Two To Wrangle (Hotel Rodeo #2)(39)

“When are you coming back?” he asked. “I’ll send the plane.”

“I’m not,” she replied slowly, suddenly filled with an intense urge to escape. “You can do whatever you like, Evan, but I’m taking some time off for me.”

“I thought you’d already done that.” Evan replied in a terse and impatient staccato.

“No, Evan. I came out to Vegas to take care of Tom. Then I went to Oklahoma to put him to rest. I came back to Vegas to take care of more business, but now I think now it’s about time I took care of me.”

Looking at the sketches of Seville’s famed bullring had brought back fond memories. She hadn’t taken a real vacation in years, hadn’t been out of the country since grad school. Maybe it was time. Rather than New York, Nice called out. A month of exploring the Mediterranean coastline might do wonders to put her life back into perspective.

“We still need to talk about all this. About us.”

“There isn’t any us, Evan. And I’m not going to act as your business conduit anymore.”

“Is that what you think? That I’m just using you?”

“Yes. Now that we got that straight, is there really anything left to talk about?”

As expected, silence filled her ears.

“Goodbye, Evan.” She said softly and disconnected the call.

Monica plopped down on the bed, feeling depressed and deflated. She was surprised he’d given up so easily, but that was infinitely better than if he’d lied. Evan needed her influence with Ty, and Ty needed her money, but neither of them really needed her, or was man enough to admit they did. Would she ever find a man who could love her for herself? After a few more minutes spent in emotional self-indulgence, Monica resolved to do whatever it took to break free of this downward cycle she found herself stuck in. Her next move was to call Tom’s probate attorney, Bob Wright.

“Bob, it’s Monica. I don’t care what you have to liquidate, but I need a bank draft for fifty million and I need it today.”

Bob gave a low whistle. “Fifty mil’s a hefty sum on such short notice, but I’ll see what I can do. Is everything okay, Ms. Brandt?”

“I’m not in any trouble, if that’s what you’re asking. I just need to get away and decompress for a while.”

“That’s certainly understandable under the circumstances,” he said. “You’ve been under a lot of stress.

“Yes, I have,” she said. “So I’ve decided to travel out of the country for a time. I trust you’ll take care of Tom’s estate in my absence. I’ll text you later with all my contact info in case you need to get in touch with me.”

“If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to let me know, Ms. Brandt.”

“There’s nothing at present, aside from the check. Thank you, Bob.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Brandt. Safe travels.”

Monica’s next two calls were to Air France and then the H?tel Hermitage Monte-Carlo. She was trading the stark desert of Las Vegas for the famed turquoise waters of the C?te d’Azur.



Ty spent the better part of the day taking care of business Las Vegas style—making calls and greasing palms. After completing the necessary arrangements, he called the limo to take him back to his place, where he showered, shaved off his customary stubble, and changed into his one and only power suit, a black Armani he’d bought a couple of years ago for a funeral. He’d never have dropped that kind of cash, but he’d sent Gabby out with his credit card. Now he was glad he had. Even off the rack, the Italian-made suit fit like a glove. If he was going to persuade Monica, he knew he had to speak the language she understood best—business. If that meant pressing and polishing himself to a spit shine, so be it.

Overcoming his lack of business shoes, he polished up his black Lee Miller custom sharkskin boots, then finished the look with his only watch, a gold Rolex Tom had given him twelve years ago on his twenty-first birthday. Now, for maybe the first time ever, he looked like a Las Vegas hotelier, even if he couldn’t quite bring himself to don the strangling necktie.

He’d promised to show Monica why the hotel was so important to him, but their partnership meant far more to him than just the hotel. That’s exactly what he intended to show her—and in a way she’d never forget.



With several hours to kill before her mystery date with Ty, Monica decided to make a final shopping trip rather than pacing in her hotel suite. He’d said to wear a dress, but her entire wardrobe was comprised of black dresses, black skirts, gray and navy slacks, and white blouses. She had nothing worthy of saying the final goodbye to the love of her life.

After two hours of shopping and rejecting more than two dozen little black dresses, she recalled Ty’s smart-ass remark about her wardrobe: “You should wear other colors, Ms. Brandt. I think you’d look mighty fine in red, preferably something short and tight.”

She might be gone from his life tomorrow, but she swore that tonight she’d make a statement he’d damn well never forget—a statement that began with an indecently short, corset-tight, vermillion-red Hervé Léger bandage dress, and ended with a pair of four-inch Jimmy Choo ankle-strap stilettos.

Two hours later she was applying a final touch of red lipstick when a knock sounded on her door. She checked her watch with a frown. Good thing she was ready. It was only nine-thirty. Taking a last fortifying sip of Calvados, and then the largest breath her constricting dress would allow, she flung the door open. “Ty, you’re—” She jerked back in surprise, almost stumbling in her heels. “Evan? What are you doing here?”