What the Heiress Wants Read online

  It’s what he had been struggling with for months. Whether he should sink money from his personal account—and there was plenty of it—into the business. Gage and Jase would understand. Hell, they would likely throw in some of their own cash. That would only be a tissue wrapped around a gushing wound, though, if he couldn’t get the revenue lines turned around. That, of course, depended on advertiser dollars and the product he put out.

  It was a solid product.

  “I need you to come with me,” he said, and before he could overthink it, Connor took Miranda’s arm and led her to the parking structure. He opened the passenger door of his Jaguar, and once she was settled, got behind the wheel. He turned north out of the garage, and soon the Strip was far behind them. Ahead were low, two- and three-story buildings housing strip malls, insurance offices, and other service businesses.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  Connor turned off the main road, took another right, and pulled behind a massive brick building. “This is the Las Vegas Sun building. The newspaper your father took over earlier this year.”

  She looked around the empty parking lot. “There’s no one here.”

  “Clayton Holdings shut down the printing press two months after the buyout. The paper is now printed in Reno, with his other Nevada newspapers. The reporting, editing, and sales staffs now work in a high efficiency office park on the south side. They file their reports, Reno lays out the paper and prints it, and a courier service flies it back to Vegas during the overnight hours.”

  Brilliant sunlight cut through the windshield of the Jag, heating up the interior despite the air conditioning in the car. November was usually one of the cooler months in the desert, but so far the heat hadn’t broken.

  “Why tell me?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

  “So you know what we’re up against.”

  “Don’t you mean so I’ll go running to Daddy, begging him not to lay everyone off?”

  Connor shook his head. “From what you’ve told me, he wouldn’t care. But now you know the situation. He’s already moved or let go twenty press workers. I was able to hire a few of them, but if the company folds, they’ll have nowhere else to go.”

  “He can’t move everything to Reno; it’s not cost-effective.”

  “Who’s to say he won’t just shut it down? The Sun is a hard news paper with a big readership. Vegas Nightly is growing and has a different niche, so it would fit in nicely, but our Daily would duplicate the efforts of the Sun.” He took a breath. “I could sink a million dollars into Reeves Pub, and I will if it comes down to it, but I want to see if Vegas Nightly is viable first.”

  “You gambled on Reeves Pub in the beginning; maybe it’s time for another gamble?” she asked, and her voice was filled with sincerity.

  “My brothers are the risk takers. I like to plan a strategy, and dumping money isn’t a strategy.”

  Miranda nodded. “Hence the need for a VP of marketing.”

  “Hence,” he agreed. “So you’re in?”

  “Absolutely.”

  It wasn’t the worst solution. Connor had no problem facing off with William Clayton on his own. Still, it was nice to know there was another person in the office who knew what might be coming and was willing to stand up with him.

  Even if that someone made it clear theirs was only a business relationship.

  Connor put the car in drive, and in a few minutes, they were back in the heavy traffic leading to the Strip.

  “We should get some lunch. I think better on a full stomach, and we have a horde of advertisers headed our way in a couple of hours.”

  “Lunch?” Miranda chirped from the passenger seat. He glanced at her, and her brown eyes were wide.

  “Just lunch. Between work colleagues.” It was the worst kind of lunch he could imagine, but it was a lunch he would have with her. All in all, being with Miranda was a good way to spend an hour or so.

  “I wanted to go over the ad revenue numbers again.”

  “They’re in my head. We can roll them over while we eat. You like tacos?”

  “Who doesn’t like tacos?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Connor thought, thinking of Jase who hated all tortilla-based foods. “There’s a great taco truck a few blocks ahead.”

  Miranda eyed him warily.

  “You don’t buy food from food trucks?”

  She shook her head. “Before I came to Vegas, I’d never even stopped at a lemonade stand. My mother is a germophobe. She was convinced I’d contract some dread disease from improperly squeezed lemons. We also never ate fair food, sporting event food, or fast food.”

  “And I thought you led a privileged life in Denver,” he said, finding teasing her to be irresistible. He saw the food truck ahead and pulled the Jag into a parking lot. “Here’s what you need to know: deep-fried anything tastes incredibly good but is incredibly bad for you. So definitely try something deep-fried. And this particular truck has the best burritos you will ever sample.”

  “Good to know.” She looked from Connor to the taco truck and back again. She was wary, but at least she wasn’t wary about him. That was a small step forward.

  “Also, either the mother or grandmother of the truck owner squeezes the lemonade fresh every day, and she is a sweetheart, so you don’t need to worry about dread diseases or too much pulp.”

  They got out of the Jaguar, and Miranda picked her way carefully over the small median of grass between the parking lot and the truck. Connor placed his order and looked expectantly at Miranda.

  “Best burritos, huh?” she asked. Connor nodded. Miranda stood on her tiptoes and looked toward the back of the truck. “There is a grandmother back there,” she exclaimed, “and she smiled at me.”

  “She smiles at everyone.”

  “I’ll have what he’s having,” she told the truck operator. “And a large lemonade.”

  Connor paid for the food and pointed Miranda toward a couple of umbrella-shaded picnic tables nearby. A moment later, the vendor handed two tinfoil-wrapped burritos and the lemonades over the ledge, along with extra napkins and hot sauce. Connor joined Miranda at the table.

  The heat of summer hadn’t fully broken, but it was comfortable under the shade of the umbrellas. A light breeze kept things cool, and the sky was a crystal blue color. Connor bit into his burrito, savoring the beef and beans and tortilla.

  “This is really good,” Miranda said after her first bite. “I’ve been to a few authentic cantinas here, but this is definitely the best burrito I’ve had.”

  A dribble of hot sauce landed on her chin. Connor reached across the table and brushed it away with his thumb. “Hot sauce,” he said.

  “Probably not the daintiest of lunches,” she said, but she didn’t pull away from his touch, and Connor decided to take that as a win, too.

  “So, is Las Vegas everything you thought it would be?” He ate some more of his lunch while Miranda considered the question.

  “I didn’t really have any expectations when I came here, other than to not get stuck in the rut my mother’s been in all her life. Planning parties, attending parties, talking about parties over bridge games at the country club.”

  “You really didn’t want to be a party planner.”

  She shook her head. “I wanted to work at Clayton.” She shrugged. “When I finally realized my father didn’t see me as a partner in his business, I had to do something to break the strings holding me in Denver. Lila came here after college, and in our emails she always said how much fun Las Vegas was, how much it had to offer. I thought I’d come out here, make a few plans, and figure out what to do next.”

  “And going on five months later, you’re still here.”

  She glanced at him across the table, and there was something in her gaze that lit a fire in Connor’s belly. “I like what Vegas has to offer, especially the things off the Strip.”

  “Most people never leave it.”

  “Then they are the ones who are mis
sing out. Why did you stay in Las Vegas? Reeves Pub, especially the gossip imprints, would have more fodder in Los Angeles or New York.”

  “Vegas gets into your blood, especially if you’re born here.”

  “And yet, I’ve seen your brothers in photos from red carpets and casinos, and you’re never there.”

  “Like you said, there’s a lot to be found off the Strip.” The conversational turn was making Connor uncomfortable. He didn’t mind the casinos, and in fact, there were nights he loved the noise and chaos of it all. But under the noise and the chaos was a desperation that he could always hear. A desperation that reminded him of Helena, wandering the big ranch house, shuffling a deck of cards in her hands as she stared out the windows.

  She would pace like that for hours, and then she would disappear. Sometimes into Vegas, sometimes to Reno. And one horrible time, to a tournament in Atlantic City, where it took Caleb nearly a week to find her. He’d left Jase in charge of the boys, and Rollie had cooked for them, but every night when Caleb had called, they’d ask about Helena, and every night they’d heard the sadness in his voice when he’d said he hadn’t found her.

  Connor had wondered if that was the time Helena wouldn’t come home at all.

  “What’s your favorite thing off the Strip?” she asked.

  “Cruising Lake Mead or hiking in the canyon.” She raised her eyebrow at him. “What?”

  “I’ve only seen you without a tie twice in the five months I’ve worked for you. Connor Reeves doesn’t strike me as the nature type.”

  “You’d be surprised.” He liked being in the desert. Taking the time to go out and do those things wasn’t a priority, but he still liked it.

  “What about on the Strip?”

  “I’ve never said no to a hand of poker at the Golden Nugget.”

  “That’s Fremont.”

  Connor chuckled. “You’re definitely a Las Vegan if you know the difference between Fremont and the Strip.”

  Miranda grinned at him. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Okay, on the Strip. Watching the first weekend of March Madness from the Sports Book in Caesars.”

  “That’s really specific.”

  “It’s the best party in town, mostly because the only thing you know about the other people there is that they love basketball. There is the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, and there’s always the chance someone will hit it big on a Cinderella team.” When had he last taken the time to hit Caesars during March Madness? During his senior year at UNLV, maybe, and Connor promised himself he wouldn’t miss the tournament in the spring.

  “What about you? Dancing at Hakkasan at the MGM?” He named one of the hotter clubs in one of the major casinos. “Riding the High Roller on The LINQ?”

  “Too amusement park-y,” she said with a laugh.

  “What is Vegas besides one giant amusement park?” Connor asked, already knowing the answer. Vegas wasn’t just the casinos and spas and boxing events. It was beautiful desert landscapes and held a lot of Native American history.

  Miranda shook her head. “You don’t really believe that.” She paused, and Connor thought that would be the end of the conversation. Then, she said, “I like riding the outdoor escalators and people watching.”

  “Bo-o-ring,” he teased.

  “I could say the same thing about watching basketball in a sports book.”

  “But you don’t know the outcome. If you’re people watching on the escalators, people get on and people get off. There is no in between.”

  “Sure there is. There are the senior citizens who can’t get enough of the neon, and the newlyweds who can’t get enough of each other. I’ve seen proposals and breakups. Those escalators are filled with the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. More so than a basketball game,” she said, but there was something in her voice. She was teasing him. A definite, positive step forward.

  “Tell that to the guys playing for their schools,” he said. Connor gathered their empty wrappers and cups and put them in the trashcan nearby. “Tell you what. I’ll hit the escalators with you some Saturday night, and you’ll come to the Sports Book with me, and we’ll see which is more filled with thrills and agony. Deal?”

  He held out his hand. It was a friendly wager. One that didn’t have to mean anything more than two co-workers spending time off the clock together. But if she took his hand, it would mean something, Connor was certain. If she took his hand, it was another small step outside the business boundaries of their current relationship, and every step outside those boundaries was a step toward another kiss. Another moment of having Miranda Clayton in his arms.

  He wanted more of those moments.

  Miranda smoothed her hands over her skirt as she stood. Just as Connor was about to lower his hand, she reached out.

  Their palms met with a little zing that shivered up Connor’s arm and over his shoulder to land solidly in his chest.

  “Deal,” she said.

  Chapter Five

  A week later, Miranda felt as if they were turning a corner, at least professionally. She sat at the little table in her breakfast nook and looked around. Through the kitchen window, she saw one of her neighbors playing with his dachshund in the common area. Her stainless appliances gleamed in the early morning light. The dark granite of her countertops played off the rich hardwoods. It was just a small, galley kitchen, but it was hers. The peanut butter in the cabinet, the grapes in the fridge, and the wine in the cupboard all bought with her money and because she liked the brand. It was the best feeling in the world.

  It was too soon to tell if the advertisers would fully come back to Reeves Pub, but the readership numbers were steadily ticking up, and she had fielded a few calls from casinos that wanted to make sure Vegas Nightly would cover their events.

  Not bad for her first full week doing more than fetching coffee and filing old papers.

  Not bad for her first, real, professional job.

  Advertisers would follow readers, she knew. It was what she’d learned not only in college, but also in watching her father run Clayton Holdings most of her life.

  Now she just had to make sure they didn’t turn a corner personally. Taking Connor up on that bet at lunch was silly. She didn’t want to spend a Saturday night riding the escalators along the Strip while they people watched. It was too dangerous, and not just because the escalators had a tendency to break down at the oddest moments. In all the time she spent people watching, everyone seemed to be with someone. Young lovers held hands and sometimes stopped right in the middle of the crowd to kiss. Older couples held hands as they pointed out the sights. Moms and dads held on to their children’s hands. All that hand holding and kissing, and seeing it with Connor, the man she couldn’t stop thinking about kissing or touching, was asking for trouble.

  So she wouldn’t bring it up. March Madness was still several months away. Chances were Connor would forget all about their deal if she just didn’t bring it up.

  Low music played from her iPod, and the coffee she sipped was amazingly good. Thank God for those one-cup coffee makers. There was nothing to mess up by opening a single pod and adding water. Miranda finished the coffee, rinsed her mug in the sink, and gathered the tote she used as a briefcase. Before she could exit the front door, the phone rang.

  The image on her smartphone screen was her father. And he wasn’t just calling, he was video-chatting. Miranda caught her breath. William Clayton hadn’t spoken to her since she’d moved to Las Vegas. Her mother made excuses, but Miranda knew why he was cutting her out: she’d gone around him to get what she wanted.

  So why would he bother calling her now?

  She hit the connect button and pasted a smile on her face. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Miranda.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Miranda ordered herself not to speak first. It was one of William’s favorite mind games: make the person he called speak first, thereby asserting his dominance. Her father shuffled a f
ew papers and didn’t look directly at the screen. Miranda fidgeted at the counter.

  She clenched her jaw, but couldn’t stop the words from pouring forth. “How are things in Denver, Dad?”

  “First snow of the season is expected before Thanksgiving, and your mother is running herself ragged trying to keep up with your responsibilities at the Foundation.”

  “So things are good,” she quipped. William and Trina weren’t so much in love as in sync. Trina loved being the center of attention, and William’s status in the community ensured she was always in the middle of things.

  “Things would be better if you would come back here. Claytons have responsibilities, you know.”

  “I have a job, Dad.”

  William took his gaze off the papers in his hand and skewered her with it through the screen of her phone. “Making up logos for a gossip rag in Las Vegas isn’t the same as making sure the homeless in Denver are clothed and fed or that our returning service members have access to rehab facilities.”

  Miranda bit back the sarcastic, Don’t you mean so that the officers have plush leather seating in their private club? She kept her voice cool. “The last thing Clayton Foundation needs is another fundraiser. It already sponsors thirty events each year. I’m using my degree here, Dad. I’m helping to build something, and it may not seem as important as—”

  “You’re working for the competition.” His words reverberated through the phone and seemed to echo off the walls. “It is bad enough that you simply disappeared without a word to your mother or to me, but to find out that you took a job with Connor Reeves’s outfit is a slap in my face. Do you know the kind of damage control I’ve been doing for the past few months?”