Hell on Heels (Hotel Rodeo #1)(25)

U staying in Vegas?

“Of course I’m staying.” She clasped his hand. “I’d never leave you like this. I’ll be here as long as you need me. Tom, I didn’t want to trouble you with this, but there’s something I really need to know.”

What’s that?

Although she felt a wave of guilt for broaching anything business-related, how could she ever know the truth otherwise? “Did you agree to rebuild the hotel?”

Yup.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why not just sell the property? You and Ty could both pocket millions.”

Not about the money. Ty needs it. Tom squeezed her hand and shut his eyes.

Taking the cue, Monica kissed his weathered cheek for a second time, then quietly slipped out.

Shit. As she’d feared, she had been completely in the wrong to accuse Ty of causing Tom’s stroke. She never should have come on so strong, but she’d acted on what she’d known at the time—and the facts were highly incriminating. She was only trying to protect Tom. Now she wondered if she’d done the completely wrong thing for all the right reasons.





Chapter Nine


The phone rang for the umpteenth time in less than an hour since she’d arrived in her office. Monica glared, willing it to die a slow and agonizing death. It was barely noon, and all she’d done was deal with fires, including an actual fire alarm that someone had pulled up on the third floor as a prank. She half wished the blaze had been real. She could then have walked away with a clear conscience and a nice insurance check.

The phone continued to buzz. With a resigned sigh, she snatched it up. “This is Monica Brandt.”

“Ms. Brandt, this is Sheila in housekeeping. I’ve got a problem.”

“I’d like to know who in this place doesn’t,” Monica bit back.

“Excuse me?” Sheila replied.

“I’m sorry, Sheila. I didn’t mean to snap at you. What is it?”

“Our linen hasn’t been delivered yet. We have a full house this weekend due to the national bull riding championships, and we can’t make up the rooms. What do you want me to do?”

“Have you called the linen supplier?” Monica asked.

“No, ma’am. Not yet.”

“Then I suggest you begin there. It could be as simple as the delivery truck breaking down. Let’s find out first and then see what has to be done.”

“Sure. I’ll keep you posted.”

“I’m sure you will,” Monica said dryly. Was everyone at the Hotel Rodeo totally incompetent? Or was Ty such a tyrant that his employees couldn’t make the simplest decisions on their own? She’d no sooner hung up with housekeeping before the phone buzzed again.

“Ms. Brandt, this is Samantha at the front desk. It’s an hour past checkout, and we have a couple of rooms that refuse to vacate.”

“Then charge them for another night . . . and make it full price.”

“But they’re comps. Cowboys in town for a rodeo.”

“Comps? And they refuse to leave?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Call security,” Monica said. “They’ll boot the freeloaders, right?”

“Um. We don’t really have any official security here, Ms. Brandt. Ty usually handles this kind of thing.”

“Well, Ty isn’t here, so I suggest you phone the police.”

“Er . . . that might not be such a good idea either . . . not with the women involved.”

“Women? What women?” Monica demanded. “What are you talking about?”

“Um . . . They brought a few female . . . companions . . . back with them last night. If they’re still in there this morning, we could get cited for running a brothel.”

“Then I’ll just have to deal with this myself.” Monica slammed down the phone. Now she had to evict a bunch of drunk cowboys and prostitutes? Fighting the urge to beat her head on the desk blotter, she let loose a shriek instead.

“Damn you, Ty Morgan! And damn this place to hell!” Monica snatched up the phone and punched the extension for the bar.

“Last Chance Saloon. Gabby speaking.”

“Gabby? It’s Monica Brandt.”

“Oh, Ms. Brandt. I was just about to call you. Steve Silvestri from the Gaming Commission is here to see you.”

“What? You’ve got to be kidding me?”

“No. He drops in every so often. It’s probably just a routine audit.”

An audit? Now? Shit! Was this some kind of conspiracy? It had to be.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“What do you want me to tell him?” Gabby asked.

Struggling against a complete meltdown, Monica took several deep, cleansing breaths. “Please explain that I am new to the hotel, and ask if he can come back when Ty is here.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Brandt. Anything else?”

“Yes, Gabby, I need your help.”

“What can I do for you?”

“We’ve got a bit of trouble brewing with a bunch of hungover cowboys and hookers, but I’ve just been informed that the hotel doesn’t employ any security personnel. Surely you have some means of dealing with unruly patrons in the bar—don’t you?”