“Hi, I’m Callie Holliday,” she said, approaching the group rather than the one searching for a hint of Gage in the private rooms. She held out her hand. “Welcome to Holliday Spas,” she said. The women held on to their clutches like she might be a pickpocket. Callie just resisted an eye roll and soldiered on. They might be here for the Gage show, but she was going to give them 100 percent Professional Callie. “As you can see, we have a mani-pedi area to the left, but the real fun is down the halls. Follow me.”
As one, the hair brigade followed. Callie pointed out the massage rooms and mentioned some of the treatments available. She even complimented one—a blonde with pink stripes in her hair—on her manicure, making a mental note to check the variety of nail wraps stocked in the supply closet as well as paints and brushes.
Finally finished, she looked expectantly at the group. Their scout returned, but the fact that they were four and she only one didn’t bother Callie. Much.
“Do you have any questions?” she asked.
They all seemed to focus on their blonde-and-pink-haired leader. “How, ah, how far out are you booked?”
“We have a few openings through the remainder of the month, but we will do our best to get any of you in as soon as possible.”
One of the women asked about bridal parties and another about mommy-and-me options.
“Are there any days you would consider opening early or closing really late? I’m a dancer at the new SLS, and by midweek my feet and back are killing me.”
“We could definitely make exceptions from time to time. Why don’t you give me a call, and we’ll figure it out?” Callie handed her a card and turned the group over to Mandy to make appointments.
Maybe the article wasn’t so bad, she thought. If the worst that happened was a few desperate women walking through her door, she could handle it. She would bet that at least the dancer called in the next week to set up an appointment. That was one more customer she wouldn’t have reached had Gage’s brother not named him Bachelor of the Month.
“She’s sleeping with him.”
Callie stopped short before joining two bloggers near the champagne table. She was partially hidden behind a tall ficus, and they couldn’t see her. Holding her breath, she listened to the two women gossip about how she’d convinced Gage to invest in her company.
“I heard they played a game of strip poker and he lost, had to pony up the cash,” one of them said.
“Gage Reeves doesn’t gamble, you’re thinking of his brother. The broody one. She had her father call in a favor. Haven’t you heard the rumors about how tight the Reeves and Holliday families were back in the day?”
Well, that at least was a little less insulting than the strip poker loss, she thought. And then, before she could convince herself to walk away, she left the shelter of the ficus.
“Welcome to Holliday Spas,” she said, holding out her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Callie Holliday.”
One of the women, a brunette with long, wavy hair, choked on her champagne. The other, a redhead with a pixie cut, didn’t bat an eye.
“Jane Berry,” she said, taking Callie’s outstretched hand. “I write for Vegas Entertainment. This is Nora Scott, she writes for the Sun’s Sunday Chatter column.”
The brunette, Nora, coughed once more and put the champagne glass on the table. “I, ah, think your spa looks amazing.”
Callie looked around as if she’d never seen the ficus trees, spa chairs, or gleaming marble floors before. “And it’s mine. Not my father’s and not because of a game of strip poker or the calling in of a favor. Because I wrote the business plan and worked my butt off to get here.” The women blanched. “You ladies have a nice day.” Callie turned and walked slowly to another group of people.
She wanted to run around the corner and shut herself in one of the private rooms, but she wouldn’t give either of those reporters the satisfaction. Callie pasted a smile on her face and joined two women and a man near the front desk.
This was her business, damn it, and it would succeed based on her work ethic, not the depth of Gage’s investor pockets.
By six, the place was clearing out, and a slight pounding was beginning at Callie’s temples. No one had mentioned the gossipy article in the paper, and besides the hair brigade, no one else seemed to be so obviously on the lookout for the Bachelor of the Month. The only iffy comments she’d heard had come from the two gossip columnists. She still wanted to take them down another peg or two, but chasing them through Las Vegas until they apologized for spreading gossip wasn’t exactly the kind of business presence she wanted to portray.
Plus, of the fifty or so people she’d talked to, at least half had made appointments. This was working, just as she’d envisioned. She was doing it. Now to find the bottle of aspirin and put the headache to rest, along with her fears of failure.
“Hey.” Gage’s voice was quiet in her ear. “Looks like you’re a big success, Miss Holliday.” He took her hand, pulling her around to face him. He wore a blue pinstriped suit with a striped tie and another pair of wing tips. He looked dangerously successful and entirely too sexy. “This place looks great. The pictures of old Vegas and the desert are perfect.”
“Let me show you the private rooms. Last time you were here they had tables and closets but no decoration.” Her excitement bubbled over. All that worrying about the article, about what people would think about their relationship, didn’t matter. No one had mentioned the article, and Callie guessed that was because Gage had said something to Connor about it. She didn’t care. Things were going well, and maybe she was being a little too optimistic, but she wanted to celebrate. “Thank you,” she said in the hall.
“For what?”
“One, for this place. Two, for Barb. She called and then came by yesterday. She’s great.”
He shrugged, and that devilish light came back into his warm, brown eyes. “I’m better.”
Callie chuckled. “Be that as it may, I appreciate you letting me put a little distance between this”—she waved her hand to encompass the spa—“and this.” She rotated her finger between the two of them.
“What the lady wants,” he said.
“The lady wants you. And the spa.”
He grinned. “Tall order.”
“Smart girl,” she replied.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen the couples room.”
“And you’re not going to with so many people around.” She sent him her best saucy look and lowered her voice. “But if you come back after seven, I can promise you won’t be disappointed in our services.”
His eyes darkened, turned predatory. “You’re playing with fire here, Miss Holliday.”
“What the lady wants, right?”
Gage smacked her butt, grinning. “What the lady wants.” He leaned closer, not touching her, but Callie could still feel him. “Every. Single. Time.”
“Promises, promises,” she said, breathless. For a long moment, time seemed to stand still, with Gage mere inches away and Callie unable to move. She could feel his breath on her skin. She sensed when his hand moved. And she nearly burned to the ground when his fingers brushed against the small of her back.
Gage pulled her close and whispered, “And I always keep my promises.” He flicked open one of the doors and pushed her inside before his lips closed over hers, capturing her and searing the moment into her brain. With the closing of the door, the chatter from the main room faded away, the smell of burning incense disappeared, and all that was left was the scent of Gage, heavy with musk, and the sounds of their ragged breathing.
He pushed his hands into her hair, and Callie was glad she kept it short so she wouldn’t have to reset a longer style. Fingers pressed against the back of her head, Gage urged her closer. Callie tilted her head, giving him more access to her mouth. His tongue speared inside, and their tongues tangled for a blissful moment.
Callie fisted her hands in the lapel of his jacket, pulling him back, back, until her shoulde
rs met the wall. She wanted to feel him sink into her. Didn’t want to have to go back to work. Wanted to let this kiss lead to the couples massage room.
She pulled back. Where she wanted this kiss to go was outside the bounds of proper business etiquette, even in Sin City. Breathing hard, she straightened Gage’s tie. He seemed similarly affected and flicked his hands over her hair, as if he could fix the muss.
“So I’ll see you later?” she asked.
“I’ll be here at seven.” He took a breath. “The place really looks great, Cal. You should be proud.”
“Thanks. We worked hard.” He opened the door, but she stopped him by reaching for his other hand. “And thank you for coming today. That means a lot.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it for anything.” He smiled at her. “See you at seven.”
• • •
Gage got behind the wheel of his truck in a fog. That kiss. Callie just kept surprising him. She didn’t want complicated, so he’d had Barb take over the business communications … and Callie had just kissed him in the middle of her grand opening—fine, they were in a private room with the door closed—like he was a soldier home from a year-long deployment.
Not that he was complaining. She could kiss him like that any time she wanted. Anything to have her body close to his. To feel that connection that seemed to snap with electricity whenever she was around. Gage pulled the truck onto the street and started toward his office. Everyone would be gone for the night, but he could still get some work done before going back to the spa and Callie.
He wondered what she had in store for him and felt himself harden at the prospect.
At the parking garage, Gage pulled into his spot and cut the engine before grabbing a couple of folders. He’d gone out to the Heck ranch earlier to deliver the new specs to Walt. The old man hadn’t said which way he was leaning, but he’d seemed excited about Gage’s plans to use greywater to help make the place self-sustaining.
The parking garage was nearly empty, which meant not only had his employees gone home, but that Connor’s employees and Jase’s were likely gone for the night, too. Connor met him outside the elevator, looking annoyed, which seemed to be his new go-to emotion.
“What crawled up your ass?” Gage couldn’t resist asking.
“Don’t start with me about that piece in the paper. The managing editor approved it, not me.”
“I gave you my opinion the other day, why repeat myself?”
“What ever stopped you before?”
“I think you have me confused with Jase. He was always the one who needed the last word.” Gage watched his brother for a moment. Whatever was going on with Connor was bigger than a competing newspaper. “Why don’t you come up? Have a drink.”
Connor shook his head. “Thanks, but I wouldn’t be good company.”
Gage hit the up button on the elevator panel. “I’ve been not good company a time or two.”
“I’d be really, really bad company. I’ll catch you later.” Connor jackknifed his tall form behind the wheel of his Jaguar and sped out of the parking garage. Gage shrugged and stepped into the elevator.
The office was quiet, just the way he liked it. Quiet like the desert at dusk. Quiet like Las Vegas Boulevard at dawn. Until their next big project, most of his staff were keeping shorter hours, which suited him fine. He knew once the contract was signed with Walt the office would be in full-on make-it-happen mode. Twelve- and fourteen-hours days, cross-country conference calls. He’d heard of an eco-resort in Mexico that was making some amazing strides forward, and he wanted to send a few staff members there to get ideas for the ranch.
He tapped his pen against the desk blotter. There was nothing left to do, and Callie wouldn’t expect him for another forty-five minutes. The elevator doors beeped open. Probably Barb coming back for something.
He rose but stopped short at his door. It wasn’t Barb.
Alan McKinney, head of PRO-TEM, stood at the reception desk tapping on his smartphone. He looked up when Gage crossed the foyer.
“Reeves, it’s been a while.” Alan was a short, balding man who had once played football for Arizona. Since leaving the pros, he’d turned to flipping houses and, more recently, developing property in and around Las Vegas. The Utah development was the first contract he’d Gage won from them, and if he had his way, it wouldn't be the last. He didn’t like the way Alan approached landowners, didn’t like his ethics when it came to sustainability. Especially didn’t like that his main investor was a big casino outfit that owned half the Nevada casinos off the Strip.
“McKinney. What do you want?”
Alan took off his cream-colored suit jacket and folded it neatly over his arm. “No offer of a cold drink? It’s about two hundred degrees out there.”
Gage tutted. “You might have missed the sign. I develop properties here, not coffees or filtered water.”
“I thought maybe you were giving that up in favor of the spa business.” Alan’s blue gaze sharpened, and a feral smile crossed his face. He tapped his phone again and then slipped it into his front pocket.
“You might want to change pockets. I hear they’re linking erectile dysfunction to smartphone batteries coming in close contact with old men’s penises.”
Alan’s hand flexed, but he didn’t reach for the phone. “I stopped by as a courtesy, but I can see that gesture was futile.” He waited a beat and then continued, “I’ll still tell you, though, because I want to see your face when you learn the Heck property is going to be a nice feather in PRO-TEM’s cap.”
Gage stepped forward. “What are you talking about?”
Alan held up his phone. “I’m talking about Walt Heck and the fact that his dusty old dude ranch will be awash in neon, tourists, and cards by the end of the year.”
“Walt hasn’t decided which direction he’s going.”
Gage wanted to grab the phone and dial, but that would be a mistake. Showing any weakness before Alan would be a huge mistake. Gage didn’t have a board of directors to answer to on his development decisions, but there were investors to consider, both for Reeves Development and for the angel fund. The investors wanted solid, calm, rational.
“As of fifteen minutes ago he had, and my assistant just emailed the signed contracts, if you’d like to take a look.” He drew the smartphone from his pocket and offered it to Gage. Gage didn’t take it. “I’ll just email a copy to you, then.” Alan drew the tip of his index finger over the glossy finish of the glass-topped reception desk. “I figure this makes us almost even. You got the parcel that is now Oasis. You got Utah, which cost you at least five million over your estimates. I’m taking Heck.”
“Never figured you’d go rancher on all of us. Walt told me about your plans to raise cows. You’re going to want sturdier boots for that kind of work.” Gage refused to show anger or surprise. It was a struggle, but he kept his voice even and his expression flat.
Alan laughed. “You have selective hearing or something? I just told you my plans for the ranch. It’s going to be a hot, exclusive gambling property by the end of the year.”
Gage wanted to smack the serpentine grin off Alan’s face. He fisted his hands and shoved them in his pockets. “Walt’s under the impression you’re turning rancher.”
“He didn’t have that put in the contract. I can’t help the fact that the old man has delusions of 2015 turning into 1915. No one buys a Mojave ranch with any intention other than gambling development. Not even you.”
“Get out, McKinney.”
Alan widened his eyes, feigning surprise. “You don’t want to hear all the details?”
“All I want to hear are the soles of your shoes hitting my tiled elevator floor.”
The other man twisted his mouth to the side and adjusted his tie. “My investors have approved one other. Five million, plus the Heck ranch, if you were to sell the Oasis,” Alan said. He waited a moment. “I see I’ve got your attention. Funny how money always gets the attention that this old body does not.
”
“The Oasis isn’t for sale.” Gage’s skin felt tight.
“Everything is for sale, Reeves. We just have to find the right price point.” Alan sat in a leather chair and crossed his ankle over the opposite knee. “I think I finally have yours. You get that dusty ranch, not to mention the hassle of finding tourists who don’t mind the limitations of solar power and greywater, and five million dollars.”
“And you get the Oasis.”
“And I get Oasis, the property I always wanted.”
“Why? It’s a retail development.”
Alan shrugged and stood. “The heart wants what the heart wants. Oasis is a pulsating piece of Las Vegas property. I want it. You want the Heck ranch. Let’s make a deal.”
“You can take your offer and bury it in the Mojave.”
Alan crossed to the elevators and pushed the down arrow. The doors opened a second later, and he stepped inside. As the doors closed, he said, “You have until noon tomorrow to make your decision. Tick-tock, Reeves.”
Gage wanted to throw something. Preferably Alan McKinney. Off the roof of this building. He settled for the glass paperweight on the receptionist’s desk. It shattered against the polished silver elevator doors. He gathered a broom from the supply closet and cleaned up the mess, but that did nothing to soothe the anger.
He couldn’t let Alan’s group turn the Heck ranch into a mini-Las Vegas. The desert could barely support the people coming now. Callie’s words from that first day echoed in his mind. Wasn’t that what he was doing with his eco-resort? Putting the desert in danger by bringing more tourists, more bodies into Nevada?
No. Maybe. Hell, it was a grey area. Eco-travelers liked to visit new areas, but many of them returned year after year to their favorites. And the ranch would be exclusive, catering to those travelers and not the ones who wanted to spend days at the craps or blackjack tables. Maximum capacity would be ten to twenty, a helluva lot easier on the land than ten to twenty thousand. The Heck ranch was situated on four hundred acres. Not huge, but plenty big enough for a big casino outfit.
What the Bachelor Gets Page 19
