Las Vegas Nights. Cat Schield

of papers. He handed a single sheet to Scarlett.

      Scarlett recognized Tiberius’s neat handwriting. The letter was addressed to her. As she scanned it, her throat tightened. Damn the old rascal. He had indeed passed his files on to her. She took the key from Madison and studied it.

      “A storage unit?” she mused. “Do you suppose there’s more than files in there?”

      “Possibly. I hope you’re not considering going there alone.”

      He might not like her, but that didn’t stop him from feeling protective. She could work with that. “Why not?”

      His phone chimed, indicating he’d received a text. Pulling it out of his pocket, he checked the screen. Air slipped between his teeth in an impatient exhalation.

      “Something’s just come up.” He turned to Madison. “I’ll be back for you at five.”

      “Five?” Scarlett echoed doubtfully. “The action doesn’t get started around here until much later. You just go ahead and do whatever it is you do and I’ll make sure Madison gets home.”

      “What time?”

      “I don’t know. Midnight?”

      Logan’s eyebrows dipped as his niece’s expression lit up. “Ten,” he countered.

      “Seriously?” Madison piped up. “I’m seventeen years old. You don’t think I’ve been out past ten before?”

      He looked as if he were chewing glass as he countered, “Ten-thirty.”

      “I’m almost eighteen.”

      “Almost being the operative word.”

      Madison rolled her eyes at him. “My birthday’s two weeks away.”

      “Ten-thirty.”

      “When I turn eighteen you can’t tell me what to do.”

      Scarlett watched the exchange with interest, noticing the way his gaze bounced from her to Madison and back. It was good to see that she wasn’t the only female who annoyed him.

      “Why don’t we say eleven,” she offered, voice bright, smile friendly.

      Her words stopped Madison’s revolt in its tracks. “Perfect.”

      To Scarlett’s surprise, Madison moved to her side and linked arms. An unstoppable female phalanx against Logan. He did not looked pleased.

      “Eleven.” Logan gave a tight nod. “And keep her out of trouble.”

      “Stop worrying. She’ll be fine.”

      Scarlett gave Logan’s authoritative shoulders and don’t-mess-with-me stride one final glance as he headed out of her office. Oxygen returned to the room in a rush with his departure. The man sure knew how to dominate a room. And a woman’s hormones.

      “Let’s start our tour in reservations,” Scarlett murmured, gesturing the teenager toward the hallway.

      “I thought maybe we could begin in the casino.”

      Scarlett shook her head, crushing Madison’s hopeful expression. “We’ll save the best for last.”

      Two hours later Scarlett had shown Madison around the entire hotel and was heading into the casino when her phone rang. Her heart gave a happy little jolt when she recognized Logan’s number. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. The man had given her yet another heaping helping of his bad opinion of her today and she still couldn’t shake this idiotic crush she had on him.

      “I’m a glutton for punishment,” she muttered as she answered the call. “Hello, Logan. The tour’s going great in case you’re worried.”

      “You’re still at the hotel?”

      “Where else would I be?” She paused a beat. “Oh, right, the storage unit.”

      “You’re taking this business with the files too lightly.”

      Scarlett’s gaze followed Logan’s niece as she ventured toward a display advertising the opening of the Mob Experience exhibit in a month. “I already promised not to take Madison anywhere near the storage unit.”

      “It’s not just Madison’s safety I’m talking about.”

      A warm glow filled her at his concern. “So, when do you want to go check it out?”

      “The sooner the better.”

      “Tomorrow?”

      “That should work.”

      “What time are you going to pick me up?”

      She interpreted his hesitation as dismay.

      “You misunderstood me,” he said. “I’m going to check out the storage shed. Alone.”

      “You could. But you’ll have a difficult time getting in without the key.” She let her meaning settle in for a couple seconds before she finished, “So, it’s a date.”

      “It’s not a date.” The vibration in his tone reminded her of an unhappy rottweiler.

      “It could be if you took me to dinner first.” As she plied him with her most beguiling voice, Scarlett wondered if the sound she was hearing on the other end was his teeth grinding together.

      “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

      Scarlett grinned in triumph. “I’ll be counting the hours.”

      First a kiss, now a date. She couldn’t believe her incredible luck. Too bad she didn’t gamble or she’d be raking in the winnings. Practically floating across the carpet, she caught up with Madison.

      “I can’t believe how many people are in here,” Madison said as they strolled between the tables. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

      “Most people come to Las Vegas to gamble. Wait until later. It’ll really be hopping down here then.”

      “I like the way the dealers are dressed up as famous movie stars.”

      “My friend Tiberius told me how back in the fifties it was not unusual to walk through the casino and see Lucille Ball, Debbie Reynolds or the Rat Pack. The stars loved coming here.” Scarlett paused, wondering if the seventeen-year-old had any idea who she was talking about, and then saw with relief that she did. “Since I grew up in Hollywood, I thought it made sense for me to bring a little of that glamour back to Las Vegas.”

      “What a fun idea.”

      It was at that moment that Scarlett remembered Madison was an aspiring actress. “So much fun that I like getting in on the action myself.” She linked her arm through Madison’s and steered her toward the elevators. “Let’s go up to my suite and I’ll show you what I mean.”

      Ten minutes later, Scarlett threw open the doors to her “special” closet and waited for Madison’s reaction.

      “Cool.”

      The fifteen-by-fifteen-foot room was lined with costumes, shoes, wigs and jewelry that Scarlett used to transform herself into various starlets from the fifties and sixties.

      “On the weekends I like to get dressed up and wander around the casinos. My high rollers love it and I get to pretend that I’m still an actress.” A mild pang of regret came and went.

      “You obviously love being one.” Madison walked toward the costumes on the far wall. “Why’d you give it up?”

      Scarlett watched Madison trail her fingers along a hot-pink replica of the gown worn by Marilyn Monroe when she sang “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend” from the 1953 musical Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.

      “The simple answer is that when puberty hit I went from a sweet-faced girl-next-door to a bombshell with too many curves.” Scarlett stood in front of the mirror and gazed critically at her