“Hold on. Don’t pin that on me.”
“Oh? Who do I pin it on?”
“Look, if you want a donation, I already make plenty. Believe me, I make regular donations to people like Gam-Anon. You know, legitimate charities.”
“I’m not here for money, but clearly you are.” The words spilled out of her, kick-started by adrenaline. “You’re a wealthy man. Did you have to open casinos? Were they such a passion for you? Couldn’t you have opened, I don’t know, a supermarket chain instead? Or was that not sexy enough for the great Liam Doyle?”
His lips compressed. Had her comment hit home? Good.
“You have no right…”
“I have every right.” Her face was burning now. “If I can save even a few lost souls from places like this, then I’ll sleep a whole lot easier.”
She had to get out before she started crying. She wanted to leave with her head held high. Leave him thinking. She turned and headed for the elevator, but he grabbed her hand before she could get away.
“Wait.”
Kate yanked her hand out of his grip. “How do you even sleep, Mr. Doyle?”
His eyes bored into her. “Like a rock. But that crown of thorns must keep you up at night.”
She tried to appear like she was still in control, but that had hurt. “You just keep telling yourself that.”
Kate marched to the elevator and punched the button. As the door opened, she threw a look back at him.
“By the way, I will be back. I’ll show you how many lives have been devastated by your casinos.” She walked into the lift, even though she felt like running. She didn’t look back.
Liam called out to her. “Watch your step, Ms. Callender. I don’t forgive and forget.”
She channeled her last ounce of bravado before the doors shut. “You really should see someone for that. I hear being an asshole can be terminal.”
Once the elevator began its descent, Kate leaned against the back of the small space and closed her eyes, winded by her hostile exchange with Doyle. She didn’t open them again until the door opened.
That night, Liam did sleep well—until about 3am, when he woke with a pounding headache.
He stumbled out of bed, eager for a glass of water. He attributed the headache to any number of things. Despite little hiccups, the grand opening at Vice had gone smoothly. More bothersome was a recent rash of thefts at Sin, his first casino, ones that appeared to be an inside job. He treated his staff well, and nothing irked him quite as much as betrayal from those in his inner circle.
Been there, done that, didn’t want to do it again. Thank God he could rely on his security team.
Then there was the problem getting permits for his next venture. Why city officials wanted to save that crumbling old government office off Fremont Street was beyond him. There was no way the derelict shell that used to house the old works department could be considered of historical significance.
On top of that was his issue with Bridget, his ex-girlfriend and the way she continued to keep him away from the one person who meant anything to him, Michelle. Luckily, he had his new hotshot lawyer on the case, and it would soon be resolved to his satisfaction. Michelle would be back under his roof in no time, and not a moment too soon.
Christ, he missed her.
He rubbed his face. Yes, each of these issues had kept him up on previous nights. However, even as he padded through his condo on yet another night-time quest for water, he knew this time the ache in his brain had a different origin.
One with knockout curves and auburn hair.
Why on Earth should he be so affected by Kate Callender, the singer on a crusade?
I don’t respect your work, Mr. Doyle. And I don’t respect you.
Bull’s-eye.
He’d been called a lot of things during his career, and knew full well many resented his meteoric rise in Vegas society, but no one had ever put so fine a point on it. He supposed it stung because in a town where there were no limitations, he’d always conducted business above board. Yes, he owned casinos. Yes, tons of folks out there had issues with gambling. Still, he didn’t force those people into his clubs, didn’t coerce them to spend their hard-earned dollars there. He simply provided venues for entertainment.
In fact, just as a good bartender kept an eye out for drunks, his employees were trained to watch out for customers who might also have had enough. He didn’t like the idea of taking someone’s last dollar. Ethics aside, it was bad for business. Kate Callender might see him as a mustache-twirling villain, holding bags of other people’s money, but he knew the truth.
Vice, along with his other casinos, was merely a business venture, and he’d wager most of his customers knew when to call it quits. As for those who didn’t? Well, that was why he sent a lot of money in Gam-Anon’s direction.
So why did none of that seem to matter when faced with that silly woman’s stinging barbs?
He poured himself a glass of water and chugged it, then set the glass in the sink and stared at it.
Damn. What did he care if she despised him? More important people already did. Kate Callender was no one to him and never would be. Just a momentary inconvenience, she would soon pass out of his life and he needn’t think of her again.
Still, his mind wandered as he pictured her. Upon reflection, she hadn’t been quite the ethereal creature he thought he’d spied from the fourth floor. She had flaws: a bountiful figure, a generous nose, and ears that, while sort of endearing in an annoying way, stuck out a bit. It was possible her eyes might even be somewhat asymmetrical, one a tiny bit smaller than the other. He’d noticed it when she glared at him.
However, on her, somehow it all worked. Like Cleopatra, she might not be the most beautiful woman in the world, but she wore her looks well.
They made a man curious.
He wanted to drag the ponytail elastic out of her hair and watch the red strands tumble around her shoulders. He could admit he felt a weird compulsion to touch her again to see if her skin was as soft as he remembered. And those hazel eyes that flashed in anger? He wondered what else could make them sparkle.
He was most intrigued by the flirt he’d seen in her eyes when he’d first approached her outside, and was intoxicated by the idea of seeing it again. He drummed his fingers on the counter, realizing he wanted to see much more than that. He wanted to see how her face would transform after he spread those voluptuous legs.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself. “Okay, on some fucked up level you find her hot. So what? The woman wants to bury you. Forget her.”
Determined to do just that, Liam fired up his laptop and set it on the counter. Plunking himself down on one of his bar stools, he decided to clear a few emails in an attempt to ignore his hard-on. Within minutes, his phone buzzed with an incoming text. He pulled it out, discovering a missive from Bridget.
We need to talk. Can I come to your office tomorrow?
He quickly entered his response. Talk to my lawyer.
Please.
I’m busy.
I just want five minutes. No lawyers. Just us. A pause. I’ll bring Michelle. You two can catch up.