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.
He stared at the screen and willed himself not to get excited, not after his hopes had been dashed so many times.
Liam? Are you there?
I’m here. Why should I trust you?
