Hearts in Vegas (Harlequin Superromance)

by Colleen Collins - Hearts in Vegas (Harlequin Superromance)

  “Yeah...I did something.” He walked, trying to catch his breath. “Threw my...phone in it.”

  Drake rolled his eyes to the heavens as though seeking divine intervention. “I can’t believe how dumb you are. You tracked her to where?”

  “Chez Manny.”

  “That place still open?”

  Braxton nodded.

  “What’d you do—walk into the restaurant and ask her out?” Drake kept lifting the barbells, never missing a beat, his biceps bulging.

  “I have...more class...than that.”

  “Accosted her in the parking lot?”

  “Accosted...is a...very strong word.”

  Drake snorted a laugh. “Please tell me she didn’t call the police.”

  Braxton ran hard and panted. “She was...pleased to see me.”

  Okay, pleased might be pushing it, but it was close.

  “But you still don’t know her name.”

  “She had...to leave...quickly.”

  Drake glanced at the wall clock. “As do I. Hey, Val and I talked last night about that due-diligence report you showed us. If it were a report card, Dmitri would be an A-plus student.” He kept lifting the bells, his breathing even. “He’s got the business chops to help you carve a future. Just be sure you want it for yourself—not because you want to score with this blonde.”

  “Eighty percent, self...twenty, the blonde.”

  “Called him yet?”

  “Left two messages...said I was interested.”

  “Good.”

  Braxton had been concerned he would be letting Val and Drake down if he left Morgan-LeRoy, but Val reminded him their invitation for him to join the agency as a contractor had always been with the understanding he could come and go as he wished. They’d never said it, but deep down he sensed they’d offered him that desk so he’d have a job to go to every day, a stepping stone to regaining his self-esteem.

  At first he’d felt awkward sitting there like some kind of male receptionist. At least he made a damned good pot of coffee, and he liked clients meeting him in a real office instead of some coffee shop, but most of all he liked having a purpose again.

  “Gonna miss you guys,” he said.

  “Not for long. Remember, you’re our standby sitter after the baby arrives.” He glanced at the wall clock again. “Mind holding down the agency until noon or so? Told Val I’d take her out to breakfast, then we’re going birthday-gift shopping for Grams. Don’t forget—we’re all meeting at eleven-thirty Sunday for her birthday brunch. Cara’s on the ground floor at Sensuelle. Can’t miss it.”

  Cara was a new Italian restaurant at Sensuelle, the same casino where the Valentine’s Day auction was taking place. Grams had selected Sensuelle to host this Keep ’Em Rolling auction fund-raiser, then asked for her birthday to be celebrated there, as well.

  The auction would inevitably come up at the family get-together.

  “After I get home...I’ll tell Grams...I can’t do the auction.”

  Drake gave him a look. “Can’t believe you haven’t told her yet.”

  Too difficult to talk, walk and feel guilt-ridden at the same time. Braxton punched a button to decrease the cardio program speed, and the treadmill started to slow.

  “Wanted to the last...few nights, but...she was out.”

  “She and Richmond are out every night these days.”

  And all night, too, but Braxton didn’t want to think about his grandmother having sex. Not that Grams was a fuddy-duddy. When he was ten years old, she’d slipped him a book about the birds and the bees, told him to feel free to ask any questions. He’d opened the book and asked why there were so many pictures of pollywogs swimming. She smiled and said, “Because they’re very happy pollywogs, darling.”

  “Told Mom you’re getting your own place?” Pushing out an exhale, Drake raised the weights.

  More guilt. “No.”

  “Bro, you gotta stop putting off these talks.”

  I’m not your kid brother, I’m your twin. Born four minutes before you, by the way. Which Braxton would say out loud if he didn’t have to pause for breaths every few words.

  Pissed him off that his brother could pump iron and talk at the same time.

  And that he was right.

  Again.

  Although, in Braxton’s defense, it wasn’t easy to schedule a face-to-face with his social-butterfly grandmother these days.

  But his mom...he didn’t want to tell her he was thinking about getting his own place because it would upset her. They’d spent years not talking, losing time as a family, and she felt as though they were still making up for that loss.

  She’d never said that, but he knew it. Because he felt the same way.

  “I’m hitting the shower,” Drake said, setting his barbells back in the rack, “then leaving to pick up Val.”

  “See you this afternoon.” Brax caught his brother’s look. “Look, I’ll tell them, ’kay?”

  After Drake left, Brax continued walking as the machine slowed to a stop, then stepped onto the floor and stood there for a moment, drying his face with a towel.

  Coming back into the family fold hadn’t been easy, but now that he was with them, he didn’t want to start leaving again. Leaving Drake and Val at the Morgan-LeRoy agency. Leaving Mom and Grams at his childhood home. Hell, even leaving his grandmother’s damned fund-raising event.

  There’d been some lonely years when he had wished he could just hear his mom’s voice. He wasn’t ready to not hear her traipsing down the hall, asking if he’d mind taking out the trash, joking while they cooked dinner, even grumping around in the morning, muttering about the neighbors’ barking dog.

  He’d been her prodigal son who’d squandered his money, dirtied his reputation and shamed his family. And then one day, he realized he’d lost his way, lost the people who mattered most.

  The night last August when he was finally man enough to return home, he hadn’t known what to expect, only what he hoped for.

  Brax headed to the rack of barbells and selected two forty-pounders.

  If he wanted to look good at that auction, he needed to shred some muscle.

  * * *

  ON SUNDAY, SHORTLY after eleven, the taxi pulled into the congested parking area in front of Sensuelle. A fat drop of rain splatted on the windshield.

  “Ain’t that sumpthin’,” the cabbie said, looking up at the gray clouds. “Weather guy said rain yesterday, not a drop. Said sunshine today, we’re gettin’ rain.” With a shrug, he turned off the meter. “Twenty-two dollars.”

  Braxton gave him twenty-five, tucked his birthday present to Grams under his suit jacket and exited the taxi. Cold drops of rain stung his face as he dashed between cars toward the front doors of the hotel-casino.

  Inside the lobby, he paused to shake the moisture from his hair. Outside, thunder rumbled. Just a few hours ago, skies had been clear and blue, barely a cloud in sight. The only thing consistent about Vegas weather this time of year was its unpredictability.

  He turned and headed toward the casino, then stopped. A sign—had to be fifteen feet high—hung over the entrance. Underneath a photo of some guy wearing little more than a hey-girl smile were the words:

  MAGIC DREAM DATE AUCTION

  Ladies, Win a Date with the

  Manwich of Your Dreams!

  Studs up for Sale, Starting Bids $10

  Raise Money for Keep ’Em Rolling!

  Highest bid wins a car!

  Gritting his teeth, he kept walking, mentally reciting his new mantra. I’m doing it for Grams. I’m doing it for Grams.

  After navigating his way through a small city of clanging, buzzing slot machines and taking a detour around a group of drunk guys wearing baseball caps that read Team Groom, he spied the sparkling
green-and-red sign, Cara.

  A few minutes later, a perky hostess wearing a name tag that said Sally from Boise, Idaho, ushered him through the restaurant to a large round table in the back, an arrangement of pink roses in the middle. At the table sat a chubby guy with wiry brown hair, nursing a drink with an umbrella. In front of him, an empty bread basket and a paper bag with a bow stapled on it.

  Li’l Bit.

  A thirtysomething process server who was good friends with Drake, although to Braxton they had about as much in common as Dick Cheney and Adam Sandler. But as Drake explained it, he and Li’l Bit shared a passion for their professions, and they always had each other’s backs.

  Braxton’s grandmother and Li’l Bit were also friends after discovering their mutual hero worship of Inner Sanctum Mysteries, an old-time radio program that broadcast shows with ghoulish names like “Tempo in Blood” and “The Unforgiving Corpse.” Every week or so, Li’l Bit would drop by the house and listen to a show with Grams while she sipped a martini and puffed her nightly cigarillo. Li’l Bit usually drank a beer or three and, from the occasional whiff of ganja Braxton detected, toked a joint.

  “Nice threads, man.” Li’l Bit, his eyes pinker than the roses, nodded approvingly at Braxton’s oxford-gray suit and vest.

  Braxton set his gift on the table and took a seat, eyeing the words on Li’l Bit’s T-shirt, Life Goes On, Man.

  Seeing Brax check out his T-shirt, Li’l Bit said, “Yeah, it’s from The Big Lebowski. That was a killer movie. Jeff Bridges, man, he rocked as The Dude. ‘Life Goes On, Man’ is one of The Dude’s sayings.” Turning somber, he leaned forward, nearly knocking over his umbrella drink. “But it’s more than that. That quote is like a vibe that resonates through time, man, touching people with its energy.”

  Braxton nodded, hoping other people would arrive soon. Perhaps someone from this decade.

  “Hey, your mom told me you got some new gig. Head of security?”

  “Yes,” Braxton answered.

  Li’l Bit made a power fist, pumping the air with it a few times. “That’s righteous, dude.”

  “Thanks.” Okay, he got that his brother and Grams were pals with Li’l Bit, but with his mom, too? She was so restrained, so conservative, so...un-ganjalike.

  “Wonder where that waiter-dude went,” Li’l Bit said, scratching his chin as he looked around the room. “We’re outta bread, and I need a mai tai refiller.”

  “What did my mother say about the job?”

  When Braxton had first told her about it a few days ago, she’d seemed more taken aback than happy, although she’d quickly recovered and said it sounded like a great opportunity. She had always been like that—preferring to show support for others rather than express her own opinions.

  Li’l Bit looked at him. “Huh?”

  “The job. Head of security. What’d my mom say about it?”

  “Man, told her I’d not repeat a word.” He made a motion of locking his lips and throwing away the key.

  “Repeat—” Unbelievable. This Jerry Garcia wannabe was his mother’s confidant? He was trying to come up with a next question that might open those invisibly locked lips when he heard a familiar woman’s voice.

  “Hey, you two, starting the party without me?”

  Grams sat regally in her wheelchair, resplendent in a pink-and-orange caftan dotted with rhinestones whose sparkle paled compared to the diamond heirloom ring she wore.

  Looking at the roses on the table, she touched the hand of the older gentleman standing next to her. “Richmond, darling, you ordered my favorite roses.”

  Richmond had always reminded Braxton of a balding version of Anthony Hopkins. He had a thing for bow ties—today he wore a burgundy one with a crisp white shirt and blue cardigan—lending him a studious air, fitting for the retired American history professor.

  “How’d your sleuthing go?” she asked Braxton.

  He shrugged. “No signs of you-know-who.”

  Earlier, he’d taken a taxi—didn’t want to risk someone tracing his license plate—to a check-cashing business Dmitri had called him about, claiming a “compatriot” told him Yuri was fencing goods there. So Braxton visited the place, checked out the license plates in the lot, asked some innocent-sounding questions. Not a single indication Yuri was conducting any dirty business there.

  “And you,” Grams said, turning to Li’l Bit. “Still feeling tired?”

  “A little bit,” he said, pointing to the empty bread basket as a waiter walked by.

  Braxton had heard that response was what had earned the stoner his nickname.

  Satisfied more bread was on its way, Li’l Bit held up the paper bag, “Found those cigarillos you like, Glenda.”

  Why’d he bother to wrap the gift, or paper-bag it, if he was just gonna broadcast its contents before she opened it? But it didn’t seem to bother Grams, who gushed about his finding her favorite cigarillos, which apparently were scarce.

  “Your mother should be here any moment,” Grams said to Braxton. “She dropped us off at the handicapped parking spot—covered, thank goodness—then parked the car. Where would you like us to sit, dear?”

  “Wherever the birthday girl wishes.”

  As Richmond guided the wheelchair to a spot, his mom arrived, her hair a little frizzy from the rain, clutching a white box with a big pink bow. Leaning over, she kissed Braxton on the cheek.

  “I forgot to get a birthday card,” she whispered.

  “Me, too,” he whispered back.

  To him, it wasn’t a big deal. But his mom thrived on order, tradition and responsibility. Which had always struck him as funny, considering she was raised by Grams, who was glitzier than Joan Collins.

  Today his mom wore black pants and a white blouse, her only accessory a string of pearls, a long-ago birthday gift from his dad. She nervously clutched the gift as though unsure where to put it...or herself. Dorothy Morgan exuded confidence when it came to organizing potlucks for her bowling league or arranging dinner parties at the house, but grew uncomfortable in “showy” places, which she viewed this restaurant to be, nervous that she might break some rule.

  Benedict Morgan had always told his wife she was too hard on herself. Nevertheless, whenever they were in public, Benny had been her protector. He’d walked close to her, ensured she had a comfortable seat, brought her drinks and anything else she wanted, so she never had to deal with crowds, rules or her own self-doubts.

  “Let me help you, Mom.” Braxton stood, took the gift from her and set it on the table, then pulled out the chair next to his.

  With a smile of relief, she sat.

  He looked around, didn’t see a waiter. “Want me to get you a glass of white wine?” he asked.

  “Thank you.”

  By the time Braxton returned from the bar with wine for his mom and a martini for Grams, Drake and Val had arrived.

  Presents were piled on a chair next to his grandmother, and Li’l Bit was entertaining everyone with the story of the first time he met Val and how she’d threatened to throw a plant through his window. Everyone had heard it many times, but apparently this was the first for Richmond, who had a look of surprise on his face.

  “So,” Li’l Bit said, “I said to her through the closed door, ‘Lady, you and your negative energy need to leave, man!’”

  Val jumped in. “That’s when, as my nanny used to say, the cheese slid off my cracker. You know, I went a little crazy. With good reason! I’d had a rough day tossing back vodka shots with Russian thugs, plus I was worried something awful about Drake, who’d been missing for hours, so I said to the door, ‘I suggest you step back from your window, man, ’cause the glass is gonna fly!’”

  Everybody laughed, except Richmond, who looked frightened.

  Fortunately, a waiter appeared with more beverages a
nd took everyone’s food order. After he left, Grams tapped the edge of her water glass with her knife. Once she had everyone’s attention, she smiled sweetly and said, “Richmond and I have an announcement.”

  Richmond cleared his throat and took Grams’s hand in his. “I’ve asked this lovely lady to marry me, and she said yes.”

  As they kissed, everyone clapped.

  “Being pregnant gets me so darn emotional,” Val said, dabbing the corner of her eye with a napkin.

  “Darling,” Grams said to her, “I’m wearing the family heirloom ring because you asked me to, but after the baby arrives in May, it’s yours again.” She looked up at her husband-to-be. “The following month, this June bride will be wearing her own wedding ring.”

  Braxton stood, raising his wineglass. “I’d like to give a toast to the bride-and groom-to-be.”

  As he looked at his grandmother’s twinkling jade-green eyes, he flashed on a long-ago memory of her moving into his family’s house after the sudden death of her husband, Jack. For weeks afterward, Grams, never one to wear her pain, kept up a good front during the day, but at night he’d hear her softly crying in her room.

  He glanced around the table, thinking about how each of them had weathered tough times. His mom losing her husband, he and Drake their father, nearly four years ago. Drake overcoming his gambling demons. Val surviving Katrina.

  Li’l Bit...well, he must have weathered a scarcity of weed at some point in this life.

  And Braxton survived the near loss of his family, the greatest loss he could imagine. To be here with all of them again, celebrating another milestone, was something he’d never take for granted again.

  “Damn,” he rasped, fighting to keep it together, “I must be pregnant, too!”

  After the laughter subsided, he raised his glass once more. “To Grams and Richmond...there is only one true happiness in life, and that is to love and be loved.”

  As Braxton sat, Richmond stood. He gestured to the bouquet of flowers, his hand trembling slightly, then looked down lovingly at Grams’s upturned face.

  “If I had a rose for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever.”