What the Heiress Wants

by Kristina Knight

  Miranda wanted to say something, but she had no idea what to say. That she was sorry she didn’t want to start anything up with him? That was just silly. She couldn’t start anything up with him; it was wrong. He was her boss. She was the daughter of the man who wanted to take over his company. More than that, she’d just gotten herself out from under the thumb of her family, she wasn’t about to go back under the thumb of someone else—not even someone as delectable as Connor Reeves. There were so many potential pitfalls in the issues between them she couldn’t count them all. It was better this way. Stop the late night dinners, the camaraderie.

  So her skin sizzled when he touched her. It was only a physical reaction. One probably caused by the subterfuge she’d been leading or the late nights they’d been spending in the office.

  She gathered the remnants of their dinner. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said at the door. Connor grunted in reply.

  Miranda tossed out the leftover pizza and put the soda bottles in the recycling bin.

  Physical reactions always faded. She had been excited for her first kiss with Tommy Sullivan in the fourth grade until his overly wet lips pressed against hers. Then she’d wanted to run as fast and as far as she could to get away from him. She hadn’t had the chance to get over her physical reaction to Riley but was certain it would have cooled.

  She tidied the break room and rinsed out the coffee pot. She went to her office and filed her copies of the new designs. She flicked off the light. Put her fingers to her lips.

  She could still feel him against her. The firmness of his mouth, the feel of his tongue in her mouth. How her breasts had flattened against his chest, and the way the hair at his nape tickled her fingers. At least twenty times since last night, she had pushed thoughts of the kiss away, and they kept coming back.

  It will fade. The memories will fade with time.

  It had only been one day. A volatile, dramatic day. And, really, her reaction to that first kiss was likely rolled into his asking her to help with the redesign. His acceptance of the new health plan. For the first time, someone was taking her ideas seriously. That someone had kissed her. It was all related.

  Wasn’t it?

  Through the thin pane of glass in her office door, she could see Connor’s closed door. He would still be in there, working. There was one way to figure out if her reaction to his kiss was based on physical chemistry or on his listening to her ideas and treating her as an equal.

  Miranda swallowed. This was a very bad idea.

  She needed to know.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, Miranda marched across the hall and opened Connor’s door. He still sat at his desk, tapping away at the keyboard. She didn’t give him time to react. Miranda walked across the room, turned his chair to face her, and put her hands on either side of his beautiful face. His blue eyes widened in surprise, and his pupils dilated. Her palms tingled.

  And she kissed him. His lips were firm against hers, but for a split second he only sat there, as if stunned. Then his arms wound around her waist, and he pulled her down to him. Chest to chest, sitting on Connor’s lap, Miranda sank deeper into the kiss. She put her arms around his neck. He traced the line of her jaw with the tips of his fingers.

  Miranda opened her mouth to him, and Connor pushed his tongue inside. He tasted like pizza and soda, and Miranda thought it was the headiest combination she might ever experience. She leaned her head back, and his mouth found the sensitive spot beneath her chin as his hands began playing along her ribs the way they had played against the keyboard a few minutes before.

  Sensations zinged along her nerve endings. Connor’s hands at her ribs. His mouth on her throat. She could feel the bulge of his erection beside her hip. It was a powerful feeling, knowing she had this effect on him.

  The phone rang, and the sound was like a bucket of icy water from Lake Mead being thrown over her head. They were at work. He was her boss. He controlled her employment, her salary, and nearly every aspect of her life in Las Vegas. This was inappropriate on so many levels.

  Miranda pulled back, putting a few scant inches of space between them. “This wasn’t a good idea.”

  “It certainly wasn’t a bad one.”

  “No.” She shook her head and motioned her hands between them. “I thought maybe my reaction last night was a combination of you validating my ideas and the late night dinner.”

  “It’s called chemistry.”

  She couldn’t have this conversation still sitting on his lap. Still feeling his hardness against her hip. Miranda stood and then smoothed her hands along her skirt. “Regardless …” She backed away until she felt the doorknob at the small of her back. “You said it was my decision. And my decision is that this shouldn’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

  She turned and fled. She grabbed her bag from her desk but skipped the elevator in favor of the stairs. Kissing Connor Reeves was an amazingly wonderful experience. But a horrible, terrible idea.

  She only hoped she would remember that the next time she saw him.

  Chapter Four

  Connor wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. There were paychecks to sign, the new proposal for the advertisers that he would present that afternoon, and the new template for Vegas Nightly Online he needed to go over one more time.

  He couldn’t concentrate on any of those tasks for longer than a minute, though, because he kept reliving that kiss with Miranda last night. And the one the night before.

  He really, really shouldn’t want to kiss her again. Shouldn’t be daydreaming about what the skin of her torso might feel like against his hands. Shouldn’t still be hearing that little catch in the back of her throat when he kissed the sensitive spot beneath her chin.

  His computer bleeped, signaling an incoming video call. He clicked a button, and Jase’s face filled the screen.

  “Heard about the hack. How bad was it?” Jase asked without preamble. Typical Jase. Get to the point and get out. Not that Connor minded.

  “Dancing penises and breasts. Blood writing. The usual.”

  “Damn.”

  “It was up less than an hour, from what we’ve been able to determine. I’m meeting with a few advertisers this afternoon. Interestingly enough, our readership numbers skyrocketed through the afternoon and are still higher than average this morning.”

  “Gawkers.”

  Connor agreed. People clicking on to the site hoping they would witness another hack that could be screen-capped to live on social media forever. Thankfully, he’d found only a handful of such images from the hack.

  “So what’s really on your mind?”

  “Checking in before our big call the week after Thanksgiving. You still wanting to move forward with the expansion plans?” Jase asked, his gaze focused on something off the computer screen.

  The three of them had penciled in a meeting on the Wednesday after Thanksgiving, before the big rush of holiday events started up at the casinos, to talk about the future of the business. Connor knew risking an expansion when Clayton was still making trouble was risky, but it was a risk he was willing to take. “Definitely. Shoring up the business is the priority, but growing it isn’t far behind. You didn’t need to check up on me.” He might need a little sense talked into him if he couldn’t get Miranda off his mind, but he was solid on the business side of things.

  “Yeah, well.”

  Connor drummed his fingers against the desk, wondering what was going on with his older brother. Jase didn’t normally call to check up on either him or Gage. He spent as much time out of Las Vegas as he could, playing in high stakes poker tournaments and coming up with new casino game ideas. “What’s going on with you?”

  This was the second time in a couple of months that Jase seemed less like himself. When Gage had freaked out over being named the Bachelor of the Month by Vegas Nightly, Jase had been distant. Lonely, maybe. He’d made some noise about coming back to Vegas, but so far they hadn’t seen him.

  “Calli
e called about Thanksgiving.”

  It wasn’t just the scheduled call after Thanksgiving, it was the holiday in general making Jase uncomfortable.

  “She cornered me at the penthouse. Wants a big family get-together it sounds like,” Conner said.

  “Yeah. One big, happy family.”

  With four words, Jase made clear his apprehensions about the holiday dinner. His older brother didn’t want to disappoint Callie, whom he’d always had a soft spot for, but he didn’t want to spend the holiday in Vegas, either. Connor could count on one hand the number of actual family dinners they’d had—Caleb and Helena together, all three brothers around the table. Caleb had grilled steaks and Helena had baked pies and cookies. She’d usually been gone by Saturday morning, but the few times she’d hung around for Thanksgiving had been fun. Almost like they’d been a normal family.

  “She’ll understand if you’re caught up in work.”

  “Gage won’t.”

  “True. There are rules about bowling,” Connor said, referencing one of their favorite movies, The Big Lebowski.

  “You don’t think ‘fuck it, dudes’ will work this time?”

  “This is Callie, and he’s head over heels. What do you think?”

  ”God.” Jase scrubbed a hand over his face. “The pretty boy is in love. Yeah. So you’ll be there?”

  “Haven’t figured a way out of it yet. But if something comes up in the next couple of weeks …”

  “I’ll find your ass and drag it back to the ranch for turkey and pumpkin pie.”

  Connor grinned at his brother through the video screen. “Damn it, Jim,” he said in his best McCoy-from-Star Trek impersonation.

  “Pretty boy is in love; what are we going to do?” Jase didn’t wait for Connor to answer. He waved at the screen. “See you in a couple of weeks,” he said, and the screen went dark.

  Connor checked his calendar. Two weeks to the day before Thanksgiving. Might as well let Callie know she could expect both him and Jase for dinner. He texted her, and she shot back a thumbs up emoji.

  With no other distractions, Connor opened the file for the new template and read over it once more. Then he clicked on to the website. Running smoothly, and with a few images from a party at one of the clubs inside Caesars the night before. He checked the social additions and saw the pictures were being shared across the major platforms, and one was trending.

  With nothing left to do besides obsess over the ad meeting that afternoon, Connor decided to get out of his head and away from his office. He meandered around the main hall, checking in on the few account reps still at their desks. The bullpen was active with ringing phones, and the scanner desk squawked as the 9-1-1 Center sent cruisers out on a domestic violence call. Ben scribbled something down and handed the paper to one of the reporters for the newspaper, who scurried out the door with a photographer. Trust Ben to catch a potential news call even when he was hip-deep in uploads for the gossip site. The man deserved a raise.

  Connor continued through the second floor, and then opened the door to the stairwell. He skipped the first floor, which held a small coffee and sandwich shop as well as a newsstand, and took the stairs to the basement to watch the press. At just before noon on a Wednesday, there wouldn’t be much activity. The next print run wouldn’t go out until nearly midnight, but there were the circulars to get ready for Sunday. The press room was a cavernous room filled with huge, stainless steel machines. His press was small compared to the presses run by the bigger cities, but it was his, and it was perfect.

  “I thought I might find you here,” Miranda said, coming up beside him at the rail. A couple of workers scurried around below, getting ready for the print test of the circulars, no doubt.

  “I didn’t realize I was hard to find.”

  “You’re usually not, but I tried your office and the conference room with no luck. I wanted to show you a couple of logo options for the streaming show.” She handed a sheaf of papers to him, and Connor paged through. He liked the design that made the Vegas Nightly Online banner appear to be made from neon the best.

  “That one,” he said.

  “It’s my favorite, too. What are you doing down here?” she asked after a moment.

  “Watching. I like to watch while the fresh printings fly along the housings.”

  “I like the blast of heat when the machines first start up.” She leaned a hip against the railing. “When I was a little girl, my dad would take me to the press room in Denver. It was always a rush because he had a morning and night edition, and there were circulars and special editions to be put out. It was noisy, and the smell of ink hung heavy in the air. I was always terrified I’d brush up against something and get my dress inky.”

  “Didn’t like getting dirty, huh?” He liked to listen to her talk. She had a slight drawl to her voice that made the words flow off her tongue like honey. Plus, as long as they were talking they weren’t kissing, which she’d officially banned the night before.

  “I wouldn’t have cared a bit. My mother, on the other hand, was convinced dirt—and that included ink—would kill me before I reached ten. I think she’s still a little obsessed with how often I shower and exactly what evils the sand in the desert might hold.”

  “It actually makes a fairly decent scrub.”

  “Good to know.”

  “You want to take a walk?” he asked, not wanting her to leave just yet. He might not be able to kiss her, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t spend time with her. Break down those walls just a little bit. He liked her, in spite of her last name and the implications it still held. He didn’t know who was responsible for the hack, but he was certain it wasn’t Miranda. Not after the things she told him yesterday.

  She’d been embarrassed at what her father wanted for her, certain of what she wanted for herself, and determined. More than that, she hadn’t denied who she was when confronted, and she didn’t make excuses, unlike Alyssa who had blamed everyone, including Connor, for her actions. No, Miranda had been sincere. Honest. Those aspects of her character intrigued him.

  Miranda looked toward the exit door. “We have the meeting with the advertisers this afternoon. I should prep for it.”

  “I can tell you what you need to know while we walk,” he said and reached for her hand. He drew back before he could touch her. Because touching would only make not kissing her harder.

  “Okay, then.”

  They walked through the press room, and he told her about the increase in hits to the website. Together, they went over the hack and how to present their plan of action to the advertisers. Her arm brushed against his when they rounded a corner, and Connor felt that familiar burst of energy at the spot of contact. He really had to get a handle on how his body reacted to hers.

  He introduced her to a couple of press workers as they moved toward the stairs leading to the private rooms where Callie and Mandy set up their massage tables.

  “Jorge has new twins at home,” he said when the taller man closed the door behind him. “And Adam just bought a new house in Paradise. His wife is a nurse at the county hospital.” Two women came into the press room, and he told her about them, too. Connor made a point of getting to know his employees. He might not spend a lot of time with them, but he knew what they needed.

  Maybe if Miranda knew more about them, she would realize how dangerous the situation was for Reeves Pub. He didn’t want to lose his business—that went without saying—and he refused to use family money to keep it afloat, but he also didn’t want the workers to lose their jobs. Gage and Jase would bail out the publications in a heartbeat, he knew, just as he had invested in their businesses when the three of them were starting out. But Reeves Pub had to survive based on its merits.

  “Do you have a sad story about all your employees?” she asked.

  Connor shook his head. Their sad stories weren’t the point. They were happy; they worked hard. His employees deserved to continue to work, not be put out of a job because of the downsizing that
would come if he couldn’t turn things around at Reeves Pub.

  “Does the poor little rich girl have trouble understanding what it is to be proud of the work a person does?” he shot back at her, and the color drained from her face. Connor shook his head. “Sorry. I’m a little on edge.”

  “I know all about wanting to be proud of the work being done and having no one to celebrate the accomplishment with.”

  “Good. Because if your father does take over Reeves Pub, these people won’t have pride in their work. They’ll have a severance package and months of knocking on doors only to be told there is no work available.” He knew the words were harsh, but he couldn’t hold them back. She needed to know exactly what was in store if Clayton succeeding in knocking his business off. “They are trained to work the press, and there are fewer and fewer presses in operation.”

  “If Clayton manages to get its claws on your company, the press room will still have to run. The stories will still have to be filed, and the advertising will still have to be sold. Your chair might be vacated, but the rest of the chairs won’t be.” Fire seemed to shoot from her big, brown eyes and Miranda put her hands on her hips. “My father doesn’t have a fleet of elves to come in and run the paper every night, you know. He wouldn’t run you out of business just to shut down the publications. It doesn’t make good business sense.”

  “Of course it does. With us shut down, it leaves more ad dollars for his publications. He can run the ad price up; he can start his own magazine for the Strip.”

  “Then invest some of the Reeves money into the business so you don’t have to worry about takeovers or buyouts,” she said, arms crossed over her chest. “I can’t stop my father. And even if he would listen to me, it isn’t my fault or your fault if Reeves Pub goes under. Businesses fail, especially media companies. I’ve seen my father buy out and sell off so many publications I can’t keep them all straight, and a couple of times he was this close,” she held her index finger and thumb a half-inch a part, “to losing the Denver paper, and that one is his baby. More important than any of the others.” Definitely more important than his wife and daughter. “I like working here, Connor, and I think you’re a great boss. If you’re this worried about my father’s company, you need to start thinking offensively. Nothing talks louder than cash.”