well...” Nora played with the short hemline of her skirt. “I do miss Max, and he’s promised that if I give him my shares, he’ll not only marry Sunny, but give me as many grandchildren as I want.”
Cole found himself once again staring at his grandmother in disbelief. “Do you have any idea of how crazy that sounds, Nora?”
Nora threw a dramatic hand across her forehead. “I do! I know it sounds crazy, luv. And of course, I’d rather Sunny marry you. You’re more the settling down type—unlike Max. But I’m just so desperate for grandchildren!”
Cole would never let a business rival see him blink, and he kept his face blank as he informed Nora, “You have grandchildren. Max and I are your grandchildren.”
“Hardly. Max, came out of the womb, a full blown flirt, and your derelict parents forced me to raise you, and—well, you know how difficult that was. I want a real baby, one who coos and giggles and calls me ‘Gran’—not ‘Nora,’ like I’m one of his employees.”
If Cole had a sense of humor, he might have found his grandmother’s antics funny, but he didn’t, especially when it came to money. “Nora, selling a controlling interest in the company I’ve been spent my entire career growing is not the way to get what you want.”
“Don’t you try to lecture me, Cole Benton. I’m not one of your underlings,” his grandmother responded. “Now you either do as I say and propose to Sunny Johnson by the end of summer, or I’m selling my shares to Max!”
Nora punctuated her threat with a slap of her hand on his desk. But then her face softened. “I know what I’m threatening sounds crazy and a bit harsh, Cole. But this...” She gestured around his highrise office. “All this work and no play. It’s not good for you, luv. It’s made you hard. Too hard. You need something other than this business in your life.”
What Nora didn’t seem to understand was that this business was his life, the only thing that made his heart beat faster, the only thing that had ever given him a true return on his investment.
And he wouldn’t abide anyone—even his own grandmother—threatening to compromise all the work he’d put into it.
“I’ve got to prepare for my two o’clock now. I’ll take your request under advisement.”
Nora jutted her chin into the air. “Max is coming in for the Businessman of the Year dinner on Sunday. Should I let him know he should stick around this time, and prepare to take his place as chairman of our board?”
Cole resumed typing. His grandmother may have had his grandfather wrapped around her thin finger, but Cole refused to take her bait.
And Nora seemed to understand that she was being dismissed.
She went to the door and put her hand on its chrome latch. “Understand, I’m not doing to this to hurt you or The Benton Group. I’m doing this because I care about you more than I care about this company.”
Whatever it takes for her to sleep at night, Cole thought with bitter resentment. But he refused to let Nora see that she’d actually upset him. He did as he always did, focused on his work.
After Nora left, Cole finished putting in his notes for his two o’clock meeting. But as soon as he hit the last keystroke, he picked up the phone to talk to his assistant, Agnes.
“Yes, Mr. Benton,” Agnes said when he buzzed her office line.
“Put in a call to Taylor Stratherford.”
“Junior or Senior, sir?” she asked. Taylor Stratherford Jr. was Cole’s personal lawyer, just as Stratherford Sr. had served as his grandfather’s personal lawyer. However, it was Taylor Sr., who also now served as the Non-Executive Director of The Benton Group’s board.
“Senior. Set up an in-person at his office as soon as possible. Actually I want to set up one-on-ones with every member of the board except my grandmother and brother.”
“Right away, Mr. Benton,” Agnes answered. She was too professional to outright ask why he was asking for these meetings, but he could hear the curiosity in her voice when she asked, “Anything else?”
Cole thought about it. “Yes, get the manager of The Benton Girls Revue on the line, and inform him of the following...”
Sunny came rushing into the backstage area of The Nora Benton Theater, still dressed in the yoga pants and tank top she’d worn to bed. And still chilled by what had happened less than thirty minutes ago back at her apartment.
She’d been so exhausted when she got home from her cocktail waitress shift on The Benton’s casino floor that she’d fallen asleep on the couch while eating a meal replacement bar. She lived alone—or so she thought. That morning, she’d discovered she had a roommate, when she woke up to the sound of the alarm on her phone going off and the feel of something pulling on her hand. She’d opened her eyes to find a rat staring back at her, its beady black eyes filled with determination as its mouth tugged on the bar in her hand.
Sunny let him have it, letting the bar go with a scream. And an hour later, she could still see the ridges on its long tail as it ran away with its treasure. She’d never be able to unsee it, and she had no idea how she was going to manage to get to sleep when she returned to her apartment after today’s rehearsal, knowing that it was still there, probably lurking somewhere inside one of her walls.
With a shudder, Sunny brought her thoughts back to her present situation. How to get to the backstage dressing room without being seen by Rick.
It was exactly eleven a.m., which was their call time for their monthly rehearsal in full makeup and costumes. But Rick Rizzo was old school. Being exactly on time was the equivalent of being late in his book. He wanted all his dancers backstage at least fifteen minutes early, and if he saw her skulking through the shadows, she’d likely hear about it.
She also didn’t want him to see the dark circles under her eyes. She’d never quite gotten around to telling the Benton Girls manager that she’d taken a second job as a cocktail waitress in the main casino. Technically, it was none of his business, but Rick was half stage dad, half control freak, and the show paid pretty well by Vegas standards with a salary, 401(K) and vacation benefits. If he saw how tired she looked without tons of concealer slathered underneath her eyes, he’d badger her until she confessed that she was planning to leave the show in late August in order to attend graduate school at New York Arts University.
They’d given her a generous scholarship, but it wasn’t enough to cover any of the extras, like food and books, or rent, which was no joke. The school was located in Manhattan and didn’t provide housing for grad students, but even a place in the outer boroughs of New York would set her back. So her plan was to work two jobs and save as much money as she could over the next three months.
But there was no need to tell Rick any of that yet. She knew how he’d respond: What! You’re leaving us? I gave you your first job. Bobby and I had you over for Thanksgiving Dinner every year after your grandma died, and this is how you repay me?
Sunny knew Rick had come to count on her, not only as one of his best dancers, but also as his “work wife”—a combination of gossip buddy, friend and backstage administrator whenever Rick went on vacation. And she knew he deserved
