“Spare me. Accountants aren’t all skinny nerds. And they’re definitely not all male.” Hacking her way through this guy’s jungle of stereotypes would take some effort, but he had resources and it was clear his sister could pose a real threat to the future serenity of the Landry pack.
She was also in desperate need of more information about said sister. “Out of curiosity, what are you denying Cynthia that she wants so desperately?”
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Okay, some background. Here’s this kid—smart as a whip, straight-A student, and my dad doted on her.” He picked up a pen and laced it through his fingers. “She got into Yale, and he busted his buttons over that. Told all his cronies she’d be president someday.” He worked the pen through his fingers as he talked.
Giselle wondered if he even knew he was toying with the pen, but he had amazing dexterity as he wove it endlessly through his fingers. She found that sexy as all get-out. She brought her attention back to the subject, his brainiac sister.
“Turns out she doesn’t want to be president. Or a molecular biologist, or a corporate lawyer, or an astrophysicist.” He tossed the pen on the desk. “She wants to be a showgirl. She wants me to give her a job dancing at the Silver Crescent.”
“And she’s no good.” Giselle pictured a bookworm who secretly longed to be onstage wearing glamorous outfits but had no natural rhythm or coordination. If that were the case, then Cynthia wouldn’t be Bryce’s type after all. He liked a female with brains, but he wanted her to be poised and confident, too. Maybe Cynthia wasn’t the threat Giselle had feared. Perhaps Bryce only felt sorry for her.
“Oh, no, she’s a great dancer. But I thought it was a hobby, something she did for exercise.”
“So what’s the problem? Is she too fat? Too unattractive? Too short?”
“She’s beautiful.” Luke grabbed his phone off the desk and clicked it a couple of times with his thumb before turning it to face Giselle. “That’s her.”
Giselle looked at the smiling blonde on the screen and saw her worst nightmare. All that and outstanding grades from an Ivy League school? Bryce probably thought he’d hit the jackpot.
“You haven’t mentioned your mother. Is she alive?”
“She lives in France.” He said it as if France might as well be Mars.
So Luke had no support or guidance from that quarter. He was fighting this battle alone, and that touched her. She’d just seen how Vaughn had been emotionally rocked by the unexpected loss of his dad, but at least he had backing from his mother and his mate.
Luke didn’t have that, and yet his sense of responsibility toward his immediate family seemed as strong as any Were’s would be. When Cynthia had chosen to disappear, Luke’s protective instincts had been thwarted. Giselle understood his visceral response to the situation. It was werewolf-like in its intensity.
Giselle contemplated the situation. Cynthia wanted to be a showgirl, and from the looks of her, she could handle that job just fine. Her older brother, however, couldn’t. By objecting to her plan, he’d sent her into rebellion mode. Cynthia and Bryce could easily have bonded over the subject of dealing with unbending family expectations.
Giselle couldn’t decide where to start to untangle this mess. “It’s obvious that you don’t want your Ivy League–educated sister to become a Vegas showgirl.” He had no right to meddle in her life to that extent, but Giselle decided not to mention that. She didn’t think Luke would take it well when he was so upset.
“Damn straight. One of the last things my dad said to me was, Watch out for my little girl. If I put her in the chorus line at the Silver Crescent, he’d be spinning in his grave.”
Dear God. A deathbed promise, no less, one that Luke was taking to heart. It made him even more appealing to her. She was certainly vulnerable to pressure from her folks.
Luke was convinced he was doing the right thing. She had a fair amount of sympathy for his position, despite his somewhat patriarchal mindset. The poor man had no idea that letting his sister try the showgirl option would have been the safer bet than forcing her into this rebellion. Because he’d denied his little sister, she’d hooked up with a werewolf.
Chapter 3
Luke couldn’t deny that Giselle impressed him with how quickly she’d hit on the main issue with Cynthia. Although he had plenty of eyeballs to keep track of Cynthia’s whereabouts, they were all guys. They thought like guys.
Now he realized he could use a woman’s perspective. And as he’d said earlier, he and Giselle wanted the same thing. Or almost the same thing. They both wanted to separate Cynthia from Landry and get his ass back to ’Frisco.
After that, Luke still had to derail Cynthia on this showgirl thing. Because Giselle had figured out the problem right away, she might have some ideas for changing Cynthia’s mind. Giselle had pegged her as a goal-oriented person. All he had to do was subtly direct Cynthia toward a more suitable goal.
His cell phone pinged, signaling a text. He picked it up, checked the screen, and glanced over at Giselle. “We might have some news.”
“That would be great.”
He read quickly. “According to my guys, Cynthia’s Corvette and Landry’s rented SUV are parked side by side in a public lot near the Strip. Either they’ve rented a different vehicle or they’re on foot. My guys are checking the rental agencies.”
“The rental agencies will give them that kind of information? I thought that was against the law.”
He looked up from his phone. She really was a straight arrow. He’d have to keep that in mind. “Technically, that’s true.”
“But they’ll bend the rules for Luke Dalton?”
He shrugged. “Depends on who’s working the desk. My dad knew a lot of people in this town, and he made sure they understood that I’d be stepping into his shoes someday. I didn’t expect to have to take over this soon, but they’re treating me the way they would have treated him, and I appreciate that.”
“How old was your dad when he died?” Her tone was gentler than it had been a few minutes ago when she’d chewed him out for his views on men, women, and dancing the tango.
“Fifty-six.” His chest tightened. His dad had loved contemplating the grandchildren he’d have someday. Luke had figured he had plenty of time to give him some.
“Not very old.”
“Nope. It was his heart. I lay a lot of the responsibility for his condition at Harrison Cartwright’s feet.”
“He also died young.”
“Yeah, but he’s the one who created the problem. If he’d turned the deed over right away instead of making my father get lawyers involved, they might both be alive today.”
“Have you asked her why she wants to be a showgirl?”
“No.” But as he looked into Giselle’s green eyes, he realized that would have been a good move. Yeah, he really could use the female perspective as he worked through this problem. “I just assumed it’s because our mother was a dancer and Cynthia always thought that was cool. So what? It’s still a terrible idea.”
“Your mom was a dancer?”
He nodded. “My father saw her performing at the Sahara thirty-two years ago, and that was it for him. He never looked at another woman. She never looked at another man, either. They were crazy about each other.”
Giselle’s expression softened. “Is it any wonder your sister wants to be a showgirl after hearing a romantic story like that? If she wants a guy like your dad, she’s not going to find him working in a microbiology lab.”
“You think that’s her motivation? To find the man of her dreams?” Luke hadn’t thought of that. Cynthia probably wouldn’t want to hook up with a nerdy scientist or lawyer. She’d want a charismatic gambler like her dad had been. Unfortunately, Bryce Landry fit that profile.