Hell on Heels

by Victoria Vane

  “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.

  Chapter Four

  Two 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.”

  Chapter Five

  Stunned that he’d called her bluff, Monica now found her back to the wall. She studied him intently, scrambling to figure out what made him tick. She almost never underestimated an adversary. In her experience, all men were motivated by one of two things, money or sex. Given his financial state, offering twenty grand had seemed a sure bet.

  How could she have so grossly miscalculated him? She needed this cowboy to keep things running until she could line up a buyer. And that could take time.

  She swallowed. Hard. “Look, when I offered you . . . I-I never really thought . . .”

  “You never thought what?” He smirked. “That I’d take you up on it? I guess you should have considered that possibility before you threw it out there.”

  She bit her lip. “Are you saying you’d really pass up all that money just to humiliate me?”

  His demeanor softened almost imperceptibly. “I never came with the intention of humiliating you, Ms. Brandt. That was all your doing. You’re the one who resorted to rudeness and threats. I’ve done nothing here but follow your lead.”

  “All right. I concede your point.” She dropped her gaze, hoping a meeker approach might appeal to his sense of chivalry. “Look, Ty, I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot, but please try to understand how stressful this situation has been for me.”

  “Apology accepted,” he said, “but I still ain’t working for you.”

  “But it’s not fair of you to just walk out on me like this,” she said, “Not when you know I need your help.”

  “I tried to help . . . initially, but my help is not really what you want, is it?

  “Tell me what I need to do to make it right, Ty.”

  “There’s something you gotta understand here. It was never my intent to leave you high and dry, but you led us down this path. My decision has nothing to do with money and everything to do with your mistrust and suspicions.”

  “But I just apologized for that. C’mon, Ty, there’s too much on the line here to let personal animosities get in the way.”

  “This matter was decided before I ever walked in here. I don’t know how much clearer I can make myself. I. Don’t. Want. To. Work. For. You.”

  Damn it all! She’d always held her own in the boardroom. She’d even managed to one-up Evan in the end, but the normal business tactics of coercion and intimidation had completely failed with Ty. He was the proverbial mountain that wouldn’t be moved. She’d never felt at such a disadvantage before, which made no sense. Didn’t she hold all the cards?

  “Quit playing games with me,” she snapped. Admittedly she’d screwed up, but she wasn’t ready to
grovel. “Tell me what you want.”

  “You really wanna know what I want?”

  “Yes,” she hissed.

  “I want to rebuild this hotel just as Tom and I agreed to do the day he had the stroke.”

  “How can I know you’re even telling me the truth? How can I be certain that discussion wasn’t the cause of his stroke?”

  His lips curved into a smug smile. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me. Is that really so hard for you, Ms. Brandt?”

  “Trust you?” She gave a derisive snort. “That’s like issuing a blank check. Do you think I’m crazy?”

  He cocked his head. “To be honest, I really don’t know what to make of you.”

  She blew out an exasperated breath. “Then that makes two of us. I don’t understand you either.”

  “I’m not that hard to figure. In fact, I’m well known as a straight shooter. So is Tom. If this is the way you’re gonna go about things, you don’t know him at all. If you want me to stay on, you’ll honor his wishes. Those are my terms.”

  “That’s not what we’re negotiating here! I’m selling this place, whether you like it or not.”

  “If that’s the case, we’re already done talking.” He turned to go.

  She grabbed his sleeve. “Wait! How do you think Tom would feel if he knew you walked out on me?”

  His expression darkened. “Don’t try to make this about Tom.”

  “Why not?” she argued. “You just did.”

  “This isn’t about Tom,” he insisted.

  “Look, this situation doesn’t work for either of us. Surely we can come to a resolution.”

  “I want to rebuild,” he said. “You want to sell. I don’t see much room for compromise.”