by Stacy Hoff
He spoke again, forcing her to come out of her reverie. “Do you have a last name, or are you just being Cat-ty?”
Despite the terrible pun, Cat bit back a smile.
“That’s your best pick up line, huh? Next you’re going to tell me you want to rub me the right way.” She rolled her eyes.
He smiled. “I actually hadn’t thought of that one. Give me a minute, and I’ll see what else I can come up with.”
“Hmmm, you can always go with other tried and truisms. Like ‘What’s the matter, Cat got your tongue?’ Or ‘Seeing a bombshell like you is Cat-aclysmic.”
She could tell he was biting back a laugh.
“No, those lines aren’t too good,” he conceded. “Though they would come in handy. They’d help you eliminate the boneheads pretty quickly.”
“Hmmm. Using bad pickup lines as a screening tool. Never thought of it that way.”
“So long as you don’t test out the theory on me, of course.” He winked at her but somehow he managed to make it sexy instead of crass. She wasn’t sure how he pulled it off and didn’t care.
“It’s a wonder,” he continued, “with amazing looks like yours, the bartender didn’t see you. Even with the throngs of people here. And that’s not a mere pick-up line. It’s my honest opinion.”
Oh. My. God! “Thanks,” Cat managed to utter.
Normally a comment about her appearance would have her backing away. Blatant sexism was not her thing. Then again, she never had a comment like this from someone she found attractive. It changed the whole dynamic of the comment. Instead of making her cringe, it gave her confidence.
Her body heated, the temperature slowly climbing higher, a burning from the inside out. Whether the warmth was due to her attraction or a reversion to her shy nature, she didn’t know. She was sure she was blushing. Either way, there was something about the intensity of the man’s gaze that made her shudder.
Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice, he was too busy speaking to an apologetic bartender.
“Someone dropped this,” Cat said. With a soft thump, she banged the hundred-dollar bill onto the counter.
“Hey, that’s great,” the bartender replied. “I had a woman in here twenty minutes ago asking if someone turned it in. She thought it fell out of her purse when she was paying for her drink. The lady was almost in tears. Real nice of you to do this, good thing she left us her room number to contact in case someone found it.”
“No problem,” Cat said, beaming. It was good to know she was helping someone out. She ordered her diet soda. “Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked Ty.
“Club soda.”
“Really? I’m not drinking either. What’s your excuse for staying sober?”
“I’ve got a business meeting in a few minutes.”
“No kidding? Me, too.”
This man was handsome, a hero and hard working. He’d make one heck of a catch. If only she had the guts to lure him in.
“Sorry for the long wait,” the bartender apologized, setting their drinks down. In a flash, he was gone again.
“Cheers. To an interesting evening,” Ty said, holding a squat glass up in the air.
“Yes, to an interesting evening,” she agreed, clinking her glass against his. “It’s been interesting so far, anyway. I attended some of the lectures today and learned a lot.”
“You only learned ‘a lot,’ huh? I’m sure the Association would be offended,” he teased.
Cat laughed. “True, they did offer quite a bit of business advice. But when did they reveal the secrets of the universe? Or give us proof of life after death? Or even provide the secret formula to winning every lottery ticket ever played. You know, the good stuff.”
He gave an exaggerated chin scratch as if he was seriously contemplating this. “I’ll tell them to work on it.” With an upturned quirk of his lips he added, “You know, I sit on the Association’s Board of Directors.” He paused and gave her a sly smile. “No one’s ever complained about my performance before. This is a first.”
Cat froze her face into a neutral expression, not wanting to acknowledge the double entendre. Maybe he meant his comment as a harmless joke. Or maybe he had meant every word. Like the bubbles of her soda, bouncing and playing in her mouth, she was starting to feel bubbly too. Lightheaded, even.
Who was this guy? Since when did she flirt with someone without even knowing who he was? “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Please excuse my omission. I’m—”
The man’s words were cut off by a sharp beeping sound from his smartphone.
“Shit,” he said tersely, the corners of his mouth turned down. “I’m sorry, but if I don’t leave right now, I’m going to be late for a very important meeting.” And with this rushed comment, he hurried off.
She glanced at her smartphone for the time. Crap. If she didn’t leave now, she’d be late for her meeting, too.
~ ~ ~
Bristling with impatience, Ty stomped down the hotel’s corridor to the small conference room he’d booked. He had about three minutes left to be on time. His stomach tightened. Nothing was as unprofessional as lateness.
When he finally found the right door, he electronically keyed into a large modern room overlooking the strip. The room was stylistically divided in half. One half displayed a teak oblong table set up for meetings. The other half featured club chairs surrounding a glass cocktail table. Ty, choosing to set a more formal tone, selected one of the stiff chairs around the wood conference table and raked his hand through thick brown locks.
His hair was most likely sticking up at all angles, not that he gave a shit. The way this day had been going, his appearance was the least of his problems.
In addition to having to leave behind the beguiling blonde at the bar, meeting with the convention’s organizers all day had been endless torture. Ty decided he would drop the bad news on the Association’s executive board like a bomb. No more lecturing after this weekend. Enough was enough. He wasn’t a professor, damn it.
Sure, helping out the Hotelier’s Association was a good thing to do. It helped out a business community and his reputation. But three lectures in two days was as far as any sane person would be willing to go. Were these people never satisfied?
It wasn’t like he could really help too many members anyway. His market share of micro-hotels catered exclusively to the wealthy. A lucrative little niche that would be hard to duplicate in the marketplace. For one thing, he already ensured any whim could be quickly catered to, a skill that most hoteliers lacked. For another, the wealthy were usually only willing to go to places with established cache. Their going to an Orland property was akin to their wearing couture clothes.
But, hey, if a brave few wanted to try to learn, he’d talk their ear off all weekend long at the gazillion lectures the Association was having him do. The newbies were welcome to try their hand at anything he’d already done. In the meantime, he’d be getting a plaque as one of the Association’s men of the year. Couldn’t hurt, right? Well, the effort he put in for the preparation hurt plenty, but that was beside the point.
No matter. After all this, he was through with the lecture trail for a long while to come. And onto new endeavors, like his first full-scale resort complex. Which was going to succeed. In the next hour, in fact, when he had the property in question finally acquired.
It was time for him to put his focus back on himself. His needs. Because he hadn’t in the longest time. Take tonight, for instance. He’d traded in a hot blonde for some old crone. The crone probably resembled a troll doll. Contrasting the woman he gave up to the woman he was getting gave him an unsettled feeling in his stomach.
He stretched out his body, put his feet up on the chair next to him, then closed his eyes while he pictured the blonde. The im
age shimmered before him, an ethereal Aphrodite. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been so engaged with a woman. Maybe letting her go was a mistake. Business deals were critical, sure. But, hell, wasn’t his happiness critical, too?
Well, not in this instance. Warner’s land was needed for his business’s very survival.
But why hadn’t he at least thought to hand her a business card? Or ask for hers? Suggested they meet for a late night drink afterward? Anything other than him taking off like a bat out of hell. Meatloaf obviously had nothing on Ty Orland.
This deal is making me crazy. With so much money, time, and man-hours on the line, all over the one little acquisition of Catherine Warner’s property, who could blame him? The most important cog in an intricate wheel was stopped dead. Unless he could change Medusa’s mind.
Yes, if he was to have any luck in Vegas at all, he’d get this deal done. Get the wheels of his business empire turning again. Get Rudy off his back. Keep up with the payments for his father’s medical care. And meet up with the beautiful blonde. Talk about hitting the jackpot.
But the odds, at least as to the blonde, were against him. What was the likelihood—in a hotel the size of Scotland—he’d bump into her? The magical right time, the magical right place? The Association had dozens of lectures going on all at the same time. Some of which he’d be stuck teaching. Plus, there were many different networking events from which to choose. The blonde could be anywhere.
Dropping his feet on the floor, he walked over to a counter, helping himself to the bottle of whiskey he’d ordered, in case Medusa drank. He would even down a shot himself, if the alcohol could convince him the loss of the blonde wasn’t his fault. That the blame belonged instead to crazy, stubborn, possibly stupid, Catherine Warner. Damn.
Maybe it was for the best. Distancing himself from women was smart. Safe. Secure. Hearing about his cousin Rudy’s engagement break-up was enough of a warning that ladies could not be trusted. For the most part, this didn’t pose a real problem for Ty. One-night stands satisfied his libido while leaving his heart free. Before tonight, when was the last time he even found a woman truly intriguing?
The blonde at the bar called herself “Cat.” An apt name. From what he could tell, she had a sleek and streamlined body like a true feline. Large eyes, straight beautiful nose, high cheekbones.
He hoped he had acted like a perfect gentleman. Even though what he’d really wanted to do with her was in no way gentlemanly . . .
~ ~ ~
Cat almost hadn’t knocked on the conference room door. It wasn’t as if she was obligated to talk to Ty Orland. He couldn’t make her deal with him. Trying to be a professional, she was going to at least hear the man out and be polite. Especially since he was such a big-shot in the industry. Not only was he apparently a mega-rich, ultra-successful hotel owner, she’d heard in the hotel’s lobby he was a big wig on the Association’s Board of Directors, too. Too bad Orland couldn’t be as wonderful as the man downstairs at the bar. That hero, whoever he was, was also on the Board. Proving that a person could be both on the Board and not an egotistical, bullying jerk.
Now that she knew the non-ego qualifier was intact, maybe she should be on the Board of Directors, too. Although the ‘successful’ qualification would be a heck of a stretch. With the amount of debt she was in, their accepting her would not be too likely.
The thought of her financial struggles was almost as distressing as her incoming text. With a loud beep a message appeared from her parents.
Catherine, you’ll need to come home from your silly convention right away. Your father needs your assistance on one of his business deals. Bring cocktail wear, which I hope to God you have. You’ll be meeting plenty of important people. Love, Mother.
Her mom was the only person she knew who texted in formal, grammatically correct sentences. Too many years of ingrained etiquette to abandon. Fighting off the urge to text back WTF? No! she typed a more palatable response.
Mom, can’t get away now, but will fly to Boston as soon as I’m able. Love to you & Dad.
With a hard shove, Cat put the smartphone back in her purse, deliberately burying it as deep as it could go. If her phone was going to buzz again, she didn’t want to hear it. Definitely not during her meeting with Orland. And perhaps never if her parents kept it up. For two people who insisted they were not dictating her life anymore, they had a funny way of showing it.
Grabbing the phone back out of her bag, she pushed the power button until the device shut down. Let their calls go to voicemail. They’d survive. Some days she couldn’t be at her parents’ beck and call.
Cat felt her face crunch into a frown. It was like she was five years old all over again. Ever since she’d almost drowned in their summerhouse’s pool, her parents had been wrapped around her tight enough to be human tourniquets. Always convinced their tight reign would somehow protect her . . .
Would they ever let the past go? Would they ever believe she could take care of herself?
Not if they learned they may have to rescue her—for the second time—from a perilous situation. A predicament—once again—created by her own poor judgment. Whether it be pool depth or financial debt, they’d say Cat always managed to wind up going in over her head . . .
Not this time! She was going to make everything work out okay. Including this convention. Leaving it to fly off to Boston was not going to happen. Next week, if Jan was back at work, Cat would fly to Boston from San Francisco.
Fighting back a cringe, she realized moving away from home was only a matter of geography. A false image of independence. A mere façade of freedom. Well, tonight she was holding her ground.
Her parents would have to wait. Vanessa was already going to be plenty screwed over by doing Jan’s work, her own work, and now Cat’s work. Cat squared her shoulders. It was her job to suck up adversity and carry on like the professional she was. She’d dealt with her parents, giving them a polite, but firm refusal. Sort of. She’d do the same—no, better—dealing with Ty Orland.
She tugged down her skirt and made sure it hung straight. Closed up her suit jacket, making sure the collar was nicely laid out. Knocked on the conference room door again, this time harder. What was taking so long for him to open up? What was he doing in there? Daydreaming?
Well, if he wasn’t a busy person, she was.
I can do this!
Without waiting for his response, she grabbed the handle and gave it a turn. To her surprise, the door swung wide.
~ ~ ~
“My God. It can’t be,” Ty blurted.
“You’re Ty Orland?” she sputtered.
“You’re Catherine Warner?” he retorted.
There the blonde was—every bit as beautiful as the fantasy he’d just been enjoying. Blinking hard, he was surprised the apparition didn’t vanish when his eyes re-opened. Either she was real, or he’d died and gone to Heaven. Or, given this new wrinkle in his business deal, Hell. His heart raced. His mouth went dry. Were the gods answering his prayer, or cursing him? He couldn’t have been more surprised if Santa Claus appeared, dropping in from his flying sled.
Ty shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around this. “You said your name was Cat,” he accused.
“I did . . . I mean, I am,” she defended.
He watched Cat choke out her words in her haste to explain. He almost felt the heat burning in her cheeks, a color as bright red as his tie.
“Nobody except my parents call me Catherine,” she continued. “And at least I gave you my name. You ran off before you bothered to give me yours.”
Her tone was accusatory. That alone should anger him. Make him go on the offensive. He was Ty Orland, damn it, multi-million-dollar-hotel magnate. And she was a stubborn, small-time, fly in his ointment.
Yet he couldn’t get his mind to truly grab hold
of that concept. Whereas his usual impulse was to crush any insect who stood in his way, he felt himself wanting to apologize to her. Wait, I did nothing wrong. “I told you I had a meeting to go to. This meeting. You’ve been giving me such a hard time on this deal, I needed to leave you downstairs so I could come up here and get this whole ordeal over with.”
She shot him a look.
His brow furrowed. “Er, that came out wrong somehow . . .” Damn, I must be flustered.
“Fine, no problem.” Cat smiled tightly. “We can get this over with right away. Here it goes . . . My land is not for sale.” She spun on her heels to head out the door.
Was she leaving? The enticing, sweet, beautiful, blonde was going? Hell no. “Wait!” Ty called.
~ ~ ~
Cat stopped in her tracks but did not dare turn around. It’d be easier to keep her resolve if she didn’t have to look at him. She already caved in too easily to people’s whims—bad. Now the person wanting her to cave oozed pure sex appeal—worse.
Ty’s attractiveness was obviously only superficial. Behind the glassy surface, the man was marred. How could he accuse her of dishonesty? He’d just watched her return some poor woman’s money at the bar, for Pete’s sake. And why would she lie about her own name? Okay, she was using a false last name, but that was for a business purpose. The emotional distance from her parents was a side-perk.
Not that her last name should really matter to him. She’d only told him her first name and gave it to him accurately. How the heck could she know he was expecting to meet a Catherine instead?
And what about his name? It pissed her off he ran away without even giving it to her. Who did he think he was, Cinderfella? The white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland? Or perhaps some super-secret spy? He could at least have identified himself before running into the wild blue yonder.