Lunch. Yes! Finally, after all these years of waiting, Cole is asking me out. It might only be a day date, but that’s—
“Tiffy? You still there?”
“Yes! I mean, yes to both. Yes for lunch and yes, I’m still here.” I chuckle. “Obviously.”
“OK, good. I’ll see you around two then. Sound OK?”
“Sounds great, Cole. Looking forward to it.” I end the call and smile up at a waiting Claudio. He’s got his hands on his hips and he’s tapping that toe again. “We have a date!” I smile so big, my cheeks hurt. “A real date. Late lunch, you whore. So there. I told you he was interested in me.”
“Hmmph,” Claudio pouts. “And why wouldn’t he be? You’re hot, Tiffy. A little bit of a prude for my tastes. But you’re damn fine in the beauty department. And you’re the daughter of a bazillionaire. What’s not to like? You are ten steps up for boring, pudgy Cole.”
“He’s not pudgy! He’s just a big guy.”
“Whatever. I think you had the right idea last night. Dreamboat Novak is where I’d put all my efforts.”
“He’s a stripper, Claudio. Gross. And we both know he’s fucking strangers after each show. That’s two one-night stands a week. Just gross.”
“Well, that’s easily dismissed. If one clean bill of health is all that’s standing between you and the most delectable slab of abs I’ve ever seen, I’ll make him a doctor’s appointment today.”
“You,” I say, pointing my finger up at him, “will stay out of this. You understand me? I don’t need your help in the relationship department. Remember the last guy you set me up with? Mr. Hot Buns?”
Claudio snickers. “He was a fireman. I hate firemen, said no one ever. You’re a freak.”
“He was an arsonist, Claudio. He started fires just to put them out.”
“Same difference. I’m just saying, a man with a giant water hose in his hands is hot.”
“He was hot, all right. And so was that car he drove.”
“So I misjudged one guy. Give me a break. You’ve misjudged plenty on your own.”
I shoot him a dirty look for bringing that up. “No. I’m going after Cole and now that I finally have his attention, I do not want you to mess it up. You hear me?”
“Fine, fine.” Claudio throws his hands up and sighs. “But he’s a mistake. I’d just like to go on record that Cole Cookie-dough Lancaster is a mistake.”
“And stop calling him fat! He’s just a—”
“Big guy. Got it.” Claudio rolls his eyes at me. “You better get in the shower, you’ve got thirty minutes now.”
Shit.
Chapter Six
I’m taking deep breaths to hide the fact that I just ran the entire length of the casino in order to make it to the admin buildings when I arrive at Amy’s front vestibule. “Hi, I’m Tiffy Preston. I have a meeting with Amy at nine,” I tell the secretary behind the desk.
“Oh, yes,” she says, pushing her glasses up her nose. “She’s just finishing up with her eight o’clock, so go into the conference room and it will just be a moment.”
“Thank you,” I say sweetly. People expect me to be a bitch since I’m the CEO’s daughter, so I try not to meet their expectations even if I’m in the mood to tear someone’s hair out. Sure, I’m a spoiled rich girl. But I’m not a raging control freak. If there’s one thing my father taught me, it was to delegate to people who knew more than you in areas you were weak in. And since Amy is the expert here at the Landslide Hotel and Casino, I’m happy to delegate as much as possible to her and remain an observer. Especially since I have a helluva hangover.
Whew. I let out one last long breath as I open the conference room door and step inside, thankful I have a few more minutes to gather my thoughts about—
“Hey, there, Tiff,” Fletcher says with a smug grin as he turns from the view at the huge picture window. He checks his phone. “You’re late.”
I check my watch. “Two minutes.”
“Two minutes is two minutes, right? Didn’t you say something to me last night about being late?”
“You are an actor on stage. Things are timed, Mr. Novak.” I set my bag down on the table and begin pulling out my laptop. “You can’t afford to be two minutes late.”
“And I wasn’t. I was two seconds late. So don’t you find it unreasonable to be angry over two seconds?”
“Again, Mr. Novak, you are in showbusiness. Two seconds is too long.”
“I agree.”
“What?”
“I said, I agree. It won’t happen again. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, and you’re right. Two seconds is too many. I’m going to be early from now on.”
I give him a sidelong glare. What’s he up to? “Well, good. Then once Amy gets here, we can drop that issue and start discussing your breach of contract regarding these girls you… date.”
“What breach?” he asks with a smile, taking a seat across from me at the table. “Did I breach, Miss Preston?”
Grrr. I have not read his contract. I was, after all, watching him strip online while getting drunk.
“Because I know for a fact that my contract has no stipulation that I don’t date show patrons. That would be ridiculous considering more than a thousand people come to watch me every week. It would severely limit my dating pool.”
“Maybe so, Mr. Novak. But I’m positive that you are not allowed to act in a manner that embarrasses the hotel. And the way you take home—”
“Who do I take home, Miss Preston? Who?” He stares hard at me for several seconds and his jaw muscles tighten, telling me that this is something he takes serious issue with.
“Do you take them home?” I play it safe.
“I do not.”
“Do you go to their rooms?”
“Yes.”
“Do you…”
“Fuck them?” he asks, with another one of those sly grins. He averts his eyes for a moment, looking down as his smile grows. He flashes me a glance from underneath his dirty-blond hair that tumbles over his forehead. “If I want, Miss Preston. There’s nothing in my contract that says I have to be celibate.”
Then he winks. And laughs, not in a mocking way, but more like a chuckle, making his smile grow and a dimple appear in his chin. Jesus, he’s really handsome.
The door bursts open and Amy rushes in with an armful of folders. “Sorry, Miss Preston. I was on a call with the accounting department. I wanted to make sure we had our numbers straight before we decided on any disciplinary action.”
“I’ve been keeping track as well,” Fletcher says, reaching down under the table and pulling out a laptop. “I’ve got the total number of ticket sales since the first month I started.” He flips his screen around so I can see it and then points to the graph. “As you can see, when I started the show we were barely half-full on both Wednesday and Saturdays. And once I took over as the central dancer and made changes to the lineup, fired the poor performers—”
“Wait. You fired? I thought that other dancer was in charge. What’s his name? Chandler?”
“He is,” Amy says. “Technically. But Fletcher is in charge of the dancers.”
“I am, and have been since the first day I started performing in this nearly defunct show,” Fletcher says with another one of those sly grins masquerading as shy. “When I come on board, I come to win. I did my research and found out what each dancer brought to the table and coached them on how to play it up. I know people, Miss Preston. I understand people. And I use it to my advantage.”
Oh, please.
“I pulled the Mountain Men up from obscurity and placed this show on the map. In fact, I’ve been working on a plan to franchise the show. You know, hire more dancers to go on tour. Keep a troupe here in Tahoe, and then get an elite troupe for a hotel in Vegas. Your father owns casinos in Vegas, I presume?”
“Um…” Fuck a duck. He’s smart. “Yes. We have four, actually.”