“Connor …” Jase began.
“Reeves Pub was our first business. I bought it, and we used its strength to fund your first game.” He pointed to Jase. “When that game took off, you started another, and then another. Reeves Pub is what put you through school, Gage, and because of it, we could keep reinvesting the ranch profits, and that’s where you got the money for your first property buy. Reeves Pub started all of this. I’m telling you right now, Reeves Pub has more to do.”
Jase and Gage exchanged a look.
“I still don’t think this is a good idea but, let’s go bowling?” Gage asked.
“Resistance is futile,” Jase said, and Connor knew they were in.
• • •
Miranda put her fingertips to her temples. Had it been less than twelve hours since the party? Since she found the cleaning lady trying to download company information from Connor’s computer?
She texted Lila. Last night’s seafood disagreed with me. Taking a sick day. Then she turned off her phone and tossed it to the nightstand. She lay on her bed for a few minutes, telling herself she was a fool for what she was about to do. Connor didn’t need her fighting his battles. He hadn’t asked her to; he’d barely spoken to her once she turned over the cleaning lady. He’d locked himself in his office with his brothers. At midnight, when the three of them were still inside, she’d taken herself home.
Connor might not want her fighting his battles, but he had no idea how dirty her father would get to get what he wanted. And for whatever reason, he’d set his eye on Reeves Pub.
Miranda dressed in her favorite suit—navy, pinstriped pencil skirt and fitted jacket—with spiked heels that would put her near the six-foot mark in height. She swept her hair back in a tight twist and took her time with her makeup. At a quarter to ten, she pulled her convertible up to the valet at Caesars and stepped out.
At the front desk, she stopped to get a key to her father’s suite. She had called the desk before leaving her apartment, pretending to be his secretary, and asked them to provide a key for his daughter. She didn’t want to knock on his door. There were things she needed to say, and she would say them without waiting for permission.
The elevator ascended quietly to a villa suite. Miranda followed the curving hallway to her father’s room, and with every step, the knot in her stomach seemed to enlarge. She took a moment outside the door to steady her breathing. She straightened her jacket, smoothed her hands down her skirt, and then unlocked the door.
Her father sat at the small table near the window eating grapefruit and reading the newspaper. He didn’t seem startled to see her.
“Hello, Dad.”
“Miranda. I didn’t realize you knew I was in town.”
“Kind of hard to miss one of the largest newspaper publishers in North America attending the major industry conference.”
He shrugged. “I was going to send one of the editors but then decided this would be a good time to take in our new media properties in Las Vegas and Reno.” The words slid off his tongue as if saturated in oil. His hair was slicked back. His wingtips were polished, one leg crossed over the other. He wore a gray wool suit that looked great in the air-conditioning but would be sweltering the second he stepped outside. He was out of his element here, and that knowledge helped to settle Miranda’s nervous stomach.
William folded the newspaper and set it aside. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”
“You can stop.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Stop what, exactly?”
“I know about the spy, Dad. I know you pretended to bail her out, and I know you’ve been blackmailing her for months, and I know you’re doing this because Connor won’t back down. He didn’t immediately roll over and play dead when Clayton Holdings came to Las Vegas, and if there is one thing you hate, it is people who don’t give you exactly what you want when you want it.”
William Clayton shook his head. “This doesn’t interest me.”
“It should. She can tie you to the hack, to undercutting the ad prices around town. It might not land you in jail, but it’s going to put a black eye on Clayton Holdings, and I know how much you hate to mess up your image.”
“So he sent you here to beg for mercy, did he? Stupid, upstart, redneck cowboy.”
“He isn’t stupid.”
“He’s stupid enough to send you instead of facing me himself.” William got up from the table and stabbed his index finger toward Miranda’s chest. She flinched. “You should have stayed in Denver. Party planning is the extent of your talents.”
Miranda narrowed her eyes. “Party planning is the least of my abilities, and if you weren’t so obsessed with being the most powerful man in publishing, you would see that for yourself. I had things to offer Clayton, ideas that would help you move it firmly into the twenty-first century instead of muddling through the millennium year after year.”
“My newspapers are in fine shape; if they weren’t, I wouldn’t have been able to take on the Nevada papers,” he blustered, and Miranda thought she saw a hint of panic in his brown eyes. Eyes so similar to hers in shape and color, but so different in every way that counted. He couldn’t see the worth of anything outside his newspapers or his status. He probably didn’t know the name of his executive assistant, much less the woman he’d blackmailed to undermine Connor.
Connor. Who knew not only the names of his employees, but also their children’s names, where they lived, and in some cases, their physical ailments. He was the man she loved, and she would stand by him, whatever came next.
“Taking over failing newspapers isn’t that hard. Taking them over and building something out of their ashes, that takes guts and intelligence.”
“You listen to me, young lady—”
“No, I’m done listening to you. I’ve listened to you ignore my ideas all my life. You don’t deserve Clayton Holdings, but we’ll leave it to you, because Connor and I have bigger plans for Reeves Pub.” At least, she hoped she was still part of the overall plan.
“If you had half the smarts you say you do, you’d be on this side of the fight. Stop playing at being a newspaperwoman and come back to Denver with me.”
“I am not playing at anything,” she said, enunciating each word.
“If you had any loyalty at all, you would use your position there to build up Clayton, the company you were born to run, instead of playing newspaper with that Reeves outfit.”
Her throat went dry. Born to run? He was truly desperate if that was his next attack. “You didn’t want me at Clayton as an intern, much less an executive, Dad. And I already told you, I’m not playing.”
“Every stumbling block I put in front of you was training. You walking away from the challenge isn’t my fault.”
God, the man was delusional. “Training for what? How to hold an art auction? Or what wine to serve with salmon? For as long as I can remember, you’ve pushed me into the Foundation. You wanted a socialite daughter who would be photographed for your newspapers. You didn’t want your daughter in the executive branch, not even to make your coffee.” Miranda turned on her heel and, at the door, tossed the keycard onto a table holding an impressive display of orchids. “Goodbye, Dad,” she said, and she slipped out the door.
It took a nearly unbearable ten minutes to get her car out of valet and down the Strip to Reeves Pub. Miranda hurried through the lobby, jabbed the elevator button, and tapped her foot while she waited for the car to arrive. It seemed to take forever for the lift to rise to the second floor, and the hallway to Connor’s office seemed longer than usual. The head of steam she’d built up since leaving her father’s suite was wearing off, and that sick feeling was back in her stomach.
Connor had said he loved her, but that was before they found that woman in his office. What if that changed everything? What if, like her parents, Connor’s love was conditional?
Connor sat behind his desk, feet up on the edge, leaning back in his chair. He wore khakis and a button-down shirt, and she blinke
d. She’d never seen him not wearing a suit in the office. It was weird. Hot, but weird.
“Hey,” she said as she closed his office door behind her back.
“I thought you were out sick.”
“I just needed to clear my head after last night.”
“Security just finished going through all the computers, looking for bugs and anything else the spy might have planted. So far, everything appears clean.” He hadn’t budged from his spot at the desk, and he tossed something small between his hands. After a moment, he held it up. It was the flash drive she had taken from the cleaning lady. “We can’t know what she put on this before, but last night’s attempt at corporate espionage would have netted her some old coding files and the mockup pages of the eco-zine, minus any masthead or other identifying information.” He swung his feet off his desk and sat up. Miranda took the seat across the desk from him.
“She wasn’t a good spy.”
He shrugged. “Or she didn’t want to be a good spy. I checked up on her. She was a computer expert in Spain before following her husband here a few years ago. Her story checks out - the gambling, his abandonment, her inability to find work in her field.”
“You can’t let her husband’s gambling sway your opinion of her. She could have come to you, but she worked for my father instead.” She took a breath. Time to test that first hurdle. “I went to see him today. He’s in town for the advertiser conference.”
“I know.”
She blinked. “You do?”
“I make it a point to know when people who want to take over my company come to Las Vegas.”
“Spoken like a true cowboy.” Miranda lowered her voice and rolled her shoulders like the men in spaghetti westerns did. “This is my business, pilgrim,” she said, only half joking. Connor’s blue eyes were icy, his jaw set in a hard line. She’d seen him annoyed, but she had never seen him like this. There was a potent, angry energy surrounding him, and even though he was basically still behind the desk, she could feel it burning off him. Something was wrong.
“John Wayne always was a favorite. You didn’t need to go see your father.”
“I know. I needed to get a few things off my chest. The last few times we talked, it was over video chat, and I let him walk all over me, like I’ve always done.”
“And?”
“And, he didn’t admit to the spy games, but he didn’t deny it. Then he insinuated I should become his next spy.” She blew out a breath. “I know you don’t play hooky, and I probably should have just gone back to my apartment, but do you want to get out of here? I could use a shower after that meeting with my father, and you look like you could use a break from the office, too.”
“Your place or mine?”
“Yours is closer,” she said.
Connor let them into the penthouse a half hour later. Miranda dropped her bag on the table near the front door and slipped her shoes off her feet. The hardwood floors were cool, and she crossed to the window that looked out over Las Vegas Boulevard. Hordes of tourists wandered the Strip, most with their arms full of shopping bags. A few runners zigzagged through the throngs of sightseers.
Miranda unbuttoned her jacket and pulled the matching navy camisole from her waistband. “I’m going to wash that incident with my father down your shower drain. If you don’t mind?”
“Want some company?”
“Sure.” She smiled.
“I’ll put in an order for lunch and be there in a few minutes.”
Miranda shed her suit and undergarments as she crossed to Connor’s bedroom. The black comforter on the big, four-poster bed was rumpled; he hadn’t bothered to make it this morning. Funny, she hadn’t bothered to make her bed, either. She turned on the taps, and when steam began to cloud over the mirror, she stepped inside and closed the glass door.
She stood under the showerhead, willing her memories of that confrontation with her father to circle the drain with the hot water, but she could still hear him.
If you were loyal … if you were half as smart as you think you are … the company you were born to run.
It was ridiculous, but a little corner of her heart hurt at those last words the most. From the first time her mother took her to William’s office, she’d wanted to sit behind his big, cherry wood desk. To use the fancy pen in the pewter holder. And all he had wanted was a daughter who would plan his parties and smile for his cameras.
She shook herself. She knew who her father was before she set foot in his hotel suite. His lies didn’t change anything. Nothing she could have done or could ever do would change his opinion of a woman running his precious company. He only wanted her as a pawn in his tug-of-war with Connor.
Connor.
She leaned her head against the smooth tile. Connor who didn’t want anything from her. Connor who gave her a second chance even after she’d lied to him about who she was.
Connor who had to fire one of his employees last night. God, that had to hurt.
A pair of strong arms came around her waist from behind, but Miranda didn’t jump. She leaned back against his strong chest and closed her eyes.
“Connor.”
“Lunch will be here in an hour.”
She turned in his arms. There was nothing she could say to wipe away the sorrow she saw in his eyes, but there was something she could do. She stood up on tiptoe and kissed him, long and slow and deep.
The heavy spray from the shower beat down on their shoulders, and steam rose around their ankles. Miranda ran her hands over his smooth chest, and then raked her fingernails over the ridges of his abdomen. Connor pressed her back against the slick shower wall and buried his hands in her hair as he took the kiss up another notch.
He kissed his way down her neck, paused for a few moments to lavish her breasts with his clever mouth, and then worked his way over her tummy until her muscles were quivering and Miranda thought she might slide right down the shower wall with him.
Connor knelt on the shower floor and focused his mouth on her core. Miranda pressed her back against the shower tile and dug her hands into his shoulders to keep from falling over. Connor’s tongue found her clitoris, and he sucked and blew on it until her knees shook.
Release was a breath away; she could feel it building, waiting for the right moment to shatter everything around her. She closed her eyes when the first orgasm shook her, rode it while Connor’s mouth continued its onslaught. He pressed two fingers into her, and the wave began to build again. She squeezed her hands against his shoulders, urging him up, but Connor either didn’t understand or ignored her silent pleas. And then she could do nothing but feel as the second wave broke over her. Miranda felt as if her body would melt against the wall. Her knees buckled, and she’d have been a puddle on the floor if Connor hadn’t laid her down on the tiled bench on the other side of the shower.
He joined her there a moment later, took her mouth with his, and pushed into her. No words were needed. Miranda let her body tell Connor she loved him, and his body showed her how much she was cared for. Together, they found the rhythm, and then nothing mattered but the two of them. Together.
They lay on the bench a long moment, water beating down on them as they caught their breath. Finally, Connor turned off the taps. He wrapped Miranda in a towel, and then toweled himself dry. In his bedroom, he handed her one of his UNLV tees, and she slipped it over her head before curling up in his big bed. Connor joined her a moment later, curling her body into his.
“We should play hooky more often,” he said, kissing her neck.
Miranda wrapped her arms around his, holding him close.
At least the Connor part of her life was still on track.
Chapter Ten
They took their lunch onto the enclosed terrace to eat. A brisk breeze blew, but they were protected from the chill, and with the sun bright in the desert sky, he could almost imagine it was spring. Today, the temperature was just over seventy. Or one hundred seventy if he counted those moments in the shower.
Connor forked up a bit of the salad and chewed. Forget the firing. They had a plan to move forward, he and Gage and Jase, and now that he knew Miranda was done with her father, there was no reason not to bring her into the plan, too. Hell, she would be the perfect addition.
Only he didn’t want to talk about the plan, not while Miranda was sitting on his terrace, wearing one of his T-shirts, on a beautiful winter day.
“We should make it a full day. I hear the escalators are usually crazy with watchable people in the afternoons,” he said.
“Maybe take in a few table games?”
“Whatever you want to do.”
Miranda stretched. “I kind of just want to stay here.” A strange expression crossed her face, and Connor reached out to caress her hand. “Forget about everything except these four walls.”
“That could definitely be arranged.”
“Did you ever wish you were someone else?” she asked, and the question made him pause.
“That’s a heavy conversation for a day of playing hooky.”
“I’m not all that good at avoidance.”
Connor considered the question and the reasons behind it. She hadn’t told him much about that meeting with her father, but he could guess at what was said. At the things that had been said to her since she was a kid. She’d had such a different life than he had. Despite the instability of his childhood, Connor had never doubted he was wanted.
“When we were little, Helena took us with her to the grocery store. I was six, so Jase would have been eight and Gage was probably four. I grabbed for a carton of chocolate chip cookies, and she made me put them back. She was on a kick about fruits instead of cookies. But I wanted a cookie, and I wouldn’t let it go.” And he’d set her off, because he was the kid she could usually count on to be on an even keel, to not make a fuss. “The more I badgered her about cookies, the more stressed out she became. Gage picked up on it and started to cry, and Jase started knocking whatever he could reach off the shelves. She lost it. Grabbed her purse, left Gabe in the cart, and me balancing on that bar at the front of it, and told Jase to watch the both of us. We sat with that cart for hours, eating the food she hadn’t paid for yet, wondering when she would remember she’d left us there. When the owner finally called Caleb, he didn’t speak to us all the way home. I know now that he wasn’t mad; he was worried. He had no idea where she’d gone, and he had three little boys to take home before he could start looking. Yeah, I’ve wanted to be someone else. I still hate grocery stores. I leave a list for the cleaning lady, and she picks up what I need.”
What the Heiress Wants Page 15