What the Bachelor Gets

by Kristina Knight

  In school, it was Gage who made sure she was included in the parties, who helped her study for tests, and who, one time she could never forget, had danced with her in the school gym. It had been heaven.

  And now she’d been sitting across from him for less than fifteen minutes, and she was already wondering how long it would take to get that crooked tie from around his neck, what the muscles beneath his suit would feel like against her hands.

  She definitely, definitely needed to get out of here before she did something really dumb.

  Gage’s voice pulled her back into the conversation. “Your being recently divorced has no impact on our decision. You not using a name local people would recognize—and trust—does.”

  “Being a Holliday isn’t the same as being a Reeves.” Callie twisted her hands in her lap. “My dad and yours might have been the best of friends, but my dad raised working cattle horses. He didn’t supply bulls to the big rodeos or leather to the best designers.”

  “He is still a connection, and his ranch may not have made millions, but he was still respected in the ranching community. A few of the banks you approached could have been influenced by that.”

  “While your father was respected not only by the ranchers, but by the big casino bosses.” Callie shook her head. “I love my dad, but he was better at dreaming the big dreams than putting them into action. A little loan from a little bank outside Vegas would only be a stopgap measure. I know my business can succeed; I just need more help getting to the finish line.”

  Gage sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. The motion made his shoulders appear even broader, and Callie bit down on her inner cheek. This was so not the time to think with her hormones.

  “The notorious Reeves family, with a prosperous ranch that fed our mother’s gambling addiction and put our father in an early grave. Built back up with the sweat of my brothers and me.”

  “Like I said, it carries weight.”

  “But you didn’t use that connection, either.”

  Callie crossed and uncrossed her legs under the table. “How could I? I didn’t know you were part of the angel fund.”

  “But you wouldn’t have, even if you had known.”

  There was no need to answer, but she couldn’t stop herself. “No, I wouldn’t. Hollidays don’t ask for favors.”

  “So don’t ask your old friend Gage for a favor. Tell him why he should invest in a spa when Vegas is filled with them already.” His voice held a challenge, and God help her, she had to answer.

  “The difference between all those existing salons and my spa is me. I know every single aspect of the business. At my first job in Philly I was technically a masseur, but it was a small shop so I did a little of everything: cleaning, setting up rooms, even advertising. I studied under a great shiatsu teacher and incorporated some acupuncture when I got my license. By the time I graduated from business school I was managing the place. And when I moved back to Vegas, I worked for a while at the Timber Spa, so I know the nuances of the Las Vegas market as well.” Callie leaned forward and clasped her hands around her knee. “I know I can build my little business into something great. A business that doesn’t demean its workers and that offers good value to its customers. We’ll have the traditional massage options, but we’ll add aroma therapy, acupuncture, and some other holistic options once our clientele is built up.”

  Gage waited a beat. “And?” He drew out the word.

  Callie clenched and unclenched her jaw. “And I need help.” She hated admitting that. Almost as much as she hated asking for a favor from a friend, even a friend she hadn’t seen in ten years.

  Gage rifled through the pages. “The only issue I see is your location. And being a local, the location you chose is … worrisome. Why would you sign a lease in that neighborhood?”

  Callie twisted her mouth. “I toured a location a block off the Strip and loved it, but I couldn’t afford the rent. I banked on the services and attention we offer at Holliday Spas to bring in customers, but another business snatched up the space I couldn’t afford and undercut our prices just enough that the small clientele we were building has gone to them.”

  “You need to be on-Strip to make this work. A location at or near one of the malls so shoppers can drop in easily.”

  “I don’t have the money for on-Strip; even with your funding, it would be a tight fit.”

  “You need to get the tourists out of their hotels. Offering the promise that they can get in and get out quickly seals the deal. On-Strip is important. Tourists won’t wander all over Vegas for a massage they could get at their hotel.”

  “I have seventy dollars in my checking account. I can’t afford on-Strip, not yet. In a year or two, yes. But for now I need slightly off-Strip.”

  “Do you want the funding or not?”

  “I can’t afford on-Strip.” What wasn’t he understanding about this? Gage Reeves had never had to worry about money, but Callie still couldn’t forget bawling over the first calf she sold to pay her cheerleading fees. She swallowed.

  “You can if the investment is half a million instead of a quarter.”

  “My prospectus only asks for 250.”

  “You need the 500. You have to afford on-Strip, and you can’t cut back in other areas. The kind of clients you need to attract will know you’re cutting corners and find a place that isn’t.”

  “I know what my clients will want.” Callie straightened her shoulders. Location was three-quarters of any new business’s battle; amenities were the other quarter. But half a million dollars? Callie wanted to put her fingers to her temples to massage away the stress building there. How would she ever repay half a million dollars?

  “You seriously have seventy bucks in your account?”

  She shifted in her seat. “None of the banks took me seriously. Which is why I’m here.”

  “If you accept the funding, you have to answer to me. At least for the first year. You have to take my advice. You’ll meet with some of the fund donors at certain events, and you won’t—not even once—mention that hellhole of a location you leased. You can call yourself Calista Davenport or Callie Holliday or the freaking Queen of England if you want, but you will follow my suggestions to the letter.” He took a breath.

  “Did you just say ‘accept the funding’?” Her heart beat against her chest. He did say accept. The good juju and Mandy’s woo-woo were working.

  He nodded. “I only invite funded businesses to the office.” He slid a piece of paper over the table. “So, do you want to go into business together, Calista Davenport?”

  Chapter Two

  Standing still in an elevator really shouldn’t be this hard. The mirrored doors had swooshed closed about five seconds before. Callie stood beside him, leather attaché slung over her shoulder and hands clasped before her, watching the numbers count down, down, down.

  Gage resisted the urge to pull at his tie. But counting down the numbers on the elevator screen wasn’t nearly as interesting as watching Callie.

  He’d been watching her, goading her a little, since he’d realized it was her across the table from him and not a stranger. Not that he could call Callie a friend when he hadn’t spoken to her in ten years. She was an acquaintance. That was a good word.

  The fact did nothing to temper his response to her. She’d heated up the office. Now she was turning the elevator into a veritable inferno. From the top of her oh-so-blonde head—had her hair always been this shimmery?—to the tips of her oh-so-red toenails, she made him want things.

  Drinks on the beach. A quiet dinner by candlelight.

  He’d never thought of her this way in the past. She was just Callie. The girl who helped him master calculus, cheered at his football games, and rode her favorite horse beside his lake on hot summer days. The gorgeous woman standing beside him was so different from the buddy he remembered.

  The old Callie was smart and tenacious, which made the new Callie a good investment. The old Callie was dedicated
to her work—another mark in New Callie’s favor. The biggest mark in her favor, though, was the empty space in his new development. A space that would be perfect for Callie’s business, while also filling a hole in his.

  Plus, under the polish of her suit, he could still see his friend. The mistiness of her gaze when she talked about her parents leaving town, the fierce grip when she squeezed her hands together as she made her pitch.

  “Have you been to a Rebels game since you got back?” he asked.

  Small talk. He hated small talk.

  “I’m not much for basketball.”

  “It’s actually still football season, but the first preseason basketball games start in a couple weeks. We should catch a game sometime.”

  Shut up, Gage. Just shut up. He didn’t ask business associates out. What the hell was wrong with him?

  “Oh.”

  “You love football.”

  A smile spread across her face. “Mostly I loved the space that cheerleading took up in the ‘extracurricular’ column of my college applications.”

  “Oh.” How had he never caught that she wasn’t into sports?

  Better question: how had his radar missed Callie, in general, all those years ago?

  Just as well. Gage Reeves did not date business associates. Never. Not one single time, he reminded himself, no matter what the tabloids reported. “I just thought it might be fun. Talk about old times, get reacquainted with Vegas.”

  “I appreciate that.” Callie adjusted the strap on her shoulder. “But since your group kind of holds the purse strings to my business, I’d rather people not think you’re anything more than a business associate.”

  The elevator slid to a stop, and Callie turned toward the parking garage. She stopped, turned, and held out her hand.

  “It was nice to see you again, Gage. Once the investment transfers over, I’ll start looking for new locations.”

  He took her hand in his and told himself he didn’t notice how soft her skin was against his or the little jolt of electricity that pulsed up his arm.

  “Good luck, Callie.”

  Callie froze, and curiosity spread over her features. “Did you hear that?”

  He hadn’t heard anything. Other than his beating-too-fast heart. Callie drew her hand from his and turned around slowly.

  “There it is again. You seriously didn’t hear that? It’s like a squeak or something.” She looked past him, into the dark corner of the parking garage.

  Gage shook off—who was he kidding? Tried to shake off was more like it—the lingering attraction that Callie was obviously not feeling and looked around. He listened for a squeak, but all he heard was traffic from Las Vegas Boulevard around the corner.

  And then he heard it, the tiniest of squeaks. Not like a mouse or a rat. But—

  “It’s over here.” Callie hurried around him, toward small stairwell with a stoop at the top leading inside. The squeak—no, more like a yip—grew louder as they neared the shadowed area behind the stairs. “Oh, Gage, it’s just a baby.” Callie kneeled down on the hard concrete and reached for the wriggling, grey ball of fur yipping from the corner.

  Gage put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back toward him and away from the animal.

  “That’s not a dog, Cal.” The old nickname slipped easily from his lips.

  She shot him an annoyed look. “I’m not an idiot, Gage. It’s a baby coyote. I raised two of them for a 4-H project in junior high.” She reached her arms out again, but Gage kept his grip on her shoulder solid.

  “This isn’t junior high, and that pup didn’t come from a farm or a breeder. It hasn’t been checked out.” Callie hadn’t been in Vegas in a long time. She didn’t know that coyotes were now in the neighborhoods, breeding with larger dogs. Raising a coyote pup ten years ago hadn’t made her an expert on the animals or their potential diseases right now.

  “A breeder? Are you serious? No one breeds coyotes. Dad and I rescued the pups I raised after their mama was killed on the highway.” This time she shook off his hand and reached for the coyote pup, which did look purely innocent, now that he was out of the shadows. Well, innocent except for the sharp teeth he showed with every yip.

  His grey fur was clean, his little puppy eyes open and taking in the world. How it had managed to get into the parking garage was a mystery. Callie held the animal firmly in one hand, looking it over as she spoke calming words to it, and ran her other hand over the body.

  “I don’t think it’s hurt. We should call the humane society; they might know of a rescue or a shelter that will take it in.”

  “Or we could just leave it here so its mother can take care of it.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes as Callie stood, still cuddling the little body to her chest. “You are not suggesting we leave a poor, defenseless creature alone in a dangerous parking garage, are you?”

  “Defenseless? Coyotes are scavengers. They repopulate like freaking bunnies, carry diseases—”

  “I’m not saying we give it to some unsuspecting family or set a pack loose on a cattle ranch. I’m suggesting we not let it die here in your parking garage.”

  “It has a mother, who is probably scavenging for food as we speak.”

  “And when she gets back here—assuming she hasn’t been hit by a car and can get back here—she’ll go on about her life.”

  “So it’s okay with you that the poor mommy coyote will be heartbroken and think her baby has been taken away by some heartless stranger?” Gage pasted a woebegone expression on his face.

  Callie rolled her big, blue eyes. “Please. Don’t give an animal feelings it doesn’t have. Besides, there is a very real chance this little thing has been abandoned or orphaned. Have you seen any coyotes near the Strip?”

  Gage shook his head. “Not this far into the city. They’ve been spotted in neighborhoods and the suburbs but not on the Strip, as far as I know.” He loosened his tie. He was her business mentor now, so she had to listen to him. Raising a coyote under the supervision of her father was one thing, but ignoring basic life safety principles as an adult was another entirely. “You can’t take a coyote to the Clark County Humane Society.”

  “There could be a rescue organization—”

  “And if there isn’t, are you taking it to your condo in Henderson? Where the neighborhood association will turn your sweet rescue of a coyote pup into an act of terror?”

  “I didn’t think about them.” Callie wrapped her arm around the pup’s belly. “You could take it to the ranch.”

  Gage cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms over his chest. Callie and her pleading baby blues were not getting to him. Not even a little bit. “You’re not seriously suggesting I raise a coyote—a breed known for taking down the weakest in a herd—on the ranch? With calves and chickens and horses?”

  “Just until we find a rescue that will re-home it in the wild.”

  “So that it can come back to my ranch as an adult to scavenge?”

  Callie thinned her lips and squinted her eyes. “Gage Reeves is a humanitarian. You once helped me put a baby bird back in its nest.”

  “That baby bird was a finch not a vulture.”

  “A baby animal is a baby animal.” The coyote yipped and licked Callie’s fingers like a puppy would.

  The last thing Gage wanted was to come back to the office only to have to dispose of the body if the poor thing starved to death.

  “It will be crated with food and water, and it will stay in the barn. And if there is no rescue … nature will have to take its course.” The last words were just a whisper. Gage felt badly for the animal, but he wouldn’t put the ranch at risk for a single coyote pup.

  “At least he’ll have a chance.”

  Gage hooked his thumb toward his Escalade. “I’ll drive. You can hold the pup.”

  The Rocking R Ranch sat on a plateau about an hour outside Las Vegas. If the trip in the elevator had been tense, the trip to the ranch was the opposite. Callie cooed at the coyote and
talked about her plans for the city-based spa and the potential for a full-on spa resort where visitors could take part in things like digital detoxing. Whatever that was. Gage pulled into the drive as the pup began to whine.

  Rollie, the foreman, strode into the side yard from the main barn and put his hands on his hips. “We don’t normally see you twice in a week.”

  Gage walked around to Callie’s door and helped her down from the cab. “You remember Callie Holliday, Rollie? Harley Holliday’s daughter.”

  “Callie.” The older man’s gruff voice filled with fondness. “Bought two of my favorite heifers from you at the 4-H sale. What the hell is that?” He pointed to the wriggling body in Callie’s arms. “You brought a coyote pup to the ranch?” he asked incredulously.

  “It was abandoned.”

  “Or maybe just waiting for its mother,” Gage said.

  “We found it in a parking garage; we couldn’t just leave it there.” Callie batted her eyelashes at the weathered foreman. “It’s just a baby.”

  Rollie shot Gage a look. Gage shrugged. “We’ll crate it, feed it, and get it to a sanctuary or a rescue organization.”

  Rollie shook his head and mumbled something about self-respecting rescues and no-good coyotes. But he took the animal from Callie’s arms and started for the barn. Gage looked at his watch and calculated the time back to town. He could take another ten minutes and still make the appointment. Seeing Callie had blown the meeting right out of his mind. “We need to—”

  But Callie was gone, following Rollie into the barn. Gage hurried after them and caught up in time to see Rollie haul a collapsible crate from the tack room and set it up. The pup was back in Callie’s arms.

  “I don’t mean to abandon you, but I have a client meeting in a few minutes,” Gage said. Callie looked up from cuddling the pup. “I’ll pick you up on my way back to town?”

  “Where’s your meeting?”

  He named a small town on the road back to Vegas.

  “That’s silly. I’ll just go with you and wait in the truck. I can get some work done while I wait. Can’t I?” She pushed her face into the pup’s as she cooed the last sentence. The pup snapped his sharp teeth in her direction. Callie flinched away, and then set it inside the crate. “Okay, we’re outta here.”