by Stacy Hoff
Catherine Warner was the woman who thought she was going to give him her final “no” on the Big Bear property. The woman obviously had no idea who she was dealing with. Then again, he had never dealt with her directly. That’s why he’d asked for this face-to-face meeting. This was the last time he’d leave negotiations to his lawyers and an incompetent employee. What they failed to do he would accomplish. And Catherine Warner wouldn’t even know what hit her.
He knew other people had made offers on the rough, undeveloped land she owned, although he didn’t know for how much. Valued at only $300,000, those people would have offered a lot less than the million he’d put on the table.
The land was near the popular ski resorts, surrounded by excellent amenities. It had ample acreage, lake access, pristine woods. Basically, everything a developer would want for a resort location. But he wanted the land for a more important reason. Her parcel was right in the middle of the gigantic resort Orland Premier Properties, Inc., was planning. It’d be a first for him and his company, a divergence from the elite micro-hotel chain that had made him a wealthy man.
He’d already bought up fourteen other lots at the Big Bear site. Catherine Warner’s was the last to go. Anyone with half a brain would have bought the key parcel first. Seriously, their VP of land acquisition had to be fired. The law firm his company used was next. These people were pathetic. So much for their sterling reputations. Next time he hired anyone, he was sticking with his gut.
Now he was screwed. Building around Warner’s land wouldn’t be feasible. Though small in terms of acreage, it was located in the dead middle, his twin cluster of parcels bifurcated by hers. Plus, Warner’s property was the only one to give his resort complex direct lake access. The lake was big enough to allow for small-scale craft like sunfish and mini catamarans.
It’d be damned hard touting boating as an amenity without a body of water, he thought sarcastically. His guests liked boating. He liked guests’ money. Thus, his guests were going boating. Whether Warner wanted this to happen, or not.
Ty had gone through great lengths to keep the parcels’ acquisition very quiet. He’d had lawyers buy each piece under a different name. Held off on public hearings for the town approvals he needed, getting only “soft” commitments from the town on everything from Assessments to Zoning. Threw money to the local politicos’ campaigns to ensure favorable voting.
It was still all very hush-hush. No need for her to know how desperate he was. She already turned down a million dollars. God only knew how much money he’d be out when he got done with her. And money was not something he was hot to give out. Not when he was already so overextended on this project. And it was steadily growing worse. Each and every day construction was delayed, thousands of more dollars went down the drain. The interest carrying costs alone . . .
At this point, the acquisition of Catherine Warner’s property was threatening the overall health of Orland Premier Properties, Inc. Damn it all.
Ty rubbed his chin feeling the five o’clock shadow. He’d have to clean himself up before the Association’s cocktail party. Having spent little time in the enormous penthouse, everything in his suite was still immaculate. Bed made. Couch cushions standing straight. Clothes lined up in the armoire, shoes shined and polished beneath them. Of course, if anything got messed up, the butler assigned by the hotel would have it immediately cleaned.
Ty, liking neatness and order, was pleased. The business world was chaotic enough, he didn’t need his personal life in a mess, too. Here, or at home. He paid top dollar for housekeeping, gardening, and maintenance on all of his properties, including his own residences. Showing the world you had things under control meant having properties demonstrating it.
One part of him acknowledged he might have a tiny chip on his shoulder left over from childhood. His cousin Rudy’s family had major money. Flaunting it in everyone’s face. Especially in Ty and his barely-scraping-by parents’ faces. On the other hand, if having this chip resulted in determination and a strong work ethic, then it was a chip Ty was glad to carry around.
A quick glance back at the Rolex told him he was running late. In a matter of minutes he’d be in his fifth meeting of the day. He laid out a freshly-pressed dark gray suit to go with newly shined black Gucci shoes and stepped into the bathroom to take a shower, half-focusing, half-calculating how he was going to approach Catherine Warner. The woman who stood between him and his dream.
Chapter 2
The Association’s cocktail party was packed with people and getting fuller by the minute. Cat’s focus, though, was on one particular man. Reluctantly she ripped her eyes away from the tall man with dark brown hair at the far side of the bar. This gentleman wasn’t merely “nice looking.” That generic, nebulous description would insult him. The same way Niagara Falls would balk at being described as a mere waterfall. In fact, five women were already fawning over him. If these women were contestants on “The Bachelor” they couldn’t possibly be more assertive. Cat couldn’t entirely blame his hopeful hangers-on. In addition to his stunning looks, there was something intangibly special about him.
Realizing she’d been staring, heat flushed to her cheeks. But it was hard to turn away. His gray suit fabric was cut in all the right places, showing off his athletic frame while still keeping his look corporate. A red silk tie set off the crisp white shirt in the way a politician could only hope for during a televised campaign debate. But this man’s appearance was way past presidential. In fact, the confidence he exuded was practically imperial.
Despite his calm, collected, almost stately demeanor, however, she had the feeling he didn’t want to be there. Maybe it was his aloof expression, like somehow this wasn’t his scene. It was as if he knew he commanded the women’s attention, but didn’t care.
Would a man like this ever find her alluring? she couldn’t help but wonder. After so many years of being a pawn of her parents, and her one-time fiancé, doubting herself on a fundamental level was as natural as breathing.
Cat tried to stop her flooding thoughts. Nothing was going to happen with him anyway, so she didn’t need to wonder too long. He was already with a bevy of beautiful women. They wore tight strapless cocktail dresses, all showing their assets to their best advantage.
She, on the other hand, hadn’t had a chance to change out of her too-tight navy business suit. It would be wonderful if she didn’t resemble a stuffed sausage. Whisker-like crease marks on her skirt had developed from sitting in the hot ballroom for two hours cramped up against people, legs crossed as she typed copious notes into her iPad. It was a good thing her suit jacket reached as far down as her butt, keeping it buttoned would prevent anyone from noticing the skirt. Since her high-society parents weren’t here, she had a shot her wardrobe would go incognito. Beyond the wrinkles, her parents would look down their nose at her wearing a suit during the cocktail hour. And ballet flats with the suit.
No matter what reasons Cat provided, she knew her excuses would fall on deaf ears. Though her folks weren’t with her physically, somehow she couldn’t escape them mentally. Hives were easier to shake off.
Cat bit back a sigh. Her parents weren’t all bad. As much as she balked every time they hounded her, she tried her best to at least accept a portion of whatever point they were making. Treating her like a child was no excuse for her to reject everything out of their mouths. Tomorrow she’d call the credit card company, acknowledging the point she had to look socially acceptable. She’d stay on the phone with Visa as long as it took for them to increase her line of credit. Then she could buy some more clothes, suitable for a variety of occasions.
As for her discomfort now in the too-tight skirt, no matter. In a few minutes she’d be leaving for her meeting with Orland anyway. Better with a man like him to look more like a banker than a Barbie. This man needed to take her seriously.
She turned back to the bar and
tried to catch the bartender’s eye. As a rule, liquid courage never hurt. But tonight she needed to be on her A-game. A diet cola on the rocks would be her best bet. The drink would cool her off. The bar was as stifling hot as the conference room had been.
The bartender walked right past her, headed for the other end. Cat blew out a hard breath in frustration.
The room’s air conditioning suddenly turned on, filling the air with a cool breeze and a loud mechanical whirring sound. An abandoned cocktail napkin next to her fluttered, threatening to fly off the countertop. Another bartender passed her direction and Cat raised her hand to catch this older man’s attention.
Fail. Yep, it was one of those conferences, all right. On top of everything else that had gone wrong today, she couldn’t even get a Diet Coke. Yeesh, when you were in the hospitality industry you had to be . . . well, hospitable.
The napkin fluttered again, this time taking flight before falling on the floor. It landed next to a hundred-dollar bill on the carpet. She bent down to nab Ben Franklin, ready to turn the Founding Father in to the bartender, no doubt a wanted man. Hopefully, whoever lost it would realize it was missing and come back to the bar to ask. When the bartender gave it back to its rightful owner, now that would be hospitality.
“That’s mine,” a middle-age man suddenly barked, grabbing at the bill. But his co-ordination was so off he missed, snatching at the air. She held the bill further away from him and prayed the bartender would come over soon.
“I said, that’s mine,” he snapped.
“I heard you,” Cat said coolly. “I’m giving this to the bartender so whoever lost it can claim it. If that person is you, you can let him know.” This man’s belligerence took her aback. He didn’t seem relieved, or grateful, to have the money found. Instead, he gazed at the money with lust. Was the money really his? Or was he playing her?
“You calling me a liar?” he demanded.
“No, I don’t doubt you,” she said, mustering her ultra-polite voice, the one she reserved for her most troublesome guests. “But I’d be more comfortable letting the bartender hold on to it, to see if anyone else makes a claim.”
“Sounds like you are doubting me, missy. Doubt you’re going to give it to the bartender, too. You trying to keep my money?”
Cat felt her back tense, as if she were a real cat ready to strike. “I hardly think so. What an insulting thing to say.”
The man stared her down, bags deep under his eyes. If the dark, swollen skin was any indication, he hadn’t slept for days. Was he on uppers? He stank like alcohol, too. The bartenders certainly hadn’t ignored him.
Cat tried to leave. But the man grabbed her left wrist and pulled her hard.
~ ~ ~
Ty Orland was listening to the bevy of women around him with only half an ear. He was much too captivated by a blonde at the bar. She’d seemed lost in thought, self-conscious even, despite the obvious fact she was a stunner. Maybe she was shy. Maybe she was trying to downplay her looks to avoid being hit on. If so, she would be a nice change of pace from the women who tried desperately to pick him up. Like now, for instance. He raised an eyebrow at a tall brunette whose hands deliberately brushed lightly across his ass.
“A little close for comfort, don’t you think?” he asked dryly.
“Not close enough,” the glamour queen answered in a smoky voice.
Good Lord. The brunette looked like the rest of the women around him. Donning low-cut cocktail dresses like battle armor and wearing war paint. Well, good luck to them because he certainly wasn’t going to become their captor.
He squinted over at the demure lady across the bar again. Her face was fresh and natural, not made-up. She wore a business suit, not cocktail wear. And instead of come-to-me high heels, she wore flats.
No matter—her long, luscious legs didn’t need to be further accentuated. A delicate nose and upturned almond-shaped eyes almost made her cat-like in appearance. But more than anything else about her appearance, she looked . . . nice. There wasn’t any other word for it. The type of person who, if you’d ask her for directions, she’d not only give them to you, but walk with you the whole way there.
As the sounds of the gaggle of giggling women increasingly faded into the recesses of his mind, Ty watched the intriguing woman cross her arms.
He bristled, recognizing the man who was the apparent source of her distress. A man who owned a rivaling hotel chain was demanding money from her. Henry Morsik was plenty rich, so why would he be doing that? He must be drunk as hell to be creating such a scene. And then to yell at the lady on top of it? The man must be losing his marbles.
Somehow Ty knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be over there, at the center of the strange scene with Morsik and the blonde.
~ ~ ~
Being the daughter of very wealthy parents, Cat was taught at a young age to defend herself since security was always her family’s top concern.
“Let go of me,” Cat ordered her would-be captor, her eyes narrowed to little slits. Calmly, she angled her wrist until her bone was tilted to a North-South position, tightened her hand into a fist, and supporting her fist with her other hand, she jerked her arm up with a hard thrust. It came out of his grasp with ease. It was all she could do to not give him a palm strike to his nose.
“Everything okay here?”
The new voice, cold and tough, made it clear the question was strictly for the purpose of shutting her attacker down. Sure, she didn’t need the help, but it was wonderful for someone to offer anyway. Maybe, in spite of people like Rudy, chivalry was not dead.
Gratefully, Cat whipped her head around, a loose tendril flying again. Then her jaw dropped at the sight of her knight-in-shining-armor, the handsome man she had been gawking at. What was he doing getting involved?
“Sorry for any trouble,” Grabby Guy mumbled, walking away. If her aggressor had been a dog, his tail would have hung between his legs.
As Cat stared up into the face of her gorgeous rescuer, words stuck in her throat. Her thoughts, however, were quite explicit. My God, this man is amazing.
Chapter 3
Cat watched as her hero’s green eyes darkened. She hadn’t realized this tantalizing feature about the gentleman before. There was only so much a girl could see from across a crowded bar.
“My goodness, thank you!” She tried not to sound like a kindergartener upon seeing a Justice League member come to life. “Do you know that man?”
“I’m sorry to say I do,” he replied tightly. “Never mind our connection. If he keeps this up, there won’t be one. What the hell was he doing?”
“I found this bill on the floor,” she answered, showing him the hundred-dollar note. “I wanted to give it to the bartender so someone could claim it, but I couldn’t get his attention. Then that guy you know started yelling the money was his and I should give it to him. Maybe I should have. But something about him didn’t seem right, so I insisted on giving it to the bartender instead. Then the oaf grabbed me.” Cat paused. “Anyway, sorry for babbling. And for taking up your time. Thank you.”
“You’re apologizing for being attacked?” The man’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Well, don’t worry, I volunteered my services. Though from what I saw of that karate move, you could have handled him yourself anyway.”
“I do have a black belt in ju-jitsu. But I still appreciate your help. It was a nice thing to do.”
He arched an eyebrow but looked intrigued. “Ju-jitsu? Really? I don’t know whether to be impressed or scared. Makes a little thing like you deadly.”
“Don’t you know it,” she joked. “My parents were very safety conscious. I started learning martial arts when I was six.”
“Were your parents cops?”
“Um, no. Ordinary business people.”
“You must have l
oved martial arts since you made it all the way to black belt.”
“My parents were very . . . determined about what I should do.” To put it mildly.
“Well good for them for watching after you like that. I have no doubt you could kick the shit out of me.” He laughed. “Though I have to warn you, I have my own defense techniques.” He grinned. “I only do kickboxing now, but in college I played rugby. I could have tackled that guy for you, but there didn’t seem to be a need. Henry Morsik’s wife’s lucky you let him leave. Alive.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Nah.”
Cat laughed along with him. “His wife can relax. I haven’t killed anyone. Yet.”
“Am I safe talking to you?” he teased.
“For now.” Better question is, am I safe? This guy is so hot, I’m going to have to hijack a fire truck to put out the flames.
“Well, I’m glad Morsik’s luck ran out. I thought it was disgraceful he put you in a situation where you had to go all Bruce Lee on him. I heard he has alcohol issues, but had no idea they were so out of control.”
Cat glanced at the spot where her rescuer had been standing moments before, wondering how and when he’d taken notice of her. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your night with your friends.” She nodded over to the group of ladies who were looking very put out by being abandoned. “I’m Cat, by the way,” she said, extending her hand.
Her surprise came yet again when he took her hand and kissed it. Not just any kiss. One slow, lingering and tantalizingly light kiss. The mesmerizing effect doubled as he made contact with her eyes. Cat tightened her thighs to make sure she didn’t fall over in a 1900’s type swoon.