Two to Wrangle (12 page)

“I'd like more than just a paycheck, Ty. I'm thinking about my future too and right now it ain't lookin' so bright. My place needs too much work. It'll take every cent I just won just to get it back in operational shape. If you're looking to contract again, I'd be willing to sell out and invest as your partner.”

“You would?” Ty asked with surprise.

“Damn straight. Bulls are what I love, but at this stage in the game I'd be content to flank instead of ride.”

“Hell, Zac. I don't know what to say. I'd be honored to take you on as a partner.”

Zac's eyes held Ty's as he slowly drained his whiskey. Setting the shot glass down, he offered his hand with a smile. “I think you just made me an offer I can't refuse.”

T
y awoke rumpled and cramped from another night spent on the sofa. Although he'd promised to give Monica some space, he'd been too tired to drive to his place. Last night he'd been too pumped up with adrenaline to feel any real pain, but today was another story. His body felt bruised and battered and exactly like he'd been run over by a bull, a feeling he knew only too well. Only last night he'd joked that Zac was a hundred and two in bull-rider years. This morning Ty felt like Methuselah. He rose, with a groan, cursing his bruised ribs and the cow who'd birthed Super Spin Cycle.

His iPhone buzzed, indicating a text message. Snatching up the phone from the charger, Ty realized too late that it was Monica's. And the text was from that asshole Evan.

Answer? What answer? He couldn't help himself. He typed back a reply.
Still thinking.

The phone buzzed again.
When should I send the plane?

What the fuck?
Was she really planning to leave him again? What happened to the week she'd promised him? He'd thought he'd smoothed her ruffled feathers before she'd left last night. Had he screwed up already? Realizing he'd painted himself into a corner, he typed back.
Don't know yet. Will call. Bye Evan.

Exhaling a painful breath, he threw the phone down, then sat in silence, deliberating his next move. Bringing her back to Vegas had only steeled his determination to forge the partnership. Last night he'd taken a huge leap out of his comfort zone. He'd even told her that he loved her, for Christ's sake. Didn't that mean anything? She was much more to him than just the means to an end, but what more did he need to do to convince her? He didn't have a fucking clue. The only thing he knew for certain was that he wasn't about to let her loose without a damned good fight.

It was time for that long talk he'd promised her. He might not get another chance.

She was still asleep when he walked into the bedroom. He'd never watched her sleeping before. Her brown hair was tousled, and mascara shadowed her eyes. She was snoring softly into her pillow. She must have had a restless night, judging by the condition of the bed.

He stretched out lengthwise beside her and reached out an arm to pull her close. She snuggled up against him spoon-style. He noticed she wore one of his T-shirts. He wondered why when she had all her clothes with her. He nuzzled her hair, thinking how nice it smelled. Feminine but not too perfume-y. “Sugar, I think it's time we had that talk now.”

“Your timing sucks, Ty. I'm sleeping,” she mumbled back, wriggling her ass even closer.

Shit.
He'd come to talk but hadn't figured on having to wake her up first. He kissed her neck. “We can either talk or we can fool around. Your choice.”

She grumbled something unintelligible and hooked her leg over his.

His prick responded in no uncertain terms. He slid a hand under the shirt. Sure enough, she wore nothing underneath. His game plan instantly changed. “I'll take that answer as door number two.” Injured ribs be damned. He wasn't about to pass up the invite.

He stood to shed his shirt and jeans, but when he got back into the bed, her eyes were wide open. Her gaze dropped southward to his morning wood. Her brow wrinkled. “Ty? What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?”

“I thought you were going to give me some time alone.”

“I was. I did.” He shook his head with a frown. “Do you by chance talk in your sleep?”

“Not that I'm aware of. I thought I was dreaming.”

“Then shut your eyes again, and I'll be happy to pick things up right where we left off.”

“What about that talk you promised me last night?”

“We can do both,” he answered. “It's called multitasking.”

“No, Ty. Having sex with you will only confuse things. I need to be able to think clearly. It's hard for me to do that when you touch me.”

“Fine then. You can do all the touching.”

“Please, Ty.” She sat up with a scowl. “I'm serious here. I was up half the night. I have questions I need you to answer.”

“I have some questions for you too,” he said.

“Like what?” she asked.

“Are you going back to Evan?”

Her forehead creased. “No. Why would you even think that?”

“He texted you this morning. I picked up your phone thinking it was mine.”

“What did he say?”

“He's waiting for an answer too. Makes me wonder if it's to the same question.”

“And what question is that, Ty?”

“Are you staying here with me, Monica? Or are you going back with him?”

“I don't know,” she replied. “Maybe neither. I've got some really big decisions to make.”

“That you do,” he answered steadily.

“I can't make those decisions until I understand exactly what it is you want from me.”

“I thought that part went without saying,” he replied with a smirk.

Her gaze flickered back to his erection. She licked her lips. “Maybe we shouldn't have this talk while you're naked. It's just a tad distracting. We need to move this conversation out of the bedroom. Can we talk in your office instead?”

“Sure,” Ty replied. “Wanna meet in an hour? I'll have breakfast sent up.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. “Breakfast would be great.”

He rose, pulling his jeans on with a dry laugh. “What I had in mind would have been a whole lot better.”

 

Ty was waiting in his office, boots propped on the desk and hands resting behind his head, when Monica walked in, looking all prim, proper, and businesslike in her black pencil skirt, white blouse, and stiletto heels. His gaze traveled appreciatively up her long legs before he cocked his head for a better view of her ass. He'd made no secret that her librarian look always gave him an instant hard-on.

She returned the look with a glare. “Are you ready to talk business, Ty, or should I leave and let you take care of your little problem.”

“Sweetheart, you know by now it's not little.”

“You promised we'd have a serious discussion.”

He blew out a breath and pulled his feet from the desk. “All right, sugar. You wanna get down to brass tacks, let's do it. You have questions. I'll give you answers.”

“Thank you.” She sat across from his desk. “I told you straight-out from the beginning that I had no interest in running a hotel, but it occurs to me that in all this time, I've never even asked you what you wanted to do with it. I'm asking you now, Ty. What was it that sold Tom on your crazy idea to renovate this place?”

Her question, posed so directly, took him aback. Why hadn't they ever discussed any of this before? When had she ever given him the chance? She hadn't. She'd never once asked him about his ideas for the hotel. She'd never shown the least interest in his plans, or in his dreams, other than shutting them down.

He slumped back in his chair, recalling the fateful day he'd met with Tom. He'd made his case then, and won. But Tom had a sentimental attachment to the hotel. Could he also win over Tom's pragmatic, hard-nosed daughter? He'd been prepared to counter all of the financial arguments he was certain she'd make, but was he ready to share his dream?

“What sold Tom?” he repeated slowly and then answered. “The vision of what could be.”

Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I told Tom what you already know—that gaming revenues in this city are way down and will likely never recover to what they were in the heyday, but dining, shopping, and entertainment are way up. Everyone who wants to make it in this town knows they need to attract a new non-gaming demographic. That's why I want to renovate,” Ty said. “But I'm not talking about dealing with foundation settling or fixing roof leaks. I've been slapping those kinda Band-Aids on the place for too damned long. What we need is an attraction. We can't hope to stay in business, much less compete, without one.”

“And that means putting fifty million into a place that Tom only paid eight for?”

“That was thirty years ago, Monica. Real estate on The Strip has skyrocketed since then.”

“All the more reason to sell,” Monica argued. “You could be rich and free of all the headaches, Ty.”

“And then do what?” he asked.

“Whatever you want.”

“I've told you time and again, this
is
what I want. Can't you understand that?”

“I'm trying to, Ty. I really am, but I'm a numbers girl, and so far, this just isn't making much sense to me.”

“Fair enough,” Ty said. “Then let's try and paint this by the numbers. Last night you went to the bull-riding championships. You already know that that single event generates close to fifteen million in non-gaming revenue in Las Vegas. The championship sells out months in advance, but those are mostly just hard-core fans. What if we could offer something for people who might be curious but not enough to cough up big money for championship tickets?”

“Bull riding?” she said. “You think that kind of attraction is the answer? Is that why you were so happy I wanted to go last night?”

“Yes. The bull riding association's making money hand over fist on it, but what you saw was only a small piece of what I'd like to do. America still loves cowboys. You saw that last night. But true-blue cowboys, men like Zac and Kade, are a dying breed. People come from all over to see the magicians and those pansy-ass Canadian circus performers. Why not give them some all-American entertainment?”

“If you're talking about putting on rodeos, isn't that what South Point does just five miles down the strip? You'd be competing for the same patrons. That makes no sense. If you're going to invest in big-money entertainment, you need to offer something fresh and original.”

“Fresh and original is exactly what I'm talking about,” Ty said. “I'm not proposing rodeo, I'm talking about bulls with a Las Vegas–style twist.”

“But I thought you wanted out of that. Wasn't it why you left Oklahoma to come here?” she asked.

“Didn't say I plan to be the one in the arena,” he said. “I'm too old and busted up for any more of last night's shit, but there's plenty of younger guys gunnin' to do it.”

“I know you already have all the connections with the contractors and riders,” Monica said, “But wouldn't that piss off the pro bull-riding people?”

“Not the way I plan to do it. I'm hoping we can work together,” Ty said. “The last thing I want to do is bite the hand that feeds us, especially here in Vegas.”

“All right, I guess I have an idea of where you want to take this, but how, Ty?”

“I have a few thoughts,” he replied.

She reached across his desk for a set of rolled blueprints. “Is that where these come into play?”

“Those? They don't,” Ty said. “Cassie Alexander drew those up after an early discussion we'd had. She dropped them off the first night of the bull riding, the same night you walked outta here, as I recall.” He regarded her with a frown. “How did you know about them?”

“I was looking for you that night and found your office open. I saw them sitting on the desk, so I took a peek. I admit I was surprised.”

His frown deepened. “How do you mean?”

“These renderings are a near-perfect replica of the bullring in Seville. I thought that was really odd, given you've never been there. In fact, I was shocked to recognize that as the inspiration for the sketches.”

“It isn't what I had in mind,” he said dismissively.

“Why not?” Monica asked. “I think it's a brilliant idea, Ty. I don't think you should blow it off without due consideration. The concept very much fits with Las Vegas. There's a certain cachet to the Old World. Look no further than the Bellagio and the Palazzo for proof.”

“So you actually like this Spanish bullring idea?”

He'd immediately rejected the notion when Cassie had presented her sketches, but Monica's enthusiasm had him wondering if he should take another look. He came around the desk to peruse the renderings she'd rolled out.

“I love it,” she gushed. “I've been to Seville several times. I was even there once during the April fair. Each day they have this fantastic parade of carriages and riders that goes through the city to the Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza. Everyone is all dressed up in traditional Spanish finery—the men in short jackets, skin-tight pants, and
cordobés
hats, and the women in gorgeous flowing dresses. It's so elegant! And then there are the fairgrounds and the riverbank, all covered in rows of beautiful marquee tents where people meet, drink, dance, and eat tapas. It is fabulous.” Her eyes gleamed. “Oh my God! That's it! You could do all of that right here!”

“Do what?” He scratched his chin. “ 'Fraid I'm not following you.”

“You could recreate the Seville Fair! I can see it all now, the bullring, the
casetas
, flamenco dancing, the staff dressed in traditional Spanish costumes. You could combine the rustic Western roots of Las Vegas with a continental flair. This idea is the perfect melding of old and new. I'm thinking we should build the hotel around the bullring, or even build the bullring within the hotel itself.”

“Whoa there, Nelly!” Ty held up both hands with a laugh. “We just went from zero to sixty in nothing flat. Maybe we should just rein back a few steps. That's not at all the direction I was planning to take here.”