Hell on Heels (4 page)

Ty nodded. “That he is, ma'am. He's got a heart of gold.”

“So what exactly do
you
do for Brandt Morgan?” she asked.

“When I was younger, I ran Tom's cattle operation. Now I run the hotel. It did all right for a while, but times have changed. It's why he made the trip out here, so we could talk about renovations and expansion. He collapsed right after our meeting.”

Renovation? Expansion? What was that all about? The very words sounded alarms. Tom had a stroke immediately after the meeting? What the hell had happened?

All of a sudden the pieces began to line up. Tom had come to Vegas to meet with Ty about the floundering hotel, a place he should have dumped years ago. He probably only kept it for the sake of this hanger-on. Rich and powerful men always attracted leeches—and that was her initial assessment of Ty Morgan. Evan at least knew how to get rid of the ones that weren't somehow useful. Tom, on the other hand, hid a soft heart under his tough exterior.

“Is there anything I can do for him?” Ty asked, casting another worried look over Tom. His anxiety appeared genuine, but then again, if Tom was his gravy train, he had real cause for concern.

She shook her head. “No. I'm afraid there's nothing either of us can do until he wakes up.”

“I suppose we could sit with him in shifts,” Ty volunteered.

“That won't be necessary, Mr. Morgan. I intend to remain with him as long as they'll let me.”

“But you need to rest sometime, don't you? Where are you staying?” he asked.

“At the MGM Skylofts. Unfortunately, it's looking like I'll need to find something a bit more long-term.” The ramifications of the situation hit her again in a nauseating wave.

“You're welcome to the owner's suite at the hotel—”

“No, thank you,” she quickly rejected the offer. Although Tom had long ago issued a standing invitation to use the owner's suite at the Hotel Rodeo, there was no way in hell Monica was going to slum it when there were so many better options available.

“Got a ride?” Ty asked. “I can give you a lift to your hotel if you need one.”

“That's not necessary. I have a driver on call.”

His brow wrinkled. “You sure there's nothing you need?”

“Nothing,” she replied tersely. “Thank you.”

“Then I guess I'll be heading out.” He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “There's my cell number. You'll call me if there's any change?”

She nodded. “I'll call. You and I will need to meet and talk very soon anyway.”

“Oh yeah?” His tawny brows rose. “What about?”

“You should be aware that I'll be stepping in to handle all of my father's business affairs.”

His expression shuttered. “When was that decided?”

“Ten years ago when Tom adopted me,” she replied. “He rewrote his will establishing advance directives in the event something like this ever happened. He also appointed me as his health-care agent with full power of attorney. Right now my primary concern is taking care of him, but once Tom is out of danger, my next order of business will be with Brandt Morgan Entertainment.” She paused, studying his face. “I will be conducting a detailed review of the company's balance sheet. Is that a problem for you, Mr. Morgan?”

All sign of warmth extinguished from his hazel eyes. “If there's something on your mind, Ms. Brandt, I'm standing right here.”

“All right, cowboy. You want it straight? I'll give it to you. You and I both know my father is a very wealthy man. He's also now completely incapacitated. I have to wonder what
really
happened at this meeting of yours. What caused his blood pressure to skyrocket to the point of stroking out in the parking lot?”

He towered over her, his face flushed. “You think
I
had something to do with that?”

“I
think
the circumstances are highly suspicious.”

His tone was suddenly steely. “So now you want me to hand over all the corporate records?”

“Yes. Given the circumstances, you'll have to forgive me if I don't accept everything you say at face value.”

He took a breath, opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again. He jammed his hat back on his head and made to leave, but then turned back with his hand on the door. “Look, Ms. Brandt. I gotta get something off my chest right here and now.”

“And what's that?” Monica asked warily.

“I get that you trust me about as much as a rattlesnake dozing in your boot. And part of me appreciates your suspicions 'cause you don't know me from Adam, but what
you
need to understand is the man in that bed right there,” he jerked his head toward Tom, “means every bit as much to me as he does to you—probably even more, given that I've known him twice as long. Hell, he practically raised me.”

“I'm sorry if my style is too direct for you, cowboy, but I'm only acting in my father's best interest.”

“I've got nothing to hide,” he said. “Since we both want what's best for him, you can consider me at your disposal.” He tipped his hat and walked out.

She looked after him, thinking
disposal
might be exactly the right word.

T
wo weeks after Tom's stroke, Ty was still reeling with disbelief. In a matter of days, Monica Brandt had managed to turn his entire life inside out. As soon as Tom was taken out of critical care and moved to rehab, she'd wasted no time in making good on her threat, waltzing right to the hotel's corporate floor and moving herself lock, stock, and barrel into the CEO's office—the one right next to his. Managing Tom's affairs was one thing, but her patronizing attitude was just too damned much!

Almost from the start, Ty had felt a powerful antipathy for Monica Brandt. He'd wanted to like her for Tom's sake, but he preferred warm, soft women, and there was nothing remotely warm or soft about her. Of course, he'd probably have viewed her through a much kinder lens if she hadn't given him the cold shoulder from the start.

Before meeting her, Ty had imagined Tom's daughter as one of those uptight, intellectually superior Harvard MBA types. As it turned out, he'd pegged her pretty damned close. Too bad, really. She wouldn't be hard on the eyes if she didn't always look like she'd been sucking lemons.

What burned his ass most of all was her unmerited mistrust of him. He'd done nothing to deserve it. Monica oozed suspicion from her every pore. He had to wonder what asshole had made her that way. Women were a lot like horses in his experience. Handled right, they were sweet, soft, and eager to please, but the wrong set of hands could destroy their trust forever.

Initially he'd wanted to help her, if only for Tom's sake, but when she'd asked for—or, better said,
demanded
—the company's financial records, he'd promptly obliged her, with eight years' worth. He'd thought the towering monstrosity of accounting records would keep her out of his hair for a while. He was wrong. Just this morning she'd sent him a barrage of text messages that read about as friendly as a court subpoena. Hell, the way she was going about this financial review, he half-expected
that
would be next.

He'd held on as long as he could, but it was time to face the fact that Tom was never coming back and the agreement they'd reached over lunch was worth about as much as the air they'd wasted talking about it. Monica had no vested interest in the place and no reason for making good on Tom's promise—which pretty much left Ty high and dry.

His phone buzzed again. He didn't have to look to know who it was. Her last three messages had demanded a face-to-face that he'd been avoiding for days. He'd stalled in the hope of getting his shit together, but no viable prospects had yet surfaced. Although he'd rather be skinned alive and hung by the balls than continue working for Monica, he also didn't want to go back to ranching in Oklahoma. Too many bad memories resided there—along with his ex.

Ty entered the elevator mumbling curses, jammed the button three times, and then gave the steel door a solid kick with his boot. He followed with another just for good measure. He was his own man, dammit, not some lackey at her beck and call. He wasn't used to answering to anybody but Tom. And Tom had trusted him. Monica didn't. Although he'd managed to ignore her summons for the past forty-eight hours, he couldn't put this off any longer. The time of reckoning was at hand.

 

Monica massaged her temples with a groan. She was exhausted after two sleepless weeks and her head throbbed unbearably even after four Excedrins. Although Tom had regained consciousness, and the neurologist had declared him out of imminent danger, he still faced months of rehabilitation. It was unlikely he'd ever speak again and his right side paralysis would severely limit his mobility. On top of that, the doctors had warned that even with prophylactic medications he was still at risk for a repeat stroke, especially in the first year. Her heart ached that he'd never be the same man.

On top of her concerns for Tom, she was also depressed for herself. She'd struggled for six years to earn a place of respect in the New York financial world, but now it seemed she had no choice but to walk away from it all. It was still hard to comprehend the unexpected turn her life had taken—hotshot investment banker one day, and the next the acting CEO of a floundering Las Vegas hotel catering to hicks!

She'd briefly debated hiring a private nursing team for Tom and heading back to New York, but she just couldn't abandon him like that. Not when he'd made such an effort to become part of her life. Only Tom had ever given her a sense of family. Sure, he was proud of her achievement, but she was more than that to him. Why else would he have adopted her months after her eighteenth birthday? He was the only one who'd ever genuinely cared about her.

Her mother had been only too eager to palm her off on nannies and then ship her off to boarding school. She'd only reappeared in Monica's life because of Evan. Monica still hadn't dared break the news to her social-climbing mother about their split. That call would only induce the migraine she was barely holding at bay. She probably should make the call, but Vivian would hardly care about Tom.

She glared at the mountain of financial records the cowboy had dumped on her desk and then flicked a glance at her diamond-bezel Tag Heuer Aquaracer. He was late. She'd been trying to meet with him for the past three days, but he'd avoided all contact with her after delivering the reports. No wonder. It hadn't taken long to decide what to do with the hotel after she saw the state of the financials. The only logical move was to unload it.

Monica snatched up her phone and then threw it back down again. She'd texted him several times already, but he hadn't picked up her calls or answered her texts. Now he was fifteen minutes late.

She inhaled, counted to ten, and then exhaled with a huff of exasperation. Was this just some passive-aggressive strategy to unsettle her? Maybe. Then again, she was probably giving Ty Morgan way too much credit—the dumb cowboy probably didn't know
how
to tell time.

 

Ty stepped off the elevator and made his way to her office, his booted feet striding with singular purpose. He didn't knock but walked right in. Although good manners dictated he doff his hat for a lady, he tipped it instead. He'd always had a way with women, but this one was an exception to every rule. “You wanted to talk to me, Ms. Brandt?”

“Yes, I did.” She rose and came around the desk. “We need to discuss your employment.”

She wore a very short black dress. He couldn't help noticing that it had ridden up high enough to reveal a mighty fine pair of legs—tanned and toned. He was quick to can those thoughts, reminding himself she was a bitch on heels and probably sported a dick bigger than his under that skirt.

He gave a hard laugh. “Then this is going to be an awfully short conversation, Ms. Brandt, because I quit.”

Her brows pulled together. “What did you say?”

“I came here to resign.”

“I don't think so.” Her gray eyes narrowed. “You can't just walk out on me without notice.”

“The hell I can't. Just try and stop me.” He dropped a heavy key chain on her desk with a clatter and slapped his security badges down beside them.

“Oh no you don't, cowboy!” She confronted him, toe-to-toe, but even in four-inch stiletto heels, the top of her head barely touched his chin. “You have to give me sixty days' notice.”

“Sue me,” he shot back before turning on his boot heel and heading for the door.

She intercepted him, proving surprisingly agile on her stilts. “Come on now, I recognize a ploy when I see one. You can screw yourself if you think I'm going to let you use a threat of resignation to extort money from me.”

“Maybe that's how you New Yorkers low-crawl one another, but it ain't how I operate.”

“Look,
Tex
—” She flashed that annoying Ivy League smirk.

“It's Ty,” he growled.

“Whatever.” She waved. “You have a vested interest in this operation. If you cooperate with me, I'll ensure you come out with a fair share. I'm even willing to offer you a generous severance package when we're done—a golden parachute, if you will—but you need to keep things running until I can disperse the assets.”

“Sweetheart, you can disperse my
ass
along with everything else. 'Cause I just resigned.”

Her mouth compressed into a tight line. “Listen to me good, cowboy. I need you to stay long enough for me to find a buyer. If you walk out on me like this, I swear I'll hammer you to the wall.”

Yup. Based on that claim, she had a dick all right and a set of brass balls to go with it.

She extended her index finger either to poke him in the chest or maybe just to make a point, but he grabbed her wrist before she got a chance. “I don't take kindly to threats,” he said, deliberately soft and slow.

“It's not a threat. It's a promise. Now let go of me.”

He released her.

“Does this mean we have an understanding?” she asked.

“Darlin', I'm not the one who's having trouble
understanding
.” Why the hell couldn't he get through to her? He shook his head with a feigned look of sympathy. “Poor Tom. His hotshot daughter's not just slow-witted but hard of hearing, too.”

“Come on now,” she ignored his taunt. “There must be
something
I can offer to change your mind.”

“My, my, Ms. Brandt, that sounds awfully close to begging.”

“Is that what you want? For me to get on my knees and beg?”

“It sure would be a nice start, but maybe you can go ahead and kiss my ass while you're down there.”

She arched a brow.

“You set the tone here, Ms. Brandt, not me, but I beg pardon if I offended.” He doffed his hat. “I shoulda said I cordially
invite
you to kiss my ass.”

“Ten grand,” she blurted. “Stay sixty days and I'll give you a ten-thousand-dollar bonus.”

Ty shook his head. “This ain't about money. This is real simple, Ms. Brandt. I just plain don't want to work for you.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Why? Because I'm a woman?”

“That's not it at all,” he replied mildly. “I got no problem with smart women seeking advancement in the world, but there's something terribly wrong when a female makes it her mission to castrate every man she meets.” He cocked his head with speculation. “Do you maybe play for the other team, Ms. Brandt?”

Her face flushed and her gray eyes flashed. “No, I don't
play for the other team
.”

“Just calling it the way I see it. You may be successful, but you sure as hell aren't
satisfied
.”

She exhaled a huff. “That's just like a man to try to exert sexual dominance when he can't compete on an intellectual basis. It only proves you feel threatened.”

Ty raised a hand. “Let me make myself perfectly clear on this point, Ms. Brandt. Your success has nothing to do with it. My problem with working for you has
everything
to do with your hostility, mistrust, and general lack of respect for the way anyone else does things. That's just for starters. I'm sure I can come up with a lot more reasons without straining my brain any.”

She shrugged. “All right. I tried to strong-arm you and it didn't work. So now I'm willing to make a deal. Let's lay the real issue on the table, Ty. I can't negotiate with you if I don't know what you really want.”

Ty yanked his hat off, cursing under his breath. “Lady, you can suck my dick.”

Monica jutted out her chin, meeting him stare for stare. “All right, cowboy, sitting or standing?”

“'Scuse me?” He gaped, unable to believe what had just come out of her mouth.

“The blow job,” she repeated without batting an eye. “How do you want it?”

His gaze instinctively riveted to her mouth. It was painted a peachy shade, but it wasn't a particularly inviting mouth, set in a hard line like it was. Still, he wasn't all that particular after weeks of abstinence. He stirred to life—until he thought of her teeth. His balls retracted. The woman had a mouthful, and he was damn sure she wouldn't hesitate to use 'em.

“Tell you what,” Monica continued, cool as ice, “I'll give you a choice. You can have either the ten grand
or
the blow job—as long as you stay on for at least sixty days.”

Fuck.
It seemed they were destined to continue this pissing contest.

Ty upped the ante. “What if I want both?”

Her expression remained bland, but her eyes flickered. “You want a blow job
and
a bonus?”

He suppressed a smirk as he watched the wheels turn behind her eyes. She thought she had him by the short ones, but she'd made a tactical error. He'd been in Vegas a long time and sure as shit knew better than her how to play the long game.

“Hell yeah, sweetheart. I was raised to shoot for the moon.”

“Twenty grand,” she blurted. “Take it or leave it.”

So
that
was her game. She'd counted on him jumping at the money. Now that he had her figured, he was gonna enjoy the hell out of making her squirm.

“What made you think I was holdin' out for more money?” He returned a slow and taunting smile. “Hell, your last offer seemed more than fair to me—I accept it.”