The Cowboy and the Bombshell

by Dove Cavanaugh King

  Mr. Reynolds, who was seated directly across from me, discretely slid a shiny folder my way. Its thick pages were professionally coil bound and the glossy cover showed a digital rendering of the outside of the completed casino. My eyes widened and a laugh escaped my mouth before I could stop it.

  Once again, all the attention was drawn to me.

  With a dramatic sigh, Montgomery rolled his eyes, placed his hands on his hips, and growled, “What is it now, Miss Lund?”

  I cleared my throat and schooled my features to what I hoped was a neutral expression.

  “Nothing, sir. Please, continue.”

  “Oh, no. I think it is most definitely something.” He looked at the package in my hands. “Is there a problem with the information you have been given? Something so important that you felt it necessary to interrupt Mr. Yates in his report on the status of the menus and kitchen services here? Please, tell us what is so very pressing.”

  He crossed his arms, leaned back against the wall behind him and stared, waiting for me to speak.

  I couldn’t. Once again, this man had me frozen. The pissed off look on his too handsome face had rendered me incapable of forming a sentence.

  I blinked, looking around the table as the other executive staff members all watched me with annoyed expressions of their own. Miss Carlisle was extraordinarily sour looking.

  Only Mr. Reynolds regarded me with anything resembling kindness, though, if I were honest, it was probably more pity than anything.

  Montgomery continued to stare my way. “Well, Miss Lund? Care to share with the class?”

  Damn.

  I took a deep breath and started.

  “I was just looking at the rendering, sir. I was shocked, is all.”

  “Shocked about what, Miss Lund.”

  “It’s just, a Western themed hotel? Really, sir? I was expecting something sleek and modern and, well, pretty. Not this.”

  A frown creased his face as he uncrossed his arms, stalking toward the table. “You have a problem with the theme of the hotel?” he questioned, leaning forward, pressing his closed fists against the polished mahogany of the table. “You have something against cowboys, maybe?” he challenged.

  Sitting up straight, I met his glare and shot back, “Well, I have yet to meet a decent one, that’s for sure.”

  He stood back up straight, his eyes assessing me, making me wonder if I just made a mistake.

  “Well, Miss Lund, it could be that no cowboys have ever found you worth being decent to.”

  He spun from the table and headed for the door. “That’s all for today. I want everyone to meet back here Wednesday at eight am with department updates. Dismissed.” And then he was gone.

  I sat back in my seat, wondering what the hell I just got myself into. As the room cleared out around me, with glowers and glares thrown my way for good measure, I took a few deep breaths, closed my eyes, and rubbed my temples. After a moment, I felt movement beside me and looked up to see that Mr. Reynolds had moved and took the seat next to mine. He smiled companionably and extended his hand.

  “I’m Toby. Toby Reynolds. Human resources, and you look like you’ve had quite a day.”

  I huffed out a laugh. “Mr. Reynolds, you have no idea.”

  “Call me Toby, please.”

  “Penelope,” I replied, shaking his hand. “And you are the first friendly face I’ve seen all day.”

  “Yeah, it gets a bit intense around here. I’ve worked with Montgomery before, and a few of the others, but with this being the first Casino project, we have added tons of new staff and departments to the mix. Everyone is running on high anxiety right now. There is no room for failure here, you know?”

  I did know. My entire career was hanging on this job. And I’d already pissed off the boss. Typical.

  “Thank you for helping me with this,” I said, indicating the package. “I don’t know why Angelique neglected to send me the information.” But I did have a hunch. Angelique had been quite pleased to see Constance that day in Mr. Pennington’s office, and I had a feeling that she was actively working against me to try and increase Toddrick’s chances of getting the VP position.

  “It’s not a problem,” he said, leaning close to me. I stiffened slightly, but didn’t move away, telling myself he was just trying to help. “So, should we start at the beginning?”

  Working our way through the information package, I learned that the theme was most definitely western. In fact, they were calling the hotel The Alamo. It was going to be complete old west decor inside and out, with the grounds being landscaped to take the most advantage of the desert around us. The exterior of the building would be made to look like a classic street from the American frontier. Wooden stone and wooden facings, plank board walk ways, and hanging tin signs. The inside of the hotel varied depending on which area you were in, with varying degrees of old west cowboy or modern honky tonk, depending on what you were looking for.

  The bars were made to look like Old West Saloons, with lots of wood, dim lighting designed like oil lanterns, and a long wooden bar. The serving staff was going to be dressed like the old time Saloon girls, with their brightly colored corsets, fishnet stockings, and garters.

  The theaters were done in a Classic American design, with red velvet curtains and rounded balconies, opulently decorated with gilded plasterwork reminiscent of the theaters of the eighteenth century.

  As I flipped through the pages of design, theme, food, and entertainment, I was totally taken aback. I had planned on marketing a sleek and modern themed hotel, with a cosmopolitan feel and lots of glass and chrome. This was something I was completely unprepared for. The walls were made of dirt, for crying out loud! I was going to have to completely rethink my strategy. My heart sank at the prospect.

  As Toby and I finished going through the package, I was overwhelmed and completely disheartened. And I really wanted to call my mom.

  Putting on a brave face, I turned to Toby with the biggest smile I could muster. “Thank you, Toby, for everything. I appreciate all you did for me today.”

  He stood and offered me his hand. Feeling obligated to take it even though I was perfectly capable of standing on my own, I released him as quickly as I could, turning from the table and gathering my things.

  “I would be happy to continue this discussion, say over dinner, perhaps?”

  My stomach clenched. Oh, boy. This was the last thing I needed to deal with right now. Holding on to my smile, I turned to him and said, “Thank you, Toby, but I am afraid I am going to decline. I have so much to do to get ready for Wednesday, and the airline lost my luggage so I have to deal with that as well.” I hoped he would take the hint.

  “Of course, maybe some other time, then?”

  “Maybe,” I said carefully.

  He walked with me back to the bank of elevators, where he pushed the button and we waited in uncomfortable silence. Just as the doors opened, I heard my named being called and turned to see Moira walking toward me.

  “You go ahead, Toby. I should see what she wants.”

  He frowned slightly. “If you’re sure.”

  “Yes,” I said quickly. “I am. Quite sure. Thanks again.” And I turned to leave him standing in the elevator, his face confused as the doors closed on him.

  I followed Moira to her desk across the foyer where she began to pile things on top, listing them as she went.

  “Laptop, company phone with directory already loaded, marketing budget manual, and finally, the keys to the house in Summerlin South.” She looked at me with a smile, her manner completely different from when I had first encountered her. “I figured since the rest of your package hadn’t arrived, you would be missing these things as well. Turns out, after some digging, Angelique sent everything here instead of your home in New York. One might wonder if she did that on purpose, don’t you think?”

  My suspicions confirmed, I smiled back. “One just might, Moira.”

  I loaded what I could into my purse and carry
on, eager to get to the house and have a shower. I had no idea what I was going to do about clothes, though. Turning to the elevator, Moira called me back again. “Miss Lund? If you’ll just write down your sizes, I will have some things sent over to the house for you to hold you over until your luggage arrives. On Mr. Pennington, of course. It’s the least he can do to make up for Angelique’s…mistake.”

  My heart clenched at her thoughtfulness, and I had to blink to keep the tears at bay. I wrote the information down on the paper she provided, thanking her again, then asking, “Um, Moira? How did you know that my luggage had gone missing?”

  “Mr. Montgomery mentioned it on his way out,” she said easily, like the words weren’t the most shocking thing I’d heard all day. “He said he had noticed you at the lost luggage counter while he was in the airport himself.”

  I thought about what she was saying, but decided I needed to file that away for processing later. For now, I just needed to get out of my dirty clothes and get my head back on straight.

  “I am here for you, Miss Lund,” Moira said with a gentle hand on my arm. “Don’t let these sharks get to you. They can smell your fear, you know?”

  So, with new resolve I made my way back down through the building and out to the front of the property, climbing into yet another cab, and headed to Summerlin South.

  A hot bath and a quiet night would do me a lot of good.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Stone

  The hot water rolled down my back, trying to release the tension in my shoulders and doing a shit job of it.

  Today could not have gone worse if I tried. I told myself I was going to try to rein in my attitude, to not be a jerk to my new staff, and then she walked in and everything went to hell.

  I didn’t know what it is about her that riled me up. She really didn’t do anything wrong. I knew the whole coffee thing was an accident. But when she stood there gaping at me like a freaking goldfish, I just snapped.

  It had been this way for a while; my anger like a rabid dog, barely held back by the pitiful leash I try to keep it on. The only person safe from my wrath is my mother.

  Turning off the shower and snagging the towel I brought in with me, I quickly dried off and slid on a fresh pair of jeans, leaving my suitcase to unpack later. Harold insisting I used his personal house was more than a bit awkward. I hadn’t spent any time at a property he owned outside of the hotels. Staying in the same home he built for his other family made my hackles rise. I wanted to hate the place on principle.

  As I headed down stairs, I thought again of the walking beautiful disaster that is Miss Penelope Lund. When Harold said he was sending someone from his New York marketing team, I pictured someone more like Ava Carlisle; slick, manipulative, willing to do anything to get ahead. I hadn’t anticipated the gorgeous and delicate Penelope to be who walked through the door.

  Yes, she was definitely gorgeous, with her golden hair and big blue eyes, even the coffee stain couldn’t distract from the fact that under that dirty shirt was a body to die for. It was just a shame she had to be from New York.

  My prejudice against New Yorkers wasn’t unfounded. After all, people from New York had been ruining my family since before I was born. First Harold, then his awful socialite wife, Dierdre, and her ghastly daughter, Constance. Whenever I would make an attempt to connect with Harold as a child, whether on the phone or when he would bring my half-sisters to Texas to try to make us a ‘family’, Constance never failed to remind me that he was her father, and I was just a mistake.

  The only person from NYC that I had ever forged any kind of relationship with was my youngest half-sister, Daphne. She was thirteen years younger than me, but she was caring and kind and always went out of her way to make me feel like I wasn’t a blight on the family name, much to Constance’s disgust.

  Maybe, just maybe, I would find that Penelope was more like Daphne than the other two. And maybe I could find a way to not lose my cool every time I was around her. It would be difficult. She made me feel such conflicting things. First, the attraction, which was warranted, but unwanted. Second, the anger, due to her New York roots.

  I moved through the ridiculously huge house and past the kitchen that no one with Pennington for a last name had likely ever actually cooked in. Snagging a glass of bourbon on my way, I stepped outside on to the back deck, the stone tiles warm beneath my bare feet.

  The property was spectacular, even if I hated to admit it. With its impeccably landscaped drought resistant yard, sprawling pool, and an outdoor kitchen that would have been my grandfather’s dream, it was exactly what you would expect of Las Vegas luxury. At the far west of the city in a gated golf course community, Harold’s home looked out over miles and miles of gorgeous hills and scrub brush of the Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. The jagged low peaks in varying shades of reds and oranges and browns were almost enough to remind me of home, and the hills that McNally and I spent so much of our time in outside Austin. Leaning back against the house, my glass dangling from my finger tips, I took in the view as the sun began to set. This house, this location at least, was exactly the kind of place I would pick for myself if I had the opportunity.

  That was another thing that pissed me off. Harold and all the ways he seemed to know me. I didn’t want him to know me. He didn’t deserve it.

  Like with this project. The Alamo Hotel and Casino was a dream come true for me. Taking all the things I loved about the hotel business and blending it with all the things I loved about Texas, it was the project of a lifetime. And the bastard knew it, too. It was as if he custom designed it to torture me, reminding me that no matter how hard I fought it, he was still my father and he still understood me.

  I hated it.

  I watched as the sun made its way to the horizon, casting warm light over the surface of the pool, making the blue water sparkle gold and crimson. I was still lost in the view when I heard a sound from the front of the house. Turning back toward the massive glass door that connected the outdoor living space with the indoor, I moved into the shadows, wanting to see who was here before I announced my presence. I supposed Harold had a staff for this place. It wouldn’t do to scare them off right away. I watched the front door as muffled sounds reached me, like someone fumbling with the key, when finally, the door swung open.

  I stared in shock as Penelope Lund stumbled in the front door of Harold’s house, her arms full of bags and boxes, each with a different designer label. Of course, the New York girl couldn’t just head to Walmart and grab some shirts to tide her over until her luggage was located. She had to hit the expensive shops and load up on brand names to make her Instagram followers all really jealous.

  What the hell was she doing here, anyway?

  She set her packages down next to the door, looking around the place with wide eyes. Likely seeing the dollar signs in every piece of furniture and decorative wall hanging in sight. I sneered from my hiding place, my lip curling in disgust. Turns out she was just like every other New York bitch I’d met after all.

  I watched as her gaze moved to the back yard, catching the sunset and turning to head in my direction. I stayed hidden, following her with my eyes as she passed me and moved toward the pool, her head looking side to side and appreciating the view, just as I had earlier. I went to move out of my hiding place just as she bent down to touch the pool water, trailing her fingers through the small rippling waves like she’d never seen a backyard swimming pool before. The soft sigh she released reached my ears, and she stood and turned, gasping as she finally noticed me, her hands coming up to protect her from what she undoubtedly thought was an intruder. That was a mistake, of course, because I was supposed to be here; she was the intruder.

  Her second mistake was taking a step backward. In her haste to distance herself from what she thought was danger, she stepped backward and dropped directly into the pool, disappearing below the surface with a squeak and a huge splash.

  Shit. This girl was a mess.

 
; She almost immediately popped back up again, her blonde hair now plastered to her face and her white blouse now plastered to her breasts. I took a quick peek while she was wiping the pool water out of her eyes. I’d had a feeling was hiding a killer body under that dirty shirt, but having her shirt rendered almost transparent by her impromptu swim proved it.

  She coughed and sputtered, looking at me as I stood above her, hands on my hips, and sent her my best glare.

  We both spoke the same words at the same time.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I paused, letting her make her way to the shallow end. She climbed the steps, shoulders hunched and her head bowed, as the weight of her wet jeans made walking cumbersome. As she rounded the side of the pool and headed back my way, I could see panic in her eyes. I could also see that, while Las Vegas was likely a mite bit warmer than New York in the first week of February, the wind off the canyon was definitely cool, if her pebbled nipples were any indication.

  She caught me looking and hastily crossed her arms over her chest. I raised my eyes to her blue ones with a smirk, letting her know I’d seen everything worth seeing and there was nothing she could do about it.

  Clearing her throat, she met my glare and asked again, “What are you doing in Mr. Pennington’s house?”

  “I think the better question is what are you doing here? I’m supposed to be staying here. You’re breaking and entering,” I threw in, even though I’d seen the key in her hand. But I was hoping to get a rise out of her. She didn’t disappoint.

  “Mr. Montgomery, I did no such thing!” She placed her hands on her hips in indignation and puffed up her chest, drawing my eyes back to her breasts. Realizing what she had done, she crossed her arms again before continuing. “Mr. Pennington had a key for me because I have been invited to stay here. I was expecting a roommate, but you are certainly not Daphne.”