The answer wrenched her chest, making it hard to breathe. It was Ty. There had never been any real contest. She’d fallen for the damned smirking cowboy almost the moment she’d laid eyes on him—and the acknowledgment of that fact only made her more miserable.
She didn’t know now whether to laugh or to cry. After indulging in a few minutes of both, Monica placed the boots and clothes in the closet and shut the door, just as she intended to close this chapter. She was shutting her suitcase when her phone rang. She reached to answer, but paused when she recognized Evan’s ring tone. Guilt assailed her at the realization that she hadn’t spoken to him in days. She hadn’t even told him she’d returned to Vegas.
She reluctantly answered. “Hello, Evan.”
“Mon, Baby. Was starting to worry about you. Then your text was so abrupt.”
“My text?” Ty. Her lips compressed. He said he’d read Evan’s text, but hadn’t told her he’d answered it. She wondered what he’d said.
“Yes. I thought you’d call back by now,” Evan said.
“I got sidetracked,” she said. “Some unexpected things came up. I had to come back to Vegas.”
“You’re in Vegas?”
“Yes. I had some decisions to make about the hotel.”
“I thought we’d already made an agreement on that?”
Monica exhaled a long sigh. “I thought so too, but there’s an unexpected complication. Tom left a codicil bequeathing controlling interest to Ty. I only have a twenty-five percent stake, so selling isn’t my decision anymore.”
“Then I’ll buy him out.”
“Ty doesn’t want to sell, Evan. He has plans for the place.”
“So do I,” Evan replied. “The north end of the Las Vegas Strip is prime territory for development.”
“Then you’ll need to deal directly with Ty. I’m out of this.”
“Set up a meeting,” he said, abrupt and autocratic.
“Excuse me?” Monica snapped. “I’m not your personal secretary, Evan.”
“Please, Mon,” he said suddenly apologetic. “I need you to smooth the way for me. I want to make this deal.”
“You’re wasting your time. He’s not going to sell. He’s planning to build an entire rodeo-themed entertainment complex.”
“Then he needs money. Does he have it?”
“Not yet,” she said, suddenly wary. “But he’s working on it.” Had she told Evan too much? Once more she wondered if his renewed interest in her was only a subterfuge to get his hands on the hotel.
“When are you coming back?” he asked. “I’ll send the plane.”
“I’m not,” she replied slowly, suddenly filled with an intense urge to escape. “You can do whatever you like, Evan, but I’m taking some time off for me.”
“I thought you’d already done that.” Evan replied in a terse and impatient staccato.
“No, Evan. I came out to Vegas to take care of Tom. Then I went to Oklahoma to put him to rest. I came back to Vegas to take care of more business, but now I think now it’s about time I took care of me.”
Looking at the sketches of Seville’s famed bullring had brought back fond memories. She hadn’t taken a real vacation in years, hadn’t been out of the country since grad school. Maybe it was time. Rather than New York, Nice called out. A month of exploring the Mediterranean coastline might do wonders to put her life back into perspective.
“We still need to talk about all this. About us.”
“There isn’t any us, Evan. And I’m not going to act as your business conduit anymore.”
“Is that what you think? That I’m just using you?”
“Yes. Now that we got that straight, is there really anything left to talk about?”
As expected, silence filled her ears.
“Goodbye, Evan.” She said softly and disconnected the call.
Monica plopped down on the bed, feeling depressed and deflated. She was surprised he’d given up so easily, but that was infinitely better than if he’d lied. Evan needed her influence with Ty, and Ty needed her money, but neither of them really needed her, or was man enough to admit they did. Would she ever find a man who could love her for herself? After a few more minutes spent in emotional self-indulgence, Monica resolved to do whatever it took to break free of this downward cycle she found herself stuck in. Her next move was to call Tom’s probate attorney, Bob Wright.
“Bob, it’s Monica. I don’t care what you have to liquidate, but I need a bank draft for fifty million and I need it today.”
Bob gave a low whistle. “Fifty mil’s a hefty sum on such short notice, but I’ll see what I can do. Is everything okay, Ms. Brandt?”
“I’m not in any trouble, if that’s what you’re asking. I just need to get away and decompress for a while.”
“That’s certainly understandable under the circumstances,” he said. “You’ve been under a lot of stress.
“Yes, I have,” she said. “So I’ve decided to travel out of the country for a time. I trust you’ll take care of Tom’s estate in my absence. I’ll text you later with all my contact info in case you need to get in touch with me.”
“If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to let me know, Ms. Brandt.”
“There’s nothing at present, aside from the check. Thank you, Bob.”
“Sure thing, Ms. Brandt. Safe travels.”
Monica’s next two calls were to Air France and then the Hôtel Hermitage Monte-Carlo. She was trading the stark desert of Las Vegas for the famed turquoise waters of the Côte d’Azur.
Ty spent the better part of the day taking care of business Las Vegas style—making calls and greasing palms. After completing the necessary arrangements, he called the limo to take him back to his place, where he showered, shaved off his customary stubble, and changed into his one and only power suit, a black Armani he’d bought a couple of years ago for a funeral. He’d never have dropped that kind of cash, but he’d sent Gabby out with his credit card. Now he was glad he had. Even off the rack, the Italian-made suit fit like a glove. If he was going to persuade Monica, he knew he had to speak the language she understood best—business. If that meant pressing and polishing himself to a spit shine, so be it.
Overcoming his lack of business shoes, he polished up his black Lee Miller custom sharkskin boots, then finished the look with his only watch, a gold Rolex Tom had given him twelve years ago on his twenty-first birthday. Now, for maybe the first time ever, he looked like a Las Vegas hotelier, even if he couldn’t quite bring himself to don the strangling necktie.
He’d promised to show Monica why the hotel was so important to him, but their partnership meant far more to him than just the hotel. That’s exactly what he intended to show her—and in a way she’d never forget.
With several hours to kill before her mystery date with Ty, Monica decided to make a final shopping trip rather than pacing in her hotel suite. He’d said to wear a dress, but her entire wardrobe was comprised of black dresses, black skirts, gray and navy slacks, and white blouses. She had nothing worthy of saying the final goodbye to the love of her life.
After two hours of shopping and rejecting more than two dozen little black dresses, she recalled Ty’s smart-ass remark about her wardrobe: “You should wear other colors, Ms. Brandt. I think you’d look mighty fine in red, preferably something short and tight.”
She might be gone from his life tomorrow, but she swore that tonight she’d make a statement he’d damn well never forget—a statement that began with an indecently short, corset-tight, vermillion-red Hervé Léger bandage dress, and ended with a pair of four-inch Jimmy Choo ankle-strap stilettos.
Two hours later she was applying a final touch of red lipstick when a knock sounded on her door. She checked her watch with a frown. Good thing she was ready. It was only nine-thirty. Taking a last fortifying sip of Calvados, and then the largest breath her constricting dress would allow, she flung the door open. “Ty, you’re—” She jerked back in surprise, almost stum
bling in her heels. “Evan? What are you doing here?”
“Holy shit, Mon.” Evan’s black gaze traveled slowly up and down. “I had no idea you had it in you. It was worth the five-hour flight just to look at you. What’s the occasion?”
“I have an . . . engagement . . . at ten.”
His gaze narrowed. “What kind of engagement?”
“It’s hotel business, Evan, if you really must know, and I don’t have time right now.”
“C’mon, Mon. I flew all the way out here to talk to you. Did you really think I’d let you blow me off without discussing this?”
“But I thought we’d settled everything this afternoon—”
“This afternoon was bullshit, Monica. Are you at least going to invite me in, or are we really going to have this conversation in the hallway?”
“Of course,” she stepped back. “So sorry; you just shocked me.”
He gave her his slow, ruthless, boardroom smile. “Shock and awe are my signature tactics, Monica. You should know that by now. Since I’ve already shocked you tonight, I think it’s time to try for some awe.”
She arched a brow, undecided if she was more annoyed or amused. “Oh? And just how do you propose to do that?”
“Proposals? Engagements?” he cocked his head. “Is there something on your mind, Monica?”
“Those were poor word choices, not Freudian slips, I assure you, Evan.”
“I’m not sure about anything anymore when it comes to you, Mon. I admit I took you for granted before, but that’s all in the past. If you were looking to shake me up, you’ve done it. You have my full and undivided attention.”
“That’s not what this is about, Evan. My leaving you was never a ploy to get your attention. I came here to take care of my father. You could have supported that decision but chose to be a total asshole about it. That’s why I didn’t come back.”
“I admitted I was a dick and apologized. What more do I need to do to show you I really want you back? My coming out here tonight has nothing to do with the hotel and everything to do with us.” His gaze was questioning and his manner less self-assured.
Was he for real this time? It would seem so.
“It’s too late, Evan. I don’t feel the same way about anything anymore.”
“So it’s not really me, it’s you?” He gave a dry laugh. “Can’t say I’ve ever been on the receiving end of that line before.”
“Rich, handsome, intelligent, successful, single alpha male? I don’t imagine you have.” Monica laughed. “Want a drink, Evan? I have Calvados, and I think there might be half a bottle of Jim Beam lying around.”
“Sure, Mon. I’ll take a drink.”
The moment of humor had cut the tension, but she still felt his eyes on her ass as she poured him a bourbon. He took his glass and dropped onto the sofa, patting the cushion. Painfully aware of her abbreviated hemline, she eased down beside him.
“I like this look, Monica. It really turns me on. Why didn’t you ever do this before?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t me.”
“Are you saying this is the new you? If so, I’d be happy to let you try out the new me.”
“New, Evan? I’m having trouble buying that one.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” He ran a finger lightly down her arm. “Doesn’t that prove I care?”
“It proves you don’t like to lose. That’s not new. I already knew that about you.”
“What didn’t work for you?” he asked. “Did I not fuck you enough? Is that it?”
“No, that’s not it. I wasn’t into it any more or any less than you were. Maybe that was the problem. We didn’t have . . .”
Evan rolled his eyes with a groan. “Don’t tell me you were about to spout off some schmaltz about fireworks.”
“Yes, Evan,” she replied with a sad smile. “I was going to say fireworks.”
“That’s what you really want, Monica?” He set his glass down on the side table and turned to face her. “Why didn’t you ever say so?”
“Because it doesn’t work that way. Chemistry like that just . . . happens.”
He moved in closer, his face only inches away. She started to pull back, but he held her shoulders. “Oh yeah? Well, I think it’s happening right now.”
Ty slid his key card into the lock of the owner’s suite before it even occurred to him to knock. He almost closed the door again but shook off the idea. He’d told her ten. Who else would she be expecting?
“Monica? You ready?” Ty called out as he entered the living area—and stopped dead in his boots. Willing himself to breathe normally, he took in the suggestive scene.
“Ty?” Monica rose with a guilty look, knocking over her drink and spilling it on the guy beside her. Ty didn’t need a formal introduction to know it was Evan. Although they’d seen each other once or twice in passing, they’d never actually met.
“Omigod, Evan! I’m so sorry,” she said. “Can I get you a towel?”
“No need.” Evan pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket. He silently sized Ty up, even as he wiped himself off. Ty returned the favor but had the advantage of being on his feet and not wiping a spilled drink from his lap. What kind of pussy carried a monogrammed hankie?
Ty moved into the room in a deceptively calm and deliberate stride and extended his right hand. “Don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Ty, this is Evan Hirschfeld Davis. Evan is . . . er . . . a good friend of mine.” Monica finished the sentence awkwardly as if unsure how to classify the relationship. He was no longer her boss and they weren’t engaged anymore. Ty’s gaze dropped to her left hand to be certain. Nope. No ring. “Evan, this is Ty Morgan,” she continued the introduction, visibly flustered. “He’s the new CEO of Brandt Morgan Entertainment.”
“Ty,” Evan nodded and stood to clasp his hand. Ty held the height advantage but not by as much as he’d thought. Evan’s gaze was steady and his handshake firm and confident. It said no bullshit. Ty could at least respect that in the man.
“Did I interrupt something?” Ty asked, adding silently, like you making a move on my woman?
“Not at all.” Evan replied just as evenly and with a “Fuck off” smirk. “It seems I’m the gate-crasher here. Monica said she had a business meeting this evening.”
“Is that what she called it?” Ty asked. “I s’pose you could call it business. I hope yours can wait, because mine can’t.”
“I’m sorry, Evan,” Monica interjected with a tight smile. “Maybe later?”
Ty gave him a look that clearly said, Over my dead fucking body . . . or maybe yours.
“Just say the word, Mon.” Evan replied smoothly.
“Do you have some kind of wrap or shawl you could wear with that dress?” Ty asked, wanting a moment to set things straight for the intruding asshole. “You might get cold in such a little bitty dress.”
“Give me a minute and I’ll look for something,” Monica replied.
“Sure thing, sugar.”
Evan scowled at the pet name.
Both men watched her departing ass. Hot damn, that dress was about to give Ty a heart attack. “You’d best stop looking at her like that. And I better never see your hands on her again either,” Ty murmured with a smile.
“She’s way out of your league, cowboy.”
“Is she now?” Ty remarked, stretching his smile.
“Are you actually implying she dumped me for you?” Evan asked with a snort.
“Apparently she knows a good thing when she sees it. You didn’t.” Ty shrugged. “Guess that means I win. You lose.”
“Who says the game’s over?” Evan replied. “I never lose, cowboy. I’ve got more money and more influence than you could ever imagine. I always get what I want.”
“Is that right, Evan?” Monica stood in the doorway, her wrap around her shoulders and bag in hand. “Did I just interrupt some kind of pissing contest? If so, I can end it now.” She looked from one man to
the other and then added with a smile, “For the record, Evan, Ty’s is bigger.”
Chapter Thirteen
“You’re welcome, Ty,” Monica replied tightly as they exited the hotel.
“I know you meant well,” he said, “but that was emasculating as hell.”
“For you or for him?” she asked with a laugh. “You came out the clear winner.”
“That’s not the point. I didn’t want or need your interference, Monica,” he grumbled. “I can handle arrogant assholes like that. Been doing it my whole life.”
“So what did you expect me to do? Stand there and let him insult you? The way you two were eyeballing each other, I was beginning to think I might see some blood.”
“I doubt it would have come to that,” he said.
“So it was all just ridiculous male posturing?”
“Pretty much,” he confessed.
“He really does have more money and influence than you, Ty,” Monica said. “He made the Forbes Top 100 mogul list just last year. There’s no way you could ever top him in anything related to business, but you are in fact much better endowed.” She smiled smugly. “That shut him right down, didn’t it?”
“Sure did. He may never get it up again.” He signaled the limo. “I miss my damned truck.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To the LINQ,” he answered and then murmured something to Frankie before handing her into the car. “I have to say Evan’s presence probably saved the evening.”
“Saved it? How?”
“We might not have even got out the door tonight if he hadn’t been there.”
“Why’s that?” she asked.
“That dress, Monica. All I can think of is peeling it off you—with my teeth.”
“Funny you should say that. I was having similar thoughts about you.”
“Oh yeah?” he rubbed his smooth-shaven chin.
“Most definitely,” she purred. “I’ve always had a major thing about power suits. It’s one of the reasons I was so confused about my attraction to you. You don’t exactly dress to impress, Ty. I once tried to picture you in a suit like this, but I have to admit, my imagination didn’t even come close to doing you justice.”
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