Annoyance flashed, but she kept her gaze locked on his. ‘What’s that?’
‘You can’t tend bar in your underwear.’
She blinked, then looked away. The slight tremor in her shoulders made his chest constrict again.
He felt as if he’d just kicked a puppy.
Kate twisted her hands in her lap. ‘You may have a point there,’ she said, trying to sound flippant as she forced her gaze back to his. The fighting spirit seeped out of her, though, as she endured his long, steady stare. Did he still think her situation was funny—or, worse, pathetic?
She couldn’t get the police involved. Her pride wouldn’t allow it. She’d rather prance down The Strip stark naked than see Andrew again. But she didn’t have more than twenty pounds in her purse. When she’d arrived at work yesterday morning she hadn’t expected to be whisked off to Las Vegas on a ‘business trip’ by her boss. She didn’t have a job any more. Her one credit card was maxed out. None of her friends had the sort of money she’d need to get home. And she’d sooner amputate a limb than ask her father for help.
She’d been surviving on her own since she was seventeen years old. Kate squared her shoulders, tried to control the panic making her hands shake. She’d got herself into this predicament. She’d just have to get herself out again.
The knowledge she’d have to throw herself on the mercy of the man in front of her made her stomach hurt. She hated to be indebted to anyone. Especially someone like him. Someone so rich, self-assured and domineering. But her pride had taken so many hits already today, how much damage could one more do?
Kate curled her hands into fists. ‘I know it’s a bit cheeky, but if I start work tomorrow could you give me an advance on my salary?’
Zack could see the request had cost her. The colour had washed out of her already pale face and she sat so rigidly on the edge of her chair it was a miracle she didn’t topple off onto the floor. Even so, the urge to take that defeated look out of her eyes surprised him.
He wasn’t the kind of guy who rescued damsels in distress. Especially not damsels in distress with enough attitude to make Joan Rivers look like Snow White.
But try as he might, he couldn’t quite shake the desire to help her out.
Maybe it was that combination of guts and vulnerability. Or maybe it was just her honesty. She could have used her looks, could have resorted to the usual feminine wiles, but she hadn’t. He had to give her points for that.
‘The suite’s paid up till the day after tomorrow,’ he lied smoothly, knowing Rocastle would have got a refund on the booking. ‘I’ll get the concierge to let you in and we’ll send up some clothes.’
Surprise and relief flittered across her face, but then a wary look came into her eyes. Small white teeth raked over her bottom lip. ‘I’m not…’ Whatever she was going to say she stopped herself. ‘That’s very generous of you.’ She hesitated again, but only for a moment, before she stood up. ‘I’m sorry if I was rude earlier.’ She sighed, the little gush of breath making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. ‘It’s been a difficult day.’
‘No problem.’ He shrugged, feeling a slither of guilt for having baited her. ‘No harm done.’
She held out her hand. ‘My name’s Kate, by the way. Kate Denton.’
Kate. Sweet, simple and kind of plain. It didn’t suit her one bit he decided as he gripped her fingers.
‘Zack Boudreaux. Good to meet you, Kate,’ he said, surprised to realise it was true. He felt a slight jolt run through her before she pulled her hand out of his grasp. ‘What size are you?’ he asked, glancing down at her figure. It was impossible to tell beneath all that terry cloth.
‘I’m an American size eight.’
The tint of colour that hit her cheeks amused him. Good to know she wasn’t entirely indifferent to him.
‘I’ll start work first thing tomorrow,’ she continued, all businesslike.
He smiled.
‘I’ll probably be up at the crack of dawn anyway because of the jet lag,’ she said, rushing the words.
Yeah, he was definitely making her nervous. The thought pleased him. ‘The personnel manager will be in touch,’ he said, with no intention of following through.
No way was he giving her a job. He’d get the concierge to give her a couple hundred bucks, send her up some clothes and organise a plane ticket home. It was the least he could do for the entertainment value.
‘Don’t forget to take the cost of the clothes out of my salary,’ she said over her shoulder as she turned to go. His gaze drifted down her back as she walked to the door. Her bare feet sank into the carpet, making her seem almost childlike. But then he noticed the stiff set of her shoulders and the seductive sway of her hips through the shapeless knee-length garment.
She was quite something, he thought as the door clicked closed behind her. He was going to miss her. Which was dumb, considering he’d only just met her and during that time she hadn’t exactly been coming on to him.
He sat at his desk and picked up his pen to begin jotting a ‘to-do’ list for his trip to California at the end of the week.
Twenty minutes later Zack still sat at the desk, pen in hand, without having put a single solitary item on the list.
‘Hell!’ He ripped the sheet of paper off the jotter, balled it up and sent it flying into the trash. No wonder he couldn’t think—a certain blue-eyed pixie with blonde hair and an attitude problem kept popping into his head.
Why did Kate Denton fascinate him? She was pretty, but she was hardly his type. He liked his women sleek, sophisticated and most of all predictable. On the evidence of their brief encounter, Little Miss Proper Knickers was about as predictable as Lady Luck.
He stood up, dumping the pen on the desk, and rubbed the back of his neck.
Maybe that was it.
Since he’d given up gambling ten years ago, invested all his time and money into building his hotel empire, the women he’d dated had looked beautiful, behaved impeccably and never once made him work for what he wanted. They’d certainly never talked back to him, challenged him the way Kate Denton had. How many years was it since he’d felt the thrill of the chase?
He’d once thrived on the rush of adrenaline that came with the turn of the cards, and he’d transferred all of that drive, all of that ambition into his quest to change his life—to drag it out of the shadowy world he’d grown up in of gambling dens and back-alley casinos. At thirty-two, after ten long years of hard work, he’d been featured on the cover of Fortune magazine, was ranked as one of America’s top-ten entrepreneurs by Newsweek. He owned a beach house in the Bahamas and a Lear jet. And The Phoenix franchise had evolved from a small casino hotel in Vegas into the most vibrant, sought-after hospitality brand in the South West.
He strolled over to the office’s window. Resting his hand on the glass, he looked down. Twenty floors below, the afternoon sunlight laid The Strip bare. Without the cloaking spell of nighttime, the glamour of a million colourful
