Hell on Heels (Hotel Rodeo #1)(14)

“This matter was decided before I ever walked in here. I don’t know how much clearer I can make myself. I. Don’t. Want. To. Work. For. You.”

Damn it all! She’d always held her own in the boardroom. She’d even managed to one-up Evan in the end, but the normal business tactics of coercion and intimidation had completely failed with Ty. He was the proverbial mountain that wouldn’t be moved. She’d never felt at such a disadvantage before, which made no sense. Didn’t she hold all the cards?

“Quit playing games with me,” she snapped. Admittedly she’d screwed up, but she wasn’t ready to grovel. “Tell me what you want.”

“You really wanna know what I want?”

“Yes,” she hissed.

“I want to rebuild this hotel just as Tom and I agreed to do the day he had the stroke.”

“How can I know you’re even telling me the truth? How can I be certain that discussion wasn’t the cause of his stroke?”

His lips curved into a smug smile. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me. Is that really so hard for you, Ms. Brandt?”

“Trust you?” She gave a derisive snort. “That’s like issuing a blank check. Do you think I’m crazy?”

He cocked his head. “To be honest, I really don’t know what to make of you.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Then that makes two of us. I don’t understand you either.”

“I’m not that hard to figure. In fact, I’m well known as a straight shooter. So is Tom. If this is the way you’re gonna go about things, you don’t know him at all. If you want me to stay on, you’ll honor his wishes. Those are my terms.”

“That’s not what we’re negotiating here! I’m selling this place, whether you like it or not.”

“If that’s the case, we’re already done talking.” He turned to go.

She grabbed his sleeve. “Wait! How do you think Tom would feel if he knew you walked out on me?”

His expression darkened. “Don’t try to make this about Tom.”

“Why not?” she argued. “You just did.”

“This isn’t about Tom,” he insisted.

“Look, this situation doesn’t work for either of us. Surely we can come to a resolution.”

“I want to rebuild,” he said. “You want to sell. I don’t see much room for compromise.”

“You could always buy me out,” she offered. “As long your offer is fair, I’ll sign it. It doesn’t do me any good to hold onto this place.”

“Buy you out?” He gave a dry laugh. “Do you think we’d even be having this conversation if I had tens of millions lying around?”

“Then find some investors to back you,” she suggested. “There are plenty of REITs looking to pick up hotel properties.”

“REITs?” he repeated blankly.

“You know, real estate investment trusts.”

He set his jaw. “Tom and I were partners. I’m not going into business with a bunch of strangers. And I’m sure as shit not going to answer to a board of bean counters.”

She rolled her eyes. “Where are you from? The freaking stone age?”

“Maybe I just have a different outlook on things.”

“I can see how well that’s worked for you,” she scoffed. “Why don’t we take a look at your books, shall we?” She strode to the desk, flipped open a file, and scanned the printed columns with her index finger. “Let’s see now . . . how about we start with all the room comps?”

His mouth compressed. “Tom and I agreed to comp the rodeo cowboys. They always draw family members and the like.”

“Not enough of ‘the like.’ Your largesse cost you fifty thousand last year. And that’s not even counting their food and beverage credits.”

He shrugged. “What’s a few beers?”

“A few?” she snorted. “It looks here like your cowboys must bathe in beer.”

“Told you I’m not into bean counting, Ms. Brandt.”

“Don’t you have any financial sense at all?” she asked. “I would have thought Tom at least—”

The line between his brows deepened. “I told you we have a different way of doing business.”

“You call this business?” She laughed outright.

“We did just fine ’til South Point opened a few years back. That place is brand-spanking new and even has a full-size events arena. How can we compete with that?”

“Look, Ty, even if you did rebuild, you’d be in no better shape the way you run things. Do yourself a favor and sell. The property is actually worth something. A great deal probably. You could walk away with more than enough to buy yourself a ranch back in . . .” Where the hell was he from?

“Oklahoma,” he supplied. “And for the record, I already have one.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Five thousand acres. Near Tom. It was my grandfather’s place.”

“I don’t get it. If you have a ranch, what do you want with a hotel in Las Vegas?”

“That’s a personal question that I ain’t inclined to answer.”

His reply was quick and defensive. Interesting. The cowboy had something to hide from his past. She wondered what he’d run from. Maybe his face was pasted all over WANTED signs back in Oklahoma.