A Man to Waste Time On

by Nina Barrett

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Praise for Nina Barrett

  A Man to Waste Time On

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Not a couple, not dating, not interested, right!”

  She caught her breath as Magdalena held the door for her and Tom turned to greet her. She stopped dead in the doorway buying a minute to compose herself as she fiddled with her skirt.

  The midnight-black tux hung on him like it had been custom-tailored. Maybe it had been. As manager of one of the newest and hottest properties in Vegas, he probably had any number of social black-tie events to attend. And she was wearing a dress from a secondhand shop. She automatically extended her hand as he held out his.

  He tilted his head, regarding her as he drew her toward him, a smile deepening at the corner of his mouth. The green glint in his eyes that had once haunted her dreams was back.

  “You look wonderful.”

  “So do you.” She flushed and bit her lip. “I mean…”

  “Yeah, it’s a little like prom, isn’t it?”

  “I wish I had a camera to take a picture of you two kids.” Magdalena leaned against the doorframe grinning. “But the photographers at the banquet should love you.”

  Damn, it wasn’t fair how the tuxedo accentuated the dark line of his brows and lashes, the intensity of his eyes. The sun-brown of his hair seemed infused with gold tonight while the strong planes of his face, even the crook of his nose made an interesting juxtaposition against the simple elegance of his tux. She needed to get out of the apartment. Maybe on the street she could grab a breath of fresh air, fanning herself.

  Praise for Nina Barrett

  Four-heart rating from theromancestudio.com for MARRIAGE MADE IN HAVEN.

  RETURN OF THE DIXIE DEB receives a Five-Star rating from Ashantay Peters, the Wild Rose Press author.

  A Man to

  Waste Time On

  by

  Nina Barrett

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A Man to Waste Time On

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Nina Barrett

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Crimson Rose Edition, 2015

  Print ISBN 978-1-62830-756-6

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-757-3

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Darla

  Chapter One

  “So, what do you think?”

  Tom Marco’s eyes were fixed on her, his jaw squaring. “I mean since…”

  Yeah, she knew. Since he was “between girlfriends” as he had so eloquently put it, and she wasn’t seeing anyone.

  “I know it’s short notice, the banquet coming up on Saturday.”

  It looked like a line of sweat was developing along his forehead despite the overhead-circulating fan sweeping the air with its artificial palm fronds. She watched him swallow as she tilted her head and studied him. He didn’t look as if he were kidding. This dinner must be a big deal, one requiring a female on his arm even if it meant asking the kid sister of an old flame.

  Tom’s big hand gripped the handle of his cup. If she didn’t give him an answer soon, another tea mug would find its way into the broken bits bin.

  From the end of the marble counter, her business partner had stopped filling her tea infuser. She could feel Magdalena’s dark eyes sending her covert signals—say yes. Think of our bottom line. This could be huge—say yes, Cinna!

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?” His shoulders relaxed. He raised his cup and managed a sip.

  “Sure.” Cinna unclenched her jaw and tried for a smile.

  The fact it was somewhat less than sincere apparently didn’t register any more than her lack of enthusiasm.

  “It’s in the main ballroom at the convention center on Paradise Road beginning at seven. I’ll get back with you before then. This is huge for the hotel. It’s the first awards presentation since our grand re-opening.”

  “So will Gentleman Jim be going too?” Magdalena moved up beside her, adding her infuser to her cup. Her friend wasn’t even bothering to pretend she hadn’t been listening.

  “No, he stays in nights at this point. He’s comfortable in his apartment at the Imperial and going out at night is getting to be too much for him.”

  “Well, it’s great that you’re up for one of the major awards,” Magdalena favored Tom with a broad smile as she stirred her tea with a spoon. The floral fragrance of her oolong drifted up.

  “Yeah, it’s an accomplishment. Even to be nominated is quite an achievement with all the competition we have out here. We appreciate the recognition.”

  “Cinna, the Las Vegas Hospitality Industry Awards are known as LasHos and they are a huge deal.”

  Behind the counter Magdalena’s foot nudged hers—get in the game, girl. It was amazing how the ESP developed in college dorm rooms persisted over the years.

  She found her voice.

  “I haven’t been inside the Imperial, but of course, I’ve been over that way. It looks wonderful, really impressive.”

  There, Magdalena, that showed she was trying, didn’t it?

  Tom seemed to relax. “It was Jim’s idea to add the porte-cochere onto the front. Something to impress arriving guests. He also pushed adding the top two stories. It was part of our master plan to re-position the Imperial as a small, luxury hotel.”

  “Small only for Vegas. How many rooms do you have now?” Magdalena asked.

  “Eight hundred. That’s down from twelve hundred when it was the Outpost. Still some of the properties on the Strip offer thousands. During our renovation, we enlarged the rooms, updated our suites, and put more space in our restaurant and bar areas. When we open the West End next spring, we’ll be able to offer nightly shows on the premises too.”

  “The old Outpost was rundown. You weren’t here, Cinna, when it was in business.” Magdalena shook her head.

  “It was Jim McMasters who had the foresight to see what the property could be become if enough money and effort were invested,” Tom said.

  “From what I understand, you were the man with the plan though.” Magdalena’s voice dripped with more honey than their customers usually spooned on scones. “Can I top off your tea for you?”

  “No, I need to get going.” Tom took out his wallet and laid a bill on the counter. “Thanks again, Cinnamon.”

  “Here, let me get a travel mug for you. Cinna and I have been working on a new concoction and you can give us your opinio
n when you’re in again.”

  Magdalena busied herself with the tea machine while Tom stood, fumbling for his keys.

  The silence stretched on. Snap to, Cinnamon. She swallowed. Had Tom Marco actually asked her for a date?

  “Everyone talks about how much better the whole Fremont Street area is now,” she said. “Business seems to be on the upswing, more foot traffic and better sales.”

  “It’s been a cooperative project working with the business community here, but I think it’s paying off for everyone. Even if the Imperial’s not in the black yet, we’re heading that way. Jim has been the one spearheading it. For a man his age, it’s a remarkable achievement. He’s the one who sold it to the other investors.”

  “If you haven’t been in Vegas for a few years, you wouldn’t recognize this end of town.” Magdalena added the cap to Tom’s mug and slid it over to him. “The Outpost was a grind-house, low table minimums in their casino, cheap slots. That whole section of Ogden was nothing more than low rent hotels and strip joints. Now it’s a whole different story.”

  “Sometime I’d like to show you both the Imperial. We’re pretty proud of it.” He took the mug Magdalena offered.

  “I saw your casino chips when I was out the other day. They’re really distinctive with those flags on them. Not like the others I’ve seen.”

  “Tom, we’re working on getting those sample tea sets you asked for finished. Cinna, maybe you can take them over to the Imperial when we get them ready.” Her partner smiled at her.

  Thanks.

  “That’ll be great.” Tom balanced his mug, newspaper, and keys and gave them both what looked like a grin of relief before he detoured around a pair of browsers at the pyramid of tea canisters she’d stacked earlier in the day.

  Magdalena moved over to ring up a purchase of two tins of ginger with peach blend tea, diplomatically repressing a shudder as an older woman asked about serving it iced. Cinna watched the door closing behind Tom. The temple bells on the hanging chain shook her out of her reverie as Magdalena’s customers departed. She fixed herself a pot of tea as her partner rang up the morning’s receipts.

  “Not bad.” Magdalena came over to where she had seated herself at a corner table to take a break while the shop was empty. She leaned over and wafted the aroma arising from the white china teapot toward her, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

  “Darjeeling. Girl, you are so predictable.” Magdalena opened her dark eyes and pulled out the chair across from her.

  “But I always like it.” She shrugged. “There’s a reason they call it the Cadillac of teas.”

  “And here we are in the house of five hundred flavors.” Magdalena lifted an arm and swept the room. “Or more and you stick with the old tried and true.”

  “I’m never disappointed.”

  “Or surprised. This is Vegas. Be a little adventurous. Experiment. How are we supposed to introduce our patrons to the wonderful world of tea if you don’t lead the way? Maybe going to the awards banquet this weekend is the thing that will get you off your duff.”

  “Tom Marco? Spare me.” Ow. The sip she took of her tea was too hot. She shivered, closed her eyes, and swallowed.

  “Yeah, that six-foot-four-something with killer eyes and shoulders out to here is hard to take.” Magdalena grinned and winked.

  “You don’t know him, Mags. What a waste of time loser. He was involved with my sister in college back in Des Moines ’til he dumped her, dropped out of school, and disappeared. Good riddance.” She stared at her cup.

  “Well, I don’t know about that part.” Magdalena got up to get a cinnamon bun from the day-old display.

  And she’d never hear the whole story from her. Cinna took a measured sip from her cup.

  “What I’ve heard is that he finished his degree in hotel management at UNLV while working at different places around town. Then after he and Gentleman Jim McMasters got acquainted, he worked like a dog during the Imperial’s renovation. I was dancing at the Silver Strike then, dreaming about how I could open my own business and scouting around for something affordable. The downtown area north of the Strip here was just starting to pick up. The Ogden Street area is still kind of rundown, but the Imperial has helped change things. There’s a reason they’re up for best small independent hotel casino of the year. And if they win it…” She gave a low whistle and rubbed her thumb and forefingers together. “It can mean major, major money.”

  Cinna poured herself another cup, cradling it between her fingers, feeling its warmth. There was no denying her sister’s old flame gave her goose bumps for more reasons than one.

  “Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf. People do change. Cut him some slack. After all, it’s been a long time since Des Moines. You were both young then. Lots of water under the bridge. How long has it been?”

  “Twelve years. No, thirteen.” Then four weeks ago, he had come into the shop, eyes fixed on her, as she stood caught in the act of pouring cream and honey. That face with its sun-brown hair and dark hazel eyes, the crook in his nose only adding strength to the strong plates of his face as he stared at her. It was a face more rugged than handsome. The glint of green in his eyes when he smiled had once been the thing her girlish daydreams had been made of.

  Thirteen years since the last time she’d seen him at their home in Des Moines, waiting for Rose as she tripped down the stairs, her face glowing. If the slam of the door when her sister returned hadn’t raised the household, her muffled sobs that night had.

  “Look how we changed, Cinna. Who would have predicted a fine arts major and chemistry student would end up brewing tea in Las Vegas?”

  After sporadic correspondence following graduation, Magdalena had contacted her just as the small start-up pharmaceutical company she’d worked for began another round of layoffs. Magdalena, carb-starved and tired of the weekly weigh-ins to keep her job in the chorus line of the Silver Strike Casino, had explained her dream of opening a tea bar in Las Vegas. She could remember it like it was yesterday.

  “You wouldn’t believe it, Cinna. I’ve done a survey. There isn’t a single tea bar in Vegas.”

  “And doesn’t that tell you something?”

  But her former roommate’s relentless enthusiasm had carried her along. Five-nine with shoulder-length, curly brown hair sweeping her shoulders and dark eyes under feathered lashes, she had wondered more than once if Magdalena Kasas had some gypsy blood in her background. Anyway with her own carefully planned career track petering out, the possibility of any job was more tempting than unemployment, and so last year, she’d changed her address.

  “SpecialTeas,” she muttered.

  “What?” Magdalena was working a raisin out of her bun.

  “He misread it. You remember. He came in thinking this was a T-shirt place.”

  “Oh, Tom. Right. That was pretty funny. I wonder if he ever did find a place to print shirts for their tournament.”

  One month ago…

  She rested her head on a hand, looking around at the teashop with its cream-colored walls and framed antique maps of the tea world—India, Ceylon, China. Plantation shutters shut out the glare of the desert sun and the street noise of America’s fastest growing city. They’d created a place to have a soothing cup of tea or something light to eat. A place to read a newspaper, use a laptop, collect oneself. A quiet oasis apart from the neon overload of Las Vegas until…

  A month ago Tom had entered the shop, striding up to the counter where she’d been filling her customer’s cup of Devonshire Delight with a stream of cream and honey letting the cup overflow as she froze in astonishment, powerless to move or even breathe.

  “Cinnamon Smith? Cinnamon,” he’d said.

  Since then nothing had been the same.

  Of all the teashops in the entire world, why had he had to walk into theirs? Sleepless nights had followed twelve-hour days on her feet.

  “Well, girlfriend, I figure there’s a reason he’s been a regular this last month.” Magdalena
interrupted her thoughts. “And any man who tips the way he does is welcome here. Don’t tell me he’s doing it because he’s a tea lover. I know it’s wicked of me, but I can’t help watching as he manfully makes his way through every new blend you spring on him.”

  “I can’t say I have much sympathy for him.”

  “Hey, more customers like him and we may move into the plus column. Especially if we can score a standing order from the Imperial. And if they take down one of the awards Saturday night…Wow! Purveyors of fine tea to one of North Vegas’s up and coming hotels? Sounds good to me. Speaking of which I’m going to work on those gift samples Tom requested.” She pushed her chair away from the table. “And if T.M. isn’t coming in because he has a taste for tea, you know what he is here for.”

  “Spare me. He passed once on the Smith women. I hardly think he’s interested now. And look where we are, Mags. The showgirl capital of the world.”

  Magdalena raised an eyebrow.

  “Hmm. Interesting isn’t it…that he couldn’t come up with another date?”

  “He barely notices me. You’re the one he talks to. I walk by and he looks the other way.”

  “Like he’s afraid something might show? That he’d give something away? How many men in their thirties sweat being around an attractive female like that?”

  “I’m the kid sister of his old girlfriend. He used to give me lifts to band practice.”

  “Yeah, well. I still say we can work the hometown angle.” Beside the cash register, the telephone jangled. Magdalena picked up her napkin and dismembered bun, dumping them in the trash. She cradled the phone between her head and shoulder as she dusted her fingers.

  “Hello. SpecialTeas, Las Vegas’s premier tea emporium.” She stopped to listen. “Yes, of course.” She curled a finger at Cinna and held out the receiver. “For you.”

  “Who is it?”

  Her partner shrugged as she handed over the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Cinnamon, guess who?”

  Speak of the devil. The “It” girl.

  ****

  “So how’s it look?” Magdalena looked up as she pushed open the door to their workroom. Her partner punched a hole in one of their business cards, threaded the ribbon through it, and made a bow. “I’m going with blue and red ribbons. They match the colors in the British flag. Continue with the Imperial’s U.K. theme, you know. What do you think?”