Page 9 of 4 Weddings and a Feud

“Little shit,” Michael muttered.

Rafe gave her that searching stare he always did when someone mentioned Alex. Like he was looking for the tiny piece of her heart that had broken off and still belonged to her former best friend.

“He helped me at the expo yesterday. He talked up the planning business to potential customers even though he didn’t know about it until he saw the booth.”

Michael muttered something that ended with, “in your pants.”

Mary ignored it. Alex had no interest in what was in her pants, not when they were in high school, and not now. She was grateful he’d crushed her hopes when he did. She’d never have gotten over it if she’d been the first of those poor women who paraded around on his arm for a month before he dumped her for the next pretty woman.

She checked her watch. “Go home and rest, Rafe. Tonight’s party is in Grace Kelly, and you pick them up at seven.”

Rafe glanced at the classic black stretch Cadillac in the next bay. “She’s ready to go?”

“Just needs a final polish,” Michael said.

“I’ll do it before I leave,” Rafe said.

“I got it,” Michael insisted.

Leaving them to work it out, Mary stepped back through the door into the small lobby. Maybe she’d send their mailing list a coupon code for her planning services. Alex didn’t know what he was talking about. If offering a discount was the only way to make a sale, it wasn’t selling herself short.

He’d been the first one to show her she wasn’t worth as much as she’d thought.

ChapterFive

Alex never sweated. But today, standing in front of the gaming commission, a drop skidded down his back under his dress shirt and caught at the waistband of his trousers.

He resisted the urge to tug at his collar. He’d thought wearing a tie would help his case. All it had done was constrict his air supply and capture the heat around his torso.

He sucked in a breath through his nose as Lev, behind him and in charge of the laptop, desperately flashed up another chart. It showed the solid growth of La Villa after its first lean year, when Alex had done anything he could to lure customers in from the more popular center of the strip.

One of the commission members shuffled through his papers. Another looked at her phone. The other three scowled at Alex. He shot them his most affable smile, hoping it masked his nervousness.

The gaming commission had never been fans of his. Alex hadn’t tried to hide who his father was or what he’d done. Instead, he’d done everything he could to show them he’d never follow in his father’s criminal footsteps. He’d double- and triple-checked every required form, he’d poached the most reputable casino manager from one of the big casinos, and he’d partnered with Jack Sweetly, the most upstanding investor in Vegas.

When no one else had offered for the falling-down piece of shit, they’d grudgingly approved his purchase of the budget motel with its unrestricted gaming license. They’d probably thought with the money he’d sunk into the operation and the nonexistent foot traffic at that end of the Strip, La Villa would fizzle out within a year of opening, and after someone razed it to build a strip mall, they could give the gaming license to one of the bigger outfits in the heart of the Strip.

But they didn’t understand how desperately Alex wanted to succeed.

They’d been shocked at the scantily clad women he’d hired to lead crowds of people from the center of the strip to the ass-end of it where he’d renovated the dilapidated old motel into a grand casino and resort. They’d been appalled at the tiny shorts and revealing tops his dealers and waitstaff of all genders wore. But those gimmicks kept people in the casino at La Villa, and soon people wanted to stay in the hotel, too. Gamblers and nongamblers wanted to eat in the authentic Italian restaurant with the exquisite wine cellar Alex cultivated on his trips to Tuscany.

And he’d do the same with the Paradise, if they’d let him.

From the head of the conference table, Ray Richardson sliced a hand through the air. “Hold on, please.”

Lev froze, mid-gesture at the graph that showed the sharp rise in La Villa’s gaming taxes, which only proved how profitable the operation was.

“Do I understand correctly that you plan to demolish the Paradise?”

Alex’s left eye twitched. He’d worked hard with his lawyers to bury that detail in the paperwork they’d submitted. But Ray Richardson hadn’t risen to become the president of the commission by missing details.

“That’s correct,” Alex said. “My team doesn’t believe the building is worth salvaging.”

Richardson glanced at his colleagues with a grim smile. “The newer members of this commission might not recall that Mr. Villa’s father formerly owned the Paradise. I wonder if the demolition of the casino has something to do with erasing that history?”

Alex put up his palms in a pretense of openness and honesty. “It’s a business decision. Renovations would cost far more than a rebuild.”

Richardson tipped his head to the side. “Is it really your intention to rebuild, or will you leave the empty lot as a screw-you to everyone who doubted you, including this commission?”

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