her if he didn’t want to.

  “Shane is cooking for us in the restaurant.” Reg took Audrey by the bony part of her elbow and lead her out of the bar. “We are essentially the first guests at Shane’s Table Las Vegas.”

  Along the way, Reg stopped to read and respond to another message on his phone. The same amusement that had come across his face earlier returned while he typed.

  But he hesitated when they reached the restaurant’s entrance. “Where is the display that’s supposed to be here?”

  “You mean that awful stand-up photo of Shane?”

  “Name recognition is what Shane’s Table is all about.”

  “I’m well aware of that. But that cardboard cutout was absurd. Brash advertising like that is not how Girard maintains its reputation for taste and understatement.”

  Not that a life-size photo of hottie Shane Murphy was hard on the eyes, but it was, nonetheless, inconsistent with the Girard style.

  “You personally removed my advertising?”

  She’d stood it up in her bungalow for the time being and now didn’t seem the right time to confess that. “Reg, I’m head of public relations. I work alongside a marketing team and together we decide when and how best to...”

  “I built Shane’s Table into what it is today.”

  Wow, Audrey wasn’t expecting this. She assumed Reg would respect her authority on this topic. He should have at least proposed the display prior to just having it planted it in front of the restaurant’s doors, which was technically Girard property.

  Audrey attempted to smooth ruffled feathers. “You know, Reg, perhaps I’m not a hundred percent clear on what our contracts state about my role concerning the PR specifically for the restaurant.”

  “I’ll have my lawyers call yours in the morning.”

  She stroked his thin arm once up and once down in a gesture of calming affection. “That’s a great idea. Can we just put the issue aside for now and enjoy our dinner? I can’t wait to see the completed dining room.”

  The pacifying technique worked because Reg pulled from his pocket a deadbolt key and an access fob to open the front door of the newly finished construction. He reached to flick on a temporary lamp that stood just inside the entrance.

  Rock ’n’ roll blared from the far end of the restaurant. Reg gestured for Audrey to follow him across the dark dining room and through the double doors leading into the kitchen.

  The lone man in the cavernous space stood with his back facing them, but Audrey easily recognized that long curly hair and the broad shoulders that filled out his chef’s coat. The music was turned up so loud that he hadn’t noticed anyone had entered. His head bobbed and his hips ground to the beat as he sautéed something smoking hot on the stove in front of him. Reaching for a spoon, he tasted from the pan.

  “Garbage,” he decreed and, in frustration, threw the spoon into the nearby sink.

  Only then did he turn enough to be startled by Reg and Audrey’s presence. He grimaced. His gorgeous full lips twisted. A pulse beat in his neck. His eyes locked on Audrey.

  “Audrey,” Reg yelled above the music, “you remember my brother, Shane Murphy.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “HI, SHANE,” Audrey said, turning on the polish. In reality, his intense stare made her heart skip every other beat. “Can you believe it was a full year ago when we stood right here after the old restaurant had been gutted?”

  Shane slowly, sinfully, with no restraint whatsoever, inventoried her. From the part in her blond hair, across her face, down every curve of her fitted dress and shapely legs, through her sandals to the tips of her orange-painted toes.

  Her legs twitched from his gaze.

  He mashed his lips together as he shifted something internally and turned his attention to his brother. “I mixed a white sangria and put it on the bar. Why don’t you take Audrey into the dining room and pour it, Reg?”

  “Join us for a glass, won’t you?”

  Unspoken communication passed between the two brothers.

  “I’ll be out with some appetizers in a few minutes.”

  Reg ushered Audrey out of the kitchen and turned on the overhead lighting.

  The restaurant was a showstopper. One entire wall made of glass looked out to a furnished patio. A wood-burning oven, large grill and two fire pits would allow for al fresco cooking. The open-air space was enclosed by a semicircular wall made of small stones. At three points, waterfalls rained down. The effect was that of a private outdoor world far from the bright lights of Las Vegas.

  Inside, shaded lighting fixtures hung from the ceiling to cast a play of light and shadow throughout the room. Tall-backed chairs cushioned in an olive-colored fabric, teakwood tables and booths dotted the dining room, each placed with enough space between them to allow for dinner conversation. Carpeting in a subtle diamond pattern of khaki and red would muffle the din of a full house. Stone tiling on the walls gave the room a lodge feel that was posh but comfortable.

  Audrey took her time inspecting it all. “Everything turned out spectacularly.”

  Reg guided Audrey by the tip of her elbow again, a trend she wasn’t enjoying, to the one table in the center of the dining room that had been set for dinner.

  “I’ll get the wine,” he said as he pulled out one of the chairs for her. Then he hopped down the three steps to the bar to retrieve a carafe. “Shane used a 2009 pinot gris from the local Desert Castle vineyard we’re working with,” Reg announced as he poured each of them a glass. Crisp green apple slices and chunks of fresh peaches floated in the drink.

  “Nice,” Audrey said after a quick sip, never one to drink much alcohol. Not after what she had witnessed. “You’re staying in a condo in Vegas?”

  “In the Henderson suburb. I suppose when the two of us...” Reg stopped, seemingly at a total loss of how to complete the sentence. “Shane leases a flat behind the Strip,” he added and ran the back of his index finger under his nose.

  “Will he base himself mostly in Vegas?”

  “For a while. When we first opened in Los Angeles, it took a year until we were functioning smoothly.”

  “It takes a long time to build a core staff that you feel confident in. People don’t work out. You hire new ones.”

  “Shane is very exacting in what he expects. As you’ll recall.”

  A flush of heat spread down Audrey’s neck.

  “Ten years was a long time ago.” Audrey made reference to the St. Thomas collaboration. “I was just starting college so I wasn’t really involved, but I do have a vague memory,” she fibbed when, in fact, she remembered every second of that summer.

  The twenty-four-year-old wunderkind chef and his demands in the kitchen had been legendary. “Didn’t the controversy begin with some herb we couldn’t get onto the island?”

  “I still don’t know how I was supposed to make a yellow mole without hoja santa.” Shane’s thick vibrato filled the dining room. Audrey didn’t know how they had failed to hear him come out from the kitchen.

  The surprise sent a blush all the way under the neckline of her dress.

  “And your idiot sous chef suggested I use cilantro.”

  “I was all of eighteen so, beli
eve me, I was just an innocent bystander at the time.”

  “We were on a tiny island, Shane.” Reg lifted his palms. “They weren’t able to fly in your herb.”

  Shane held two small plates. Audrey took notice of the black leather cords he had roped around his wrists like the ones he wore in the cardboard cutout. There was something so rebellious about them. She’d never known a chef to wear jewelry on his hands. Yet she found them as mysterious and exciting as the man who donned them. His hands were so massive they made the dishes of food he carried look tiny.

  “Nevada appears to be the motherlode for the ingredients I need,” Shane said as he placed one plate in front of each of them. “Chiles en nogada. Poblano stuffed with pork, pear and mango and topped with a walnut cream sauce.”

  Audrey’s eyes widened at the striking presentation on the plate. She knew that the sprinkle of diced red and green peppers on top of the white sauce was in homage to the colors of the Mexican flag. The foundation of Shane Murphy’s menus was in the flavors of the Spanish-speaking world.

  While Shane waited intently, she took a bite, careful to get a little morsel of each ingredient onto her fork. The rich cream fragrant with ground walnuts brought a decadent lushness to the pork, yet the dots of fruit kept the dish from being too heavy.

  Audrey closed her eyes to savor the combination.

  Depriving herself of sight, she could sense even more powerfully how Shane’s eyes bored into her face. Making her feel somehow exposed and beautiful at the same time.

  She whispered upon opening her eyes and looking at Shane again, “Magnificent.” Possibly in reference to the food.

  Shane pulled a fork out of the back pocket of his jeans and showed it to Reg. “There was a mistake with the order that came in today. Three tines? Am I serving Neanderthals?”

  Without another word, Shane turned and returned to the kitchen.

  Audrey noticed the four tines on the fork she was holding. She appreciated how important every small decision was for these consummate professionals. It was the same level of concern the Girards applied to their hotels.