by Stacy Hoff
Table of Contents
BETTING ON LOVE IN VEGAS
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
BETTING ON LOVE IN VEGAS
Building Love Series Book One
STACY HOFF
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
BETTING ON LOVE IN VEGAS
Copyright©2017
STACY HOFF
Cover Design by Leah Kaye Suttle
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-309-3
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
To Connie Vogt,
Certified Dyslexia Teacher and valued friend,
for helping my son, Ryan,
thrive despite his dyslexia.
And to my wonderful family,
Eyal, Ryan, Aaron, Marilyn, and Michael,
who never fail to build me up.
Acknowledgements
My sincere thanks to the following people for their unending support. I could not succeed without them.
Debby Gilbert (Founder and Senior Editor of Soul Mate Publishing, Inc.) for her kind encouragement, editing magic, and willingness to foster my writing career.
Dan Spiegel for maintaining my website, www.stacyhoff.com, with diligence, patience, and expertise.
Amina Connelly for her helpful story critiques, and unparalleled enthusiasm for even my roughest drafts.
Chapter 1
Cat Warner’s plan was strictly business—Ty Orland was getting a piece of her mind. A piece the size of Mount Kilimanjaro.
Meeting him here, at the Better Hoteliers Convention, would let him know her Big Bear, California, property was not on the market. All she had to do was wait for tonight’s meeting with him. Somewhere in this giant, off-Strip, Las Vegas hotel, he was waiting for her.
“Er, Cat? You okay?” asked Vanessa, General Manager for all of Cat’s six inns. Doubt etched deep in her voice.
Cat knew better than to blow off the older woman’s concerns. More than an excellent GM, Vanessa fussed over her to an extent Cat’s own mother hadn’t ever bothered. Vanessa wasn’t about to tone down the attention, either, despite the fact that Cat—at thirty-one years of age—was hardly a baby.
Vanessa easily fit the “motherly” role in all categories except looks. The lean, tall woman appeared ten years younger than she was. Great skin from avoiding the sun like the plague, and no stray grays due to an almost religious pilgrimage to her hairdresser. Cat could only hope to age half as gracefully. Despite her pseudo-mom’s high-maintenance appearance, however, Vanessa was down-to-Earth, one of the many traits Cat loved about her. But Vanessa’s very best feature was having a heart as big as the Pacific Ocean.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Why?” Cat asked cautiously.
“Because,” Vanessa answered, brows furrowed, “you’re gripping the room’s key card so tightly your knuckles have turned white.”
Cat looked at her hand and immediately released the key card. The rectangular piece of lightweight plastic floated down onto the convention center’s lobby carpeting. She bent to pick it up with a grunt of annoyance. Wondering whether the clerks at the reception desk heard the unladylike sound, heat rose to her face. The tight waistband of her business suit’s skirt jabbed into her stomach until she straightened up and hastily shoved the key card somewhere in the bowels of her extra-large pink purse.
If I had the money, I’d buy suits in a bigger size. Shopping the sales racks, the selection was always limited. But regardless of how the suit felt, at least it looked professional. The crisp white blouse against the navy skirt and jacket made Cat look more like a banker than a business owner. Appropriate, since tonight’s meeting was all about Ty Orland trying to earn even more money. At her expense.
Vanessa touched Cat’s shoulder. “Don’t worry so much. It’s your land. There’s nothing the man can do to make you sell. You know that. He’ll probably wind up being very impressed with you because you’re young, pretty, and professional. No doubt he’ll be gracious.”
“Yeah. Right.” Of course she’d think so. Cat sighed. Men. The day she found one actually willing to acquiesce to what she wanted would be, well . . . a fabulous first, actually. From her father to her ex-fiancé, their first thought was to bully. Not willing to be the victim any longer, Cat had learned to hold her ground. Still, confrontation was never going to be something she looked forward to. Let alone enjoyed. At least Vanessa understood this aspect of her nature.
Orland Premier Properties, Inc., had been particularly relentless. Constantly calling. Sending non-stop letters. Always trying to set up meetings. Tonight she would have her first—and last—meeting with the man. Giving him her final, definitive, unequivocal “no.”
She wasn’t a clueless, malleable kid anymore. She was a self-assured, experienced, mature woman. Accordingly, Ty Orland, multi-million-dollar-hotel magnate, would be in for a serious surprise. Namely, money could not buy everything.
“No one can bully you anymore. Not your parents. Not Rudy,” Vanessa hastened to add. “Even they learned their lesson.”
Well, her parents had learned their overbearing ways didn’t work anymore. Sort of. Her ex, Rudy, probably not at all. “Thanks. Tomorrow, when it’s all over, I’ll be fine.” The thought of being done with Orland perked up her mood, reversing the direction of her frown. “We’re going to spend tomorrow afternoon at the pool, right?”
Vanessa quirked up an eyebrow.
“Near the pool, not in the pool,” Cat hastened to add.
“One of these days you’re going to let me teach you how to swim. But unfortunately, it can’t happen this time. Jan needs to take the next few days off. I’m going to have to fill in for her. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to take the next flight
back home.”
“Jan’s mother took a turn for the worse? I’m sorry to hear it.”
Vanessa nodded. “I got the text a few minutes ago.”
“Bad situation. We’ll muddle through. I can take all the classes we need, tell off Ty Orland and be back to give you a hand with Jan’s work as soon as this weekend is over.”
“Take your time. I’ve got this. The question is, are you going be all right without me?”
“Of course,” came the response, surprisingly firm compared to what Cat felt. “I’ve put us in business, and I’m going to make sure we stay in business.” As usual, she’d do her best to internalize her own message. “I’d better head off to the next meeting. Have a safe flight.”
“Go get ’em, honey. You look lovely. I’m sure you’ll have a good time.”
Giving Vanessa a fast hug good-bye, Cat headed off through the lobby toward the largest of the convention rooms. The hotel was enormous. More fortress than guest residence. If the place ever needed to raise money, they could host the entire Olympic village within these walls.
Barely down the corridor in a quick trot, her ankle twisted. With an ungainly lurch, she managed to catch herself by grabbing onto someone’s upright luggage. A quick scan of the floor offered no explanation.
“Hey you,” exclaimed the little white-haired woman next to the suitcase Cat held.
Cat felt heat rush to her face. “I’m so sorry,” she said, releasing the woman’s bag. “Please forgive me, I lost my balance.”
The other woman shook her head. “I’m not mad. I’m trying to tell you your shoe is broken.”
Cat looked down. To her horror, the spiked heel of her left shoe was now at a precarious angle. “Darn it all.” Mental note: Spend more for quality shoes.
This trip was getting worse by the second. It had started out as a good idea—she had booked the convention as a learning tool for her and Vanessa. But the hotel lost their room reservation. Then they had to mill about for twenty minutes while the snafu was straightened out. Now Vanessa had to fly back because another employee had a crisis. And to top it all off, she still had to deal with Ty Orland. At least it was on neutral ground. Meeting him in one of his properties would be totally out of the question.
All this to deal with after a lousy, turbulence-filled flight stuck next to a man who insisted the armrest between them was his personal property. Rather than fight with him, she had tried to shove her shoulders together to make herself as small as possible. With no other seat she could move to without paying extra for first class, she dealt with cut-off circulation as best she could. Including not breathing in too often, since the man stank from garlic and bad cologne. Hopefully business will turn around, and it will be the last time I order through CheapoPlaneTix.com. At least the flight from California was blissfully short. Yet another perk of having left Boston, and bad memories, way behind her, years ago.
Cat pulled out her smartphone to check the time and cursed. The list of things going wrong was growing, her phone was out of power.
“Excuse me,” she asked a middle-aged man wearing a convention badge. “Where is the next lecture and when does it start?”
The man glanced at his watch. “All the way down the corridor, in the grand ballroom. Starts in two minutes.”
Crap. No time to run back to the room to change into the only other shoes she brought, black dress flats. With luck, she’d barely manage to hobble over in her broken stilettos in time. She hurried, trying as best she could not to teeter from the busted heel. After a few more precarious steps she gave up, reached down to take the heels off and ran down the hallway, shoes in hand. Bare feet glided over the coarse burgundy hallway carpet.
Finally here! Her heart was palpitating from both the sprint and the stress. It was too bad when this class was over she’d be going back to her hotel room to watch TV instead of rewarding herself with a massage at the spa. But business profit was as tight as her muscles nowadays. Fiscal independence from her ultra-wealthy parents was good for body and mind, but hell on the wallet.
Before opening the convention doors she shoved her shoes back on. They may be broken, but a wobbly walk was still less noticeable than being barefoot.
The ballroom was airless and packed with people. With careful weaving, she made her way toward an empty seat. Plopping down onto one of the stiff plastic folding chairs near the back of the room, her leg and back muscles relaxed.
The number of people attending this afternoon’s speaker panel on the hotel industry was unfathomable. A gazillion, maybe. Squinting through the harsh glare of the overhead florescent lights, she read through the afternoon’s agenda items. The program must be running late. Ironic, yet fortuitous, since she was late herself.
If Rudy, her ex-fiancé, had run this event, he’d be dead from humiliation. Punctuality was his life. Unconsciously Cat let out a grin while picturing him, hands in his hair, screaming, “Noooo!”
Between her tension-induced sweat, the sweltering heat of the room, and the too-tight skirt she wore, she was getting desperate for a bath in ice water. Rivulets dribbled down her neck and back. Luckily, she’d put hair up in a bun. Mostly. Her peripheral vision saw a few tendrils hanging loose, curly from the heat. She might be a mess but at least she didn’t smell. Fortunately, she’d remembered to put on deodorant this morning.
Grabbing a sip of the bottled water she’d shoved in her oversized purse, she tried to let her mind idle. But it was hard not to think about Ty Orland. The hotel magnate’s million-dollar offer was drool-worthy tempting, and she needed the money badly. The string of bed and breakfasts she owned only struggled along, and one inn dragged down the profits from her other five. The extra income of the land sale would be enough to bail her out. But selling the Big Bear, California, parcel was out of the question. She’d be developing it herself. Someday. Soon. The moment she had the funds.
Her parents had given her the coveted parcel of land. The gift, a tangible symbol of their penance. An apology for trying to run her life for so long. And especially for pushing her into her engagement with a man she didn’t love. They had chosen a location with emotional significance, a place they’d all enjoyed when she was growing up. While Aspen was the ski Mecca to many, Big Bear was where her parents had always taken her.
Their token was meant to do more than bring back fond memories, it was meant for her to use to make her own fortune. Branch out on her own. Allow her to have her own life. And Cat did embrace life, living it with a different last name to establish her own identity.
An apology from her parents she’d accept. Handouts, she wouldn’t. She refused their checks and offers of assistance. If she was ever going to be independent, she needed to act like it. At least her stubbornness had an upside. It encouraged her to continue on her journey of independence her own way. And allowed for future development.
All she had to do now was actually hang on to both her independence and the land. With business failing, this presented a dual challenge. If she borrowed money from her parents it would undermine her emancipation. And if she tried to sell the land—their gift of faith to her—they’d never let her live it down.
No matter. She’d be ready to meet Orland tonight. She had done her homework on him because learning about people in business was critical. His social life, if he had one, was apparently unknown. One out-of-focus photo was all she’d found, depicting a man who was most likely as good looking as they came. Unfortunately, an Internet search hadn’t yielded much more, only the standard business bio. Ty Orland was obviously a man who paid dearly to protect his privacy. The man had money, wealth, and power to fuel his expansive hotel empire. And most likely an ego the size of the very hotel she stood in.
If she were smart, she’d pay attention to all the Better Hoteliers Association’s lectures like her livelihood depended on it. After all, she was at their c
onvention for more reasons than simply telling off Ty Orland. She needed the classes on profitability. Marketing. Management. And most importantly, budgeting. She’d be damned if she wasn’t going to come out of this a “better hotelier.”
Hot, endless eons later, a nondescript man walked onto the stage and introduced the next speaker, a woman who was an expert in the service industry. The announcer’s voice sounded metallic in the microphone, reverberating throughout the room.
Later this weekend, Ty Orland himself would be speaking at this very same podium. The “Building Your Hotel Brand,” lecture was the one he’d give first. But his lecture that was number one on her “hit list” was budgeting.
Though after telling him to stuff his offer, it’d be a little awkward sticking around, listening to him give business advice. Maybe if she continued to sit anonymously in the back of the enormous ballroom, he wouldn’t notice her.
~ ~ ~
Ty Orland impatiently glanced at his oversized Rolex wristwatch. Today had been irritating, and the day wasn’t even close to being done. Before he could stretch out in his room with CNN, the stock market reports and a glass of whiskey to keep him company, he had a meeting to go to with two different resort builders he wanted to work with in the near future.
Luis Serrano and Daniel Vega, the independent colleagues he had in mind for two separate projects, would be tricky to convince. Given their number of complex building deals, Ty knew he would have to pitch hard. Of course, this was in the optimistic belief Ty’s current negotiations with Warner would work out. Or there would be little point in worrying about the future.
Once he was done wooing Serrano and Vega, he’d have to show his face at the Association’s cocktail party. At least for a little while. As if that wasn’t enough, he then had a second social event later on in the night. But of all these commitments, it was the meeting sandwiched in-between that he dreaded and cared about the most.
