Vice (3 page)

“Uh…”

“As I expected.” She marched back to her spot on the walkway, raised her sign and called out to passers-by. “Gambling destroys families! Vegas doesn’t need another casino! Shame on you, Liam Doyle!”

Liam loosened his tie as he once again returned to the window and appraised his red-haired enemy. She hadn’t gone away all day, had remained for hours with her tatty sign, repeating the same childish chants, hassling his new customers as they tried to enter Vice.

She’d put up enough of a stink that his marketing team had been forced to improvise. Rather than hold the ribbon-cutting outside, they’d ushered VIP’s and customers toward the expansive main lobby. There, speaking from the mezzanine, rather than the attractive dais outside, Liam had welcomed his first visitors to great applause. He’d even cracked a joke about his lone protestor and had been rewarded with sympathetic laughter.

Despite the general excitement and press about the grand opening, it hadn’t gone as well as he’d envisioned. That pissed him off. He hated when people screwed with his plans, hated losing control.

And she was still there. Even though he’d personally spoken to the police, they wouldn’t do anything to remove the pesky woman. They confirmed she broke no laws, and with worse crimes happening all up and down the Strip, the police department had been unwilling to spare a couple of officers to cart her round ass away. Christ. The experience made him miss the days when the police were in the pocket of men like him. After bribing the right people, he might have actually gotten some service.

Liam stared out his office window, watching Wade try once again to cajole the female picketer. She ignored him and continued to pound the sidewalk, on a mission to drive him nuts. Didn’t she have a job? A life? Maybe someone paid her to harass the tourists as they attempted to have a little fun in his casino?

Maybe that was it. Ever since he broke ground on his first casino, he’d made the old boys of Vegas nervous. He knew for a fact some other casino owners resented him as an upstart, even that Trump asshole.

He’d recognized the art of the deal at a young age, purchasing derelict buildings at a steal and revamping the sites. In attracting a younger, hipper crowd, he’d alienated some of the old guard. Perhaps one of them had decided the best way to force him off the Strip was to hire a ginger hellion with a hefty chip on her shoulder.

Naw, why would they hire just one? Tons of starving actors around to organize something more impressive than that.

“Ignore her,” he almost growled to himself like a tiger prowling its cage. And yet time and again, he was drawn to his window to see if she was still there.

He trudged over to his desk, but didn’t manage to do much more than shuffle the headshots of famous singers he considered booking. He hadn’t yet found the right talent for Vice’s soon-to-be-opened piano bar Decadence. Even major headliners had campaigned for the spot. He didn’t want a superstar, though. He preferred to keep his venues free from the circus-type atmosphere plaguing other Vegas casinos. It was better to remain a little mysterious and sophisticated, and he needed a singer who would add to that ambience.

Having a lunatic on the sidewalk did
not
lend an air of sophistication. Gritting his teeth, he tossed the photos back onto his desk and stalked back to the window.

Wearing an outfit that would have made Xavier salivate with the need to “reinvent” her, she continued to march and watch. Cropped jeans hugged her ass. A striped blouse made her resemble a candy striper. Completing an ensemble which shouldn’t have looked sexy, but somehow did, was a pair of sneakers. When she turned, he spotted how the top two buttons were undone, and wondered what her cleavage would look like up close and personal.

“Jesus Christ. She’s a damned nut job. Stop fantasizing about the shape of her tits, you moron.”

He went back to the headshots at his desk, flipping through them with disinterest, but his thoughts soon turned to the redhead outside. He tossed the entire group of photos into a drawer with disgust.

She’d messed with his day. Now she was messing with his brain. Time to act.

He removed his tie, suit vest and cufflinks. He then rolled up his shirt sleeves and unfastened the top two buttons on his shirt. Content that he resembled most men at the end of a hard day’s work, he marched to the elevator, summoned it and got inside.

As it dropped, he grew aware of how his heart thumped in his chest, but attributed it to heading into battle. He smiled, more than ready to spar with her.

Once outside, he put a finger to his lips when Wade spotted him. His security specialist nodded, and hustled back inside, more than ready for a break. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Liam approached her.

The first thing he noticed was how the late-day sun shone on her golden-red highlights. He’d only ever seen that color in one other place, in the sky, just as the sun dipped below the horizon. How was he supposed to maintain control when she looked like a fucking sunset?

He meandered toward her and forced a smile. “You seem to have had a busy day.”

She whipped around and her eyes widened. He saw her give him a quick once-over. Did she like what she saw? Interesting. There was some perverse satisfaction in that.

“It has been busy.” She narrowed her hazel eyes at him. “Do you work here?”

So, she didn’t recognize him. Good. “Yes, ma’am, I do.” He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded, noting how her gaze dropped to his exposed forearms. Her lips parted. Clearly, working out had its merits. “And word inside is you’ve upset the big boss.”

Her nostrils flared as she dragged her gaze away from his arms. “About time.” She put her sign down and picked up her purse. “Do you know Liam Doyle?”

“I’ve heard one or two things about him.”

She stepped closer and her lips did the most amazing thing, curling into a flirtatious semi-smile. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share them with me? The other guy kept on sucking up about him as if he was wearing a wire.” She paused. “You’re not wearing a wire, are you?”

He laughed out loud. He couldn’t help it. This was way too much fun. He sidled close to her, leaned in conspiratorially, and put a hand on her elbow. Her very soft elbow. “I’m not wearing a wire. But are you sure you want to know the truth about Doyle? I don’t know if you can handle it.”

She gawked at him and then at his lips. Her voice came out in a whisper. “Try me.”

He murmured in her ear, taking note of her lilac scent. “Well, I hear at midnight he sprouts black wings and horns. And he’s always searching for innocent maidens to add to his coven.” He bit on his bottom lip, suddenly wishing he was gnawing on hers.

At first, her eyelids did this fluttery thing that made his imported pants spring to life. But then she blinked and began to laugh. “And here I thought I was dealing with a mere businessman. I didn’t realize Doyle was cousins with Lucifer.”

“What’s your name?”

She regarded him from out of the side of her eye, her mouth still bearing the same flirty grin. “What’s yours?”

“Consider me a friend who wants to give you some advice.”

The smile disappeared from her face. “And what would that be?”

“Don’t mess with Liam Doyle. He doesn’t take to it kindly.”

The coquettish shine in her eyes hardened. “Is that a threat?”

“No, sugar. That’s not my style.”

“What exactly do you do here? Are you in security?”

“Never mind that.” He waved his hand. “Look, you’ve had your fun. Why don’t you run along home now?”

She reached for her sign and tucked it under her arm. “I will go where I damn well please. And you can tell your friend Mr. Doyle to expect me tomorrow. Maybe next time he’ll be brave enough to confront me himself.” She turned on her heel and walked down the manicured pathway leading to the taxi bay.

Liam stared at her ass as she walked away. Brave?

Game on, sugar.
He’d show her brave.

As promised, she returned the next day, bright and early. At first Liam ignored her, but by mid-day, he finally leaned on his windowsill and allowed himself to take her in. Trying to dispel the annoying case of lust that had plagued him ever since talking to her, he pried his gaze away and looked at the people around her.

She had attracted a little crowd of gawkers today. Word must have spread about the asylum escapee holding vigil outside Vice. Some of the bystanders had their camera phones out. Wonderful. She could end up going viral. A few patrons had already begun to complain. It wouldn’t be long before she started driving them away.

Reporters from the local news stations had begun asking questions, too. That was perhaps the worst thing possible. He’d done his best to deflect attention away from the red-haired elf and toward the delights of Vice, but he hated that she’d hijacked some of his press. He watched as yet another press vehicle pulled into his lot. Shit. Was that one of the hounds from that crap Vegas morning radio show? He did not subscribe to the “any publicity is good publicity” school of thought. Before long, he’d have Kardashians begging invites from him.

All this because of one woman. One.

He needed to get rid of her, but Wade had proven unwilling to do the job. Dammit. Wade might patrol the casino like a bloodthirsty gladiator, putting the fear of God into all would-be cheats and hustlers, but it seemed he had a soft spot for the ladies. Or this lady at any rate. After spending the better part of his day talking to her yesterday, and dealing with her again today, Wade was practically friends with her.

It was about time he handled this situation himself, and this time he wouldn’t withhold his identity. She wanted to talk to Liam Doyle? Well, she was about to get her wish.

If his business and his life had taught him anything, it was everyone had a price. You could buy anything with cold-hard cash. Even absolution.

He could tell she’d been attracted to him yesterday, even though their conversation had ended on a sour note. He’d seen her pupils and the way she wet her lips while flirting with him. If he had to, he’d use that attraction to his advantage.

Hell, he might even enjoy it.

He called Wade on the phone and told him to bring the redhead inside. As soon as he made the summons, all his blood seemed to rush to his crotch.

Well, damn.

When did his crotch develop a taste for confrontation?

Chapter Two

The doorman smiled at Kate, greeting her as she walked in with Wade. “Welcome to Vice.”

“Um, thanks.”

You don’t have to be nice to these people
, she told herself.
If you let down your guard, they’ll have you drunk at the roulette table before you know it.

Even still, when the guard held open the door for her, she thanked him. It was just in her nature. Yes, she might have channeled her inner badass for a while, but she’d always been a mild-mannered woman, the kind who said “excuse me” when she bumped into people. Life may have dealt her some shitty cards, but she’d always believed in being polite.

Shitty cards. Even her inner dialogue seemed rife with gambling metaphors. Just another reason New Horizons remained so important to her. She’d often felt used and undervalued, but the group had taught her that her father’s gambling addiction was not her fault. She’d learned those lessons so well she’d been given her own group to lead.

New Horizons wasn’t run by doctors or psychologists. It had begun as a grassroots collective who shared tragic circumstances. As her mentor had once explained, all one really needed to help others was empathy. For people such as herself, Kate had loads of empathy and advice.

Even if she had trouble putting it into practice herself.

However, since she’d turned her anger toward the unlikely target of Liam Doyle, she felt she had a new purpose in life. A way to make amends. She might not be able to fix her own life, but she could help Lisa and others like her. At the very least, it was a way to strike back at the addiction that had razed her family.

As she walked with Wade, she wondered about the man who’d talked to her at the end of the day yesterday. The amazingly-edible man who’d made her doubt her own senses. He’d warned her off in a deep voice that had scared her a little, but made her want to draw nearer. That man was the closest thing she’d ever seen to a living, breathing orgasm. She wondered what he did in the casino. Would she see him inside?

It was best to forget him. She didn’t care for men who had the whole pompous, Alpha male thing down to a fine art anyway. The sort who looked as if they’d turn you over their knee before relinquishing the slightest bit of control.

She followed the security guard into the casino, shaking her head and trying not to gawk. However, it was hard not to. She’d been in a lot of casinos, but only the old ones on Fremont Street. Her dad had dragged her along many times when she was a kid, desperate for a fix and unable to wait for her mom to come home. He’d tuck her into a chair at the slot next to him and proceed to ignore her for hours while she sucked back second-hand smoke.

She’d seen things no kid should see, and had spent every waking moment since trying not to fix her gaze on the inside of a casino. No easy task in Las Vegas.

Vice seemed nothing like her memories of those old, smoke-filled casinos. Oh, there was smoke. It wafted over their heads like a second hazy ceiling. Allergic to the smell, she coughed into her hands a couple of times, but it did little to dispel the feeling she was slowly choking.

Ignoring the painful prickle in her throat, she looked around the immense room. Black-tinted windows and an absence of clocks gave a sense of time standing still. Soft LED light displays flashed everywhere, bright but never gaudy, guiding the unfortunate to their next sin. Well-dressed men and women flirted over their fancy cocktails.

She wasn’t sure what was prettier, the people or the drinks. Wonderful aromas teased her from various corners of the cavernous space, temporarily dispelling the smell of smoke, and she spied the names of some of the city’s best restaurants over various doors.

Plush chairs and couches littered the rooms, tempting people to sit and spend money on more things they couldn’t afford. Expensive artwork hung on every wall, and gorgeous bronze sculptures of nude goddesses were perched on several pedestals in the lobby. She eyed one of the sculptures, raising her brows at the artfully-upturned nipples of Venus.

It was beautiful in a decadent sort of way. She struggled to keep up with the security guard, almost losing her way around a couple of corners. Clearly designed to make one meander, a gambler could spend hours in the facility and never see it all.

Despite the sense of titillation it created, it remained her version of hell.

It felt like hours before they made it to a private elevator. She snatched a grateful breath as they escaped the smoke. The guard swiped a couple of cards to give him clearance, and pressed the number 4 button.

Kate didn’t say anything, suddenly feeling out of her league, and just stared at the polished elevator door. As the automated voice announced each floor with the alluring finesse of a phone-sex operator, Kate felt perspiration gather on her upper lip. With a discreet hand, she wiped it off.

It was no secret Liam Doyle was a very rich man. Richer than she could ever hope to be. Little was known about his early life, but he was regarded as a
wunderkind
, the Mark Zuckerberg of gaming. Not that she made a point of reading about him, his name was just that hard to avoid.

He probably came from money and had everything handed to him on a silver platter. No doubt his attitude matched his trust fund. He probably sprinkled caviar on his corn flakes. And here she was, the first person in her working-class family to go to college. What on earth would she say to the wily entrepreneur? Uh, hey, Mr. Casino Owner. How about closing up shop?

Yeah, that would go over well.

No, she would simply impart to him, in a reasonable manner, how establishments such as his exploited the weaknesses of others. As a leading member of the gaming community in the gambling capital of the world, he had a responsibility to those left behind. People like Lisa. People like herself. What was he doing for them?

When the elevator opened, she expected her escort to show her into a stuffy waiting room and leave her there alone to sweat for a few hours. However, the door opened into an open-concept office that seemed to take up a whole floor. With its professional kitchen area, fireplace and cozy leather couches, it resembled a grandiose loft more than an office. Did Doyle live here too?

Beyond the large office, she spied a few closed doors, no doubt leading to the private chambers where he seduced young maidens. She stifled a snort as she imagined cold, stone torture chambers behind those doors, with racks and whips and other such implements.

For God’s sake, you sound delirious now.

Wade showed her to one of the couches and motioned for her to sit. Eyeing the expensive Italian leather, she chose to stand. Warriors of old preferred to hold the high ground, and so would she.

“Fine,” Wade grunted. “I’ll get Mr. Doyle. Please wait here.” She watched as he escaped behind a door, shutting it behind him. He came back a moment later, threw her a look, and left in the elevator.

As the long seconds ticked away, Kate shuffled on her feet. She tried not to look around, tried not to notice the gleaming patina on the stainless steel appliances and the massive antique desk, but his obvious riches were hard to ignore. Was that an original Picasso on the wall?

She smoothed down her tunic and toed a smudge off one of her Keds. She turned to one of the picture windows. “Don’t be nervous,” she said to herself. “So he has money. So what? He’s just a man, not a fricking Pharaoh.”

Footsteps sounded behind her. “You’re right. If you want a Pharaoh, you can try the Luxor down the road, but I’m pretty sure they don’t have one either. And if they do, he’s just an actor.”

His deep voice stirred something inside her. She chalked it up to righteous indignation and spun on her feet to face him, ready to wage war.

No. It couldn’t be. Not
him
.

She stared at Doyle, mouth open, to make sure she could trust her eyes. But yes, everything was the same. Silky brown hair, cut short. Blue eyes like those of a husky. Tall, with substantial muscles hiding under his designer suit.

Dragging her gaze away from his arms, she forced herself to make eye contact again. His features stymied her with their rakish perfection. With the hint of a beard dotting his sculpted jawline and the shimmer of amusement in his eyes, he resembled a soap opera villain: the kind who let vulnerable women dangle in his clutches.

The kind who played games.

She’d have to be careful. She could tell he was a man who was accustomed to getting what he wanted.
Well, not this time, bucko.

“You,” she said on a breath.

“Me.” His enticing blue eyes traveled up and down the length of her, one eyebrow raised in frank admiration. “You obviously didn’t do your homework.”

Outrage surged through her system. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were yesterday? Why did you let me embarrass myself like that?”

The smirk disappeared, to be replaced by a mild expression of boredom. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. I always try to size up the competition.”

Doyle walked toward her, his large hand extended. The light in his eyes now hinted not so much at merriment as it did danger. She caught a whiff of her favorite men’s cologne by Michael Kors. She’d bought it for an old boyfriend once, but it smelled way better on Liam, as if it were an extension of his persona.

His entire ensemble, designer suit, pressed pants, and navy blue paisley tie, reeked of power and privilege that drew her like a moth to a flame. Damn, she’d always been a sucker for a man in a good suit.
Get a hold of yourself, Kate. He’s hot, but so is the Devil.

He kept his hand out. “Please allow me to introduce myself properly. I’m Liam Doyle.” His gaze drifted toward her neckline and back up again. “I think you’ve heard of me.”

Wishing she didn’t have to, she took his hand. Electricity shot through her and that damned perspiration appeared on her upper lip again. His grip was that of a man who took what he wanted, when he wanted.

She held her head high. “Kate Callender.”

He held her hand for a moment, his gaze locked on hers. He then gestured toward the counter where a teak tray was laden with biscuits and what smelled like expensive coffee. No Folgers crystals for this guy. “Coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“Tea?”

“No.”

“So we’re done with the niceties, then?”

“I didn’t come here for niceties.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place.” Liam sat on one of the couches, motioning for her to do the same. She continued to stand. Something in his wolf-like gaze hardened even further. “Ms. Callender, why are you picketing my casino?”

His direct question set her even more on edge. She cleared her throat. “I have a right to protest what I see as wrong.”

His grim smile might have made a grown man sweat, but she didn’t look away. “Let me put this another way. Las Vegas is home to numerous casinos. Why mine?”

“If I’m trying to make a point, it only stands to reason I’d pick the most popular casino. I suppose I should congratulate you. Only open for two days, and Vice is already a hit. You must be so proud.”

“Yes. Despite having my grand opening spoiled.”

“Oh.” She inclined her head in mock sympathy. “I’m
so
not sorry.”

He peered at her, narrowing his eyes. “Are you a Bible-thumper?”

“No.”

“Campaigning politician?

Despite her unease, she laughed. “Do I
look
like Hilary Clinton?”

He looked her up and down, as if her vocation were scrawled somewhere on her and he simply needed to find it. “Aspiring actress? This is probably a publicity stunt to get you viral on YouTube? Trying to get an audition here as a showgirl? Sorry, I don’t use them. The whole concept is dated and demeaning to my female clientele.”

Okay, he got some points for that statement. “I’m not a dancer. I’m a singer.”

It was his turn to laugh. Despite the bitter tone, his deep timber called to her. “Same difference.” He stood. “I’m not auditioning you, Ms. Callender, as fun as it would be to get you on the casting couch.” And there he lost those points again. “Have a nice day.”

“Wait! I’m not trying to get an audition. You need to listen to me.” In a nervous reaction, she fingered the pearl choker at her neck, the one thing she had left of her mother. The one thing her father hadn’t pawned.

Doyle turned back to her, one brow raised. “No, I don’t.” He eyed how she gripped her choker. “So you can take your fake pearl necklace and your sneakers and your attitude and go home.”

Her
attitude? “No. You let me up here. I’m not leaving until you hear me out.” She let go of the choker and let her hands fall to her sides. “And my pearls aren’t fake.”

“Why are you here, Ms. Callender? Did you lose money at one of my casinos on your last night out with the girls?”

She didn’t want to dignify that with a response, but a smug statement like that couldn’t go unchallenged. “I’m not a gambler.”

He leaned against the armrest of the cushy couch and surveyed her through hooded eyes. “Ah, and now we come to the crux of the matter. So, you’re a do-gooder. Let me guess. Gam-Anon?”

“New Horizons.”

“Never heard of them.”

“That doesn’t mean we don’t exist. And unfortunately, there are lots of us. Far too many. What does that tell you, Mr. Doyle?”

Liam’s lips twitched into a smile that appeared slightly more friendly than his poker face, as if he enjoyed their banter. He loosened his tie, but his focused gaze continued to grate on her nerves. She stared at the strip of indigo silk at his throat, and was struck by a bizarre and unbidden image.

Her, on his bed. Her hands bound with his expensive tie.

The strange pounding in her head must have been her racing heart.
Where did that come from? Focus, Kate, focus.

“I’m not just here because it’s something I believe in. I’m here because my group gets bigger every goddamn week,” she said, concentrating on the task at hand, rather than Liam Doyle’s bed. Lisa’s sad face appeared in her mind, as well as those of her children, the ones who’d spent the last two nights crying for their daddy. Kate blinked away the tears which threatened and aimed her burning gaze at Doyle. “I don’t respect your work, Mr. Doyle. And I don’t respect you.”