What the Heiress Wants

by Kristina Knight

  Callie slung her attaché over her shoulder, took a deep breath, and stepped through.

  Afternoon sunlight drilled through the tinted windows, reflecting off the golden top of the hot air balloon at the Paris. Callie blinked and took the seat the receptionist indicated. She inhaled the imagined sage and lavender one more time and turned on her smile.

  To a completely empty office.

  File folders were laid out around the round table. Chairs were tucked in. A single red light on the phone at the other end of the table blinked at her.

  Callie whirled around but the door she had entered was already closed. She took a steadying breath, but her heart ignored her, continuing to beat erratically.

  Callie crossed the empty room, opening the first door she came to—an en suite bath with hand towels in a deep, dark burgundy. Blowing out another breath that did nothing to calm her nerves, she closed that door and opened the next, which led to a carpeted stairwell. She felt silly but looked over the railing at the empty steps leading down, down, down for twenty-odd stories. She closed her eyes against a quick hit of vertigo and pushed away from the railing.

  The office door opened and closed, and Callie whirled, pulling the door shut. The man in the thousand-dollar Hugo Boss suit didn’t seem to notice her exit from the stairwell as he slid into the vacant chair across from Callie’s. She sat, too, and then forgot to breathe for a moment. Maybe two.

  He was larger than she remembered; slightly taller, yes, but mostly just … larger, in the best way possible. Same black hair sweeping up from a high forehead. Same crooked nose. The five o’clock shadow was new and made him look just a little bit dangerous. Not that he needed the shadowed jaw for that, per se. He exuded danger from the wicked light in his brown eyes to the teasing tilt of his firm mouth and the muscles hidden beneath the smooth suit. He wasn’t dressed in football pads or off-the-field jeans and boots, but it was him. And he was talking. She could see his mouth moving, but she couldn't hear anything over the rapid thumping of her heart.

  Her fingers flexed against the smooth leather armrest.

  Gage Reeves. Local football legend. Relentless tease to every cheerleader at West High and then UNLV. Well, every cheerleader except her. Back then, Tomboy Callie hadn’t registered on Gage’s girl radar as anything more than “friend.” Sometimes not even that. He was the youngest of the three Reeves brothers, the one everyone thought would take the football scholarship in California but who, instead, played at UNLV and studied business.

  Local legend. Hottie McBody.

  Damn.

  “So I ditched the driver and ran the last couple of blocks,” he was saying. “Thank you for waiting.” He paused, looked around the table, and his gaze stopped dead on her. Surprise widened his eyes. “I think we’re alone.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.” Callie couldn’t keep the quip from escaping her mouth. “Sorry.”

  “The Tommy James version was great, but for my money, Tiffany wins hands down.” Gage grinned. “How are you doing, Callie?”

  She tilted her head to the side, and before she could stop them, the words poured out. “My parents have become vagabonds, my boss on the Strip was a pig, I opened my own spa shop, and I’m running out of money. Fast. Other than those little hiccups, I’m doing just fine.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Ignore that. I’m fine, Gage; how are you?”

  He laughed, the sound rich in the room. “You never did pull any punches did you? I heard your dad sold the ranch to a developer last year. Didn’t realize you were back in Vegas, though.” His deep voice rumbled along her nerve endings, just like it had when they were kids. “I thought they bought a condo over on Lake Mead?”

  How many times had she run into Gage near the small lake that formed the border between the big Reeves spread and the small Holliday ranch? Too many to count. She shook her head. “They were about to close on a condo in Henderson. But then they bought an RV, which they’re currently driving to Montana, or maybe they’ll cross over into Alberta. I bought the condo they had in mind.” Callie took a breath, shrugged. “They love to travel, apparently. They send me postcards from some of the places they visit.” And, really, she shouldn’t feel abandoned because her parents were moving on with their lives. Hadn’t they encouraged her to go back East for college? She loved the business school she’d attended, loved that first job she got as a masseur. She’d worked her way up to managing the place and, when she graduated, started thinking about her own spa. Her foot tapped against the thick carpeting.

  Gage played with the pencil in his hand. “And you miss them.”

  She sighed. “Yeah, I do. I’m twenty-eight years old, and I miss running over to my mom’s for milk and cookies. Pathetic?”

  He shook his head. “Lucky, I’d say.” There was something under his words. Some feeling she’d never deciphered. When they were younger she thought it was straight-up anger at his father, Caleb, for dying and his mother, Helena, for being a gambling addict, but now there was more. There was still anger, but another emotion skittered beneath the surface. “So Callie Holliday moved back to Vegas. I never would have guessed that.”

  “I always loved Vegas.” How could she not? There were amazing restaurants, always something to do, and when the hustle and bustle became too much, she could escape into the desert for some R&R.

  “You seemed happy enough to leave.”

  “Not to leave, Gage. To make my own mark on things. I worked hard in Philadelphia, both for my degree and to get actual business experience so I could open my own place here.”

  He nodded. “I read your prospectus.” And just like that, talking to her old friend Gage was done and talking to business guru Gage began. Too bad her body didn’t notice the change. Her heart was still thumping against her ribs and not because Gage held the key to her future. Because he was Gage, and he was hotter than ever, and because she’d never really gotten over the high school crush she’d had. “You’re asking for $250,000. There are, roughly, a hundred spas in Vegas already. The most profitable are aligned with the big hotels on the Strip, or the fancy boutique salons. What makes yours different?”

  Callie straightened in her chair, but she didn’t answer his question. She needed him to understand why she was there first. “I didn’t know you were part of the funding group. I wouldn’t have applied if I had known. I’m not looking for a favor or a”—there was no other word for it—“handout.” Okay, maybe she had considered calling in a favor or two. But not from Gage. Never from Gage.

  He twisted his tempting mouth to the side. “The angel fund is a pet project of ours. Only a few people know Jase, Connor, and I set up the group once Reeves Brothers Entertainment was on solid ground. Jase is focused on gaming, Connor on entertainment, and I work the property angles. We have other donors, but the project is ours. And if you’d wanted a favor—from anyone, not just me—you’d have used your given name.” He rustled one of the papers. “The application reads Calista Davenport, not Callie Holliday.”

  Callie kept her gaze steady on Gage’s. He didn’t blink. She did. “I’m in the process of changing it back to Holliday. I got married, and then … we divorced last year. And that shouldn’t have any implication on the funding application.” It should have an implication on her, though, because in the four years she’d known Eddie Davenport, he’d never set her nerve endings buzzing like Gage Reeves. She should go. Asking Gage for something like this felt … wrong. He’d been her friend. One of her closest friends, whether he knew it or not. Gage hadn’t cared that Callie struggled to earn enough on her 4-H cows and sheep to make her cheerleading dues and still put enough away for college, or that most of her clothes came from second-hand stores.

  In school, it was Gage who made sure she was included in the parties, who helped her study for tests, and who, one time she could never forget, had danced with her in the school gym. It had been heaven.

  And now she’d been sitting across from him for less than fifteen minutes, and she w
as already wondering how long it would take to get that crooked tie from around his neck, what the muscles beneath his suit would feel like against her hands.

  She definitely, definitely needed to get out of here before she did something really dumb.

  Gage’s voice pulled her back into the conversation. “Your being recently divorced has no impact on our decision. You not using a name local people would recognize—and trust—does.”

  “Being a Holliday isn’t the same as being a Reeves.” Callie twisted her hands in her lap. “My dad and yours might have been the best of friends, but my dad raised working cattle horses. He didn’t supply bulls to the big rodeos or leather to the best designers.”

  “He is still a connection, and his ranch may not have made millions, but he was still respected in the ranching community. A few of the banks you approached could have been influenced by that.”

  “While your father was respected not only by the ranchers, but by the big casino bosses.” Callie shook her head. “I love my dad, but he was better at dreaming the big dreams than putting them into action. A little loan from a little bank outside Vegas would only be a stopgap measure. I know my business can succeed; I just need more help getting to the finish line.”

  Gage sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. The motion made his shoulders appear even broader, and Callie bit down on her inner cheek. This was so not the time to think with her hormones.

  “The notorious Reeves family, with a prosperous ranch that fed our mother’s gambling addiction and put our father in an early grave. Built back up with the sweat of my brothers and me.”

  “Like I said, it carries weight.”

  “But you didn’t use that connection, either.”

  Callie crossed and uncrossed her legs under the table. “How could I? I didn’t know you were part of the angel fund.”

  “But you wouldn’t have, even if you had known.”

  There was no need to answer, but she couldn’t stop herself. “No, I wouldn’t. Hollidays don’t ask for favors.”

  “So don’t ask your old friend Gage for a favor. Tell him why he should invest in a spa when Vegas is filled with them already.” His voice held a challenge, and God help her, she had to answer.

  “The difference between all those existing salons and my spa is me. I know every single aspect of the business. At my first job in Philly I was technically a masseur, but it was a small shop so I did a little of everything: cleaning, setting up rooms, even advertising. I studied under a great shiatsu teacher and incorporated some acupuncture when I got my license. By the time I graduated from business school I was managing the place. And when I moved back to Vegas, I worked for a while at the Timber Spa, so I know the nuances of the Las Vegas market as well.” Callie leaned forward and clasped her hands around her knee. “I know I can build my little business into something great. A business that doesn’t demean its workers and that offers good value to its customers. We’ll have the traditional massage options, but we’ll add aroma therapy, acupuncture, and some other holistic options once our clientele is built up.”

  Gage waited a beat. “And?” He drew out the word.

  Callie clenched and unclenched her jaw. “And I need help.” She hated admitting that. Almost as much as she hated asking for a favor from a friend, even a friend she hadn’t seen in ten years.

  Gage rifled through the pages. “The only issue I see is your location. And being a local, the location you chose is … worrisome. Why would you sign a lease in that neighborhood?”

  Callie twisted her mouth. “I toured a location a block off the Strip and loved it, but I couldn’t afford the rent. I banked on the services and attention we offer at Holliday Spas to bring in customers, but another business snatched up the space I couldn’t afford and undercut our prices just enough that the small clientele we were building has gone to them.”

  “You need to be on-Strip to make this work. A location at or near one of the malls so shoppers can drop in easily.”

  “I don’t have the money for on-Strip; even with your funding, it would be a tight fit.”

  “You need to get the tourists out of their hotels. Offering the promise that they can get in and get out quickly seals the deal. On-Strip is important. Tourists won’t wander all over Vegas for a massage they could get at their hotel.”

  “I have seventy dollars in my checking account. I can’t afford on-Strip, not yet. In a year or two, yes. But for now I need slightly off-Strip.”

  “Do you want the funding or not?”

  “I can’t afford on-Strip.” What wasn’t he understanding about this? Gage Reeves had never had to worry about money, but Callie still couldn’t forget bawling over the first calf she sold to pay her cheerleading fees. She swallowed.

  “You can if the investment is half a million instead of a quarter.”

  “My prospectus only asks for 250.”

  “You need the 500. You have to afford on-Strip, and you can’t cut back in other areas. The kind of clients you need to attract will know you’re cutting corners and find a place that isn’t.”

  “I know what my clients will want.” Callie straightened her shoulders. Location was three-quarters of any new business’s battle; amenities were the other quarter. But half a million dollars? Callie wanted to put her fingers to her temples to massage away the stress building there. How would she ever repay half a million dollars?

  “You seriously have seventy bucks in your account?”

  She shifted in her seat. “None of the banks took me seriously. Which is why I’m here.”

  “If you accept the funding, you have to answer to me. At least for the first year. You have to take my advice. You’ll meet with some of the fund donors at certain events, and you won’t—not even once—mention that hellhole of a location you leased. You can call yourself Calista Davenport or Callie Holliday or the freaking Queen of England if you want, but you will follow my suggestions to the letter.” He took a breath.

  “Did you just say ‘accept the funding’?” Her heart beat against her chest. He did say accept. The good juju and Mandy’s woo-woo were working.

  He nodded. “I only invite funded businesses to the office.” He slid a piece of paper over the table. “So, do you want to go into business together, Calista Davenport?”

  To purchase this ebook and learn more about the author, click here.

  Praise for What the Bachelor Gets:

  “The detail of the story lines and the characters, along with the surroundings and emotions had me hooked from the beginning.”—-Romancing the Book

  “It's impossible not to fall in love with a story by Kristina Knight. I felt right at home with these characters. Gage and Callie kept me on my toes!” —USA Today best-selling author Nikki Lynn Barrett

  For more contemporary cowboy romances from Kristina Knight, check out:

  What a Texas Girl Wants

  What a Texas Girl Needs

  What a Texas Girl Dreams

  “This book is hot, steamy and entertaining.” --Harlequin Junkie

  “It’s good, solid enjoyable fun that makes for a pleasant rainy day read.” --In D’Tale Magazine

  “There was family, friends, laughter, tears, heartache and sadness, joy and happiness along with healing, steamy romance and ultimately love.” --Romance Junkies

  “Kristina Knight delivers a fun romp from Mexico, through Texas, and straight into true love.” —Kelsey Browning, author and cofounder of Romance University

  In the mood for more Crimson Romance?

  Check out The Change Up by Elley Arden at CrimsonRomance.com.

 

 

 
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