Werewolf in Las Vegas (23 page)

Giselle stared at him. “With all due respect, no, he would not. He loves Vegas and he loves his sister. He could never tell her the truth about his life, and that would be cruel to both of them. I wouldn't dream of saddling him with that burden.”

“Too bad you won't give him a chance to weigh in on the subject,” Bryce said.

Mr. Thatcher's attention was distracted by something directly behind them. “Our conversation is at an end,” he said in a low voice. Then he stepped back and waved. “It appears you've finished your discussion!”

“We did!” Luke called out. “What's up with you slowpokes? We figured you'd be on your second round by now.”

Bryce and Giselle both turned. She hoped her brother had a reasonable explanation, because she was drawing a blank.

Bryce, her quick-witted riddle maker, came through. “We had some family business to work through, too, and we decided to settle it before we started drinking.” He put his arm around Giselle's shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “I gotta say, this is one stubborn female.”

Luke laughed. “Don't I know it.”

“Stubbornness is in the eye of the beholder,” Giselle said.

Cynthia gave her a thumbs-up. “Way to tell 'em, girlfriend!”

Giselle managed a big smile as she watched Luke and Cynthia approach. Tall, fair, and beautiful, they were so obviously brother and sister. She couldn't imagine how their mother could bear to live an ocean away from them.

But that was her choice, and it left them more dependent on each other. No one should come between those two, especially not a female werewolf who'd foolishly allowed herself to fall in love with a human.

If Luke had doubted his decision to sell Howlin' at the Moon, those doubts evaporated when he stepped inside the door. The place was almost deserted.

Chuck Stevens came forward with a cheerful smile, because that was Chuck's way, to smile in the face of disappointment. But Chuck had to be wondering whether Luke had a strategy to keep the bar business from going into free fall. “Don't know what to tell you,” he said. “Business was great yesterday, but today, not so much.”

“Don't worry about it.” Luke turned to the group he'd brought in, none of whom would be paying customers. “I guess you know everybody except Giselle's brother. Bryce Landry, meet Chuck Stevens. Chuck's the CFO for Dalton Industries.”

Bryce reached out and shook Chuck's hand. “My sister's the CFO for the Landry operation up in 'Frisco. Did she tell you that?”

“I don't think she did. She had other things on her mind when we met.”

“Like me,” Cynthia said. “But all's well that ends well, Chuck. My darling brother's hired me to dance with the Moonbeams, so you'll be signing my paycheck soon.”

Luke didn't care if she boasted about that, or that Chuck's eyebrows lifted at the news. His CFO quickly recovered and congratulated Cynthia on her new job. Chuck had been with Dalton for seven years, long enough to figure out that complicated maneuvers took place in a family-owned business.

“So I guess you're all here to celebrate!” Chuck gestured toward the interior of the bar, where only a handful of people occupied a grouping of twenty tables. “Take your pick. I'll get a server right over.”

“Thanks, Chuck. If you want to head home, I can handle it for the rest of the night.”

“Nah, you have guests. I'm happy to supervise for now. I'm sure business will pick up and we can look into hiring someone.”

Cynthia glanced at Luke. “Aren't you going to tell him?”

“Uh, sure.” He wasn't in the habit of blurting out his business decisions in such a casual way, but saying something might relieve Chuck's concern that the bar would be a financial drain on the company. “I've decided to sell the bar back to Benedict Cartwright.” From the corner of his eye, he caught a triumphant look pass between Giselle and Bryce.

What the hell? Why would either of them care what he did with the bar? Sure, Bryce seemed to have influenced Cynthia to plead for returning the bar to the Cartwrights, but the glance between Bryce and Giselle held more significance than it should, given the circumstances.

Chuck appeared stunned by the announcement. “Sell it back to Benedict? I thought the whole idea was to get it away from that family. Wasn't the poker game a grudge match? Or am I missing something?”

“You're not missing anything,” Luke said. “The game was a grudge match, and as you and I were taught in our business classes, revenge is a lousy motivation for a corporate decision. Owning this bar makes no sense for Dalton Industries, but since I got it for free, we can't avoid making a profit when I sell it.”

Chuck grinned. “So revenge
is
a good motivation?”

“Only if you know when to stop seeking it. Have our lawyers draw up the papers tomorrow, and set up a meeting with Benedict whenever he's available.”

“I'll do that and let you know. Now, find yourself a table and enjoy yourselves. There's no band tonight, but the jukebox works great. And the pool table's open.”

Cynthia seemed to be in rare form. “I want that middle table next to the dance floor.”

Bryce laughed. “Gonna put on a show for us?”

“I might, but first I challenge you to a game of pool.”

Luke should have known she'd remember and follow through on her plan. He'd always been in awe of his sister's brainpower, but he'd never thought she'd employ it for his benefit. Maybe she'd find out nothing, but earlier when they'd come upon Bryce, Giselle, and Mr. Thatcher in a huddle, his instincts had gone on alert.

Bryce had made it sound as if they'd been discussing Landry family issues, but Luke didn't buy it. The moment Mr. Thatcher had caught sight of him, he'd looked startled. Then he'd muttered something to the others. Luke was willing to bet they'd been talking about him.

How Mr. Thatcher figured into all this remained a mystery, too. But he'd latched on to Giselle immediately, and that was unusual for the reserved butler. When Luke had seen the three of them together, he'd had the oddest feeling, as if they were linked somehow.

That wasn't logical. Bryce and Giselle were brother and sister, of course, but Mr. Thatcher had no connection to them. His family was in England, and the Landrys were based in San Francisco. So why did all three radiate a feeling of togetherness, as if they shared a bond of great significance?

He hoped that Cynthia would make some headway with Bryce and eventually could enlighten her confused brother. If anyone could pry information out of a person, it was Cynthia.

Cynthia and Bryce put in their order before heading off to the bar's pool table. Cynthia chose a Long Island iced tea, and Bryce duplicated her order. It was a strong drink, but Luke had a better handle on his sister's methods now.

By ordering something strong, she'd challenged Bryce to do the same. If Luke had to guess, he'd say that Cynthia planned to nurse hers and catch a slightly drunk Bryce off guard. Then she'd subtly pump him for information.

Luke settled at the table with Giselle and Mr. Thatcher. Giselle, who took the chair to his right, ordered red wine, so he did, too. He wouldn't drink much. He wanted to keep his wits about him tonight. Mr. Thatcher, who'd chosen a chair across the table from them, asked for a gin and tonic.

A bowl of mixed nuts occupied the center of their round table. Luke offered some to Giselle, who took a handful. Then he pushed the bowl in Mr. Thatcher's direction. “I don't think I've ever shared a drink with you,” Luke said.

“Normally it's bad form to drink with the hired help.”

Interesting. Yet the guy had suggested accompanying Giselle and Bryce to the bar. Luke decided not to mention that. “Seems like a silly rule in your case,” he said. “You're like a member of the family.”

“I appreciate that. I feel as if I am, but still, you pay my salary. You don't normally pay members of your family.”

“I'm about to. Cynthia will draw a salary as one of the Moonbeams. What do you think of that whole deal, Mr. Thatcher? Am I making a mistake?” He discovered that the answer mattered to him. Hired help or not, he wanted this man's approval. He always had wanted it.

“In my estimation, you did the right thing.”

“I'm glad you think so.” Luke was ridiculously relieved to hear that. “I'm afraid that my dad—”

“Never saw her as she was,” Mr. Thatcher said. “Only as he wished her to be. She's been a dancer as long as I've known her.”

Luke sent him a look of gratitude. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

Mr. Thatcher pushed back his chair. “Speaking of dancing, do you fancy some tunes on the jukebox? You and Giselle could dance.”

“That's okay,” Giselle said quickly. “Leaving you alone at the table would be rude.”

“Nonsense. Let's have some music. It would do my heart good to see you dance together.”

After he walked over to the jukebox, Luke glanced at Giselle. “What's that all about?”

She flushed. “He's a bit of a matchmaker, apparently.”

“I'm not opposed to that, but he's never been into matchmaking before.” He gazed at her. “Do you know him from somewhere?”

“No.”

He thought it was significant that she didn't ask him why he'd think that. “When Cynthia and I caught up with you three on the sidewalk, I couldn't shake the impression that you'd been talking about me. Bryce stepped into the breach and made up something that sounded like an excuse, but . . . were you talking about me?”

She had a deer-in-the-headlights look, but finally she nodded.

“Why?”

“Like I said, Mr. Thatcher thinks we're good together.”

He covered her hand with his. “He's got that right. Bryce is a big boy. Send him back to 'Frisco and stay with me, at least for a while. I know you have responsibilities back home, but you accomplished what you came here for. Don't you deserve a little reward? A small vacation?”

Her green eyes revealed the struggle going on there. “You know I want to stay.”

“Then do it.”

“That would only make things worse when I leave.”

“I'll take that risk.”

She shook her head. “I'll leave with Bryce. It's the best for both of us.”

Mr. Thatcher returned to his chair. “I don't recognize most of those songs, so you'll have to make do with some old ones, I'm afraid.”

The opening chords of “I Will Always Love You”
wafted through the bar's sound system. Luke stood and held out his hand to Giselle. “That one works for me.”

With a smile that was part frustration and part surrender, she took his hand and joined him on the small dance floor. They had it to themselves. He almost wished they'd been surrounded by other dancers, which would have given them more privacy.

In the spotlight, so to speak, he couldn't hold her as close as he wanted to. He felt self-conscious about pressing his lips to the tender place behind her ear.

But he could talk to her. “Will you spend the night with me?” he murmured against her ear.

She shivered in response. “I shouldn't. I need to make plane reservations tonight.”

“We can do that in ten minutes.”

“My parents told me to take the corporate jet, but I think that's a waste of resources.”

“The corporate
jet
?” He pulled back to gaze into her eyes. “Your family has a jet?”

She smiled. “Doesn't everyone?”

“
No.
I've considered it, but our holdings are all in Vegas. A jet is overkill, unless I want it to impress people.”

“Our jet is a necessary expense. We're considering buying another one. We're primarily a shipping company, and we do business all over the Pacific Rim.”

“That's impressive. I should have Googled you so I wouldn't be caught by surprise.” He drew her closer. To hell with who was watching. “Your company has resources. My company has resources. We can find a way to make this happen. We're good together. You know we are. Don't throw that away.”

She continued to smile, but she shook her head. “No can do. It wouldn't work out.”

“You are the most maddening woman I have ever met.” Pressing his cheek to hers, he danced with her until the song ended. Then he led her back to the table, where their drinks were waiting. He glanced over at the pool table. He needed his resident spy to return with some intel.

As if he'd signaled her on some high-tech personal communication system, she came back to the table, Bryce trailing behind.

“She kicked my butt,” Bryce said. “I thought they taught intellectual stuff at Yale, but apparently she majored in billiards.”

Cynthia made a face. “I learned the basics in Vegas and polished my game with my college friends. Most of them were math majors, so they understood the geometry involved. They taught me to view the table scientifically.”

“That might be true, but I say she was channeling Minnesota Fats.” Bryce rolled his eyes. “Just warning you suckers. The girl's got game.”

“He exaggerates.” Cynthia focused on Luke. “Care to take me on, big brother?”

“Sure. My ego can handle it.” Luke stood.

“That's what I thought.” Bryce drained his Long Island iced tea. “But she'll humiliate you, my friend. And you won't even see it coming.”

Luke didn't give a damn about the pool game, but he hoped Cynthia had information about the woman he craved more than life itself. He chalked his cue and pretended to care. “You can break.”

She sent the balls flying, and two landed in the pockets. She lined up for another shot.

“What did you find out?”

She pulled back and sighed. “Wait until I've made my shot, okay?”

At that moment he became acutely aware that she was twenty-two. She was smarter than almost anyone he knew, and beautiful, and a great dancer, and savvy about people when she chose to be. But she was still twenty-two, and living for the moment, which meant getting the number two ball in the side pocket.

Curbing his impatience, he leaned on his cue stick and waited for her to make the shot. She made that one, and the one after that, and the one after that. If she ran the table, they would have no chance to talk. In which case, they'd simply play another game. He wasn't leaving the table without some answers.

Eventually she missed a shot. Not by much, but finally he had a turn. He wasn't going to take it until she gave him some information. “What did you find out?”

“Seriously? Not much.”

He groaned.

“No, really. The Landrys are rich, and they have an estate of some kind north of San Francisco. The most I could get out of him—and this was after he'd swallowed most of his Long Island iced tea—was that Giselle was expected to marry a certain type of person, and you didn't fit the bill.”

“What the hell? What's wrong with me? I'm healthy and reasonably good-looking. I have money. Maybe not as much as they do, but I can't believe they're focused on that. Giselle and Bryce don't strike me as snobs.”

“Me, either.”

“So is it pedigree? Are they requiring dudes whose ancestors came over on the Mayflower?”

“I can't believe that's it.” She gestured toward the table. “Take your shot.”

He sighed. “I'm not here to play pool, and you know it.”

“I know, but you have to make it look convincing. Shoot.”

He did and, by sheer coincidence, he sank two balls in a row. Then he missed, and Cynthia proceeded to clear the table of every single one of her remaining balls.