With Love From Las Vegas. Cat Schield

the offer,” Sebastian lied, regarding his father over the rim of his coffee cup. “But I have everything under control.”

      Missy closed the door between her room and Sebastian’s suite and leaned back against it, heart pounding. Dismay tightened around her chest like a vise. She’d never seen Sebastian that angry before. Usually when irritated he froze someone in place. For the first six months she worked for him, she had heard one horror story after another of how he’d terrified her predecessors, and she waited for him to turn his icy disapproval on her. But he never had. Maybe because she made sure everything was done to his exacting specifications, giving him no reason to be annoyed with her.

      But was that any way to live?

      She deserved a job where she was appreciated for her talents.

      Sebastian appreciates your talents.

      At least she thought he did. He wasn’t the most effusive boss she’d ever had. But he did give her a big raise every year.

      But it wasn’t enough.

      She’d wanted more from a job than a paycheck.

      She wanted more from Sebastian than employment.

      Her nerves stretched taut as she closed her eyes and skimmed her hands over her body, sliding her fingertips along her naked thighs, cupping her breasts in her palms while she relived the highlights of the previous evening. How could she still ache for him after he’d satisfied her with hours and hours of the most creative lovemaking ever? She should be wrung out and exhausted—not revved up for more.

      Missy pushed off the door and headed for the bathroom. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she regarded her reflection in bemusement. Her lips looked fuller than usual and felt more tender. She gently ran her tongue over her lower lip. Passion-bruised. Not surprising. The man could kiss. She’d been happy to let him demonstrate his prowess over and over.

      Her red hair was a tangled mess. Her cheek color high. The neckline of Sebastian’s shirt gaped, baring more than a little cleavage. She leaned forward to investigate the faint bruise on her neck put there by her boss. Branded. She stepped back and examined the full picture. Bare legs, mussed hair, well-kissed mouth. Son of a gun, she looked like she’d been up having sex all night.

      No wonder Brandon had shot his son a knowing grin.

      No wonder Lucas Smythe had scanned her up and down.

      No wonder Sebastian appeared as if he’d very much like to throttle her.

      He’d been in negotiations with the conservative business owner for four months over the purchase of Smythe Industries. Would Lucas Smythe reconsider selling his family-owned business after finding her almost naked in Sebastian’s suite? Missy prayed that wouldn’t happen. If her actions last night had blown the deal, Sebastian would never forgive her.

      Caught in the undertow of repercussions, she doubled over, unable to breathe. What had she done?

      Nothing any other red-blooded American girl wouldn’t have.

      Slowly, her lungs began to work again.

      And really, what had she done? She’d slept with a man she’d known for four years. Big deal. She’d already quit working for him. No line had been crossed. It had been one night. Casual, maybe not forgettable, but certainly not life-changing. Sebastian wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship with her. And she didn’t want to set herself up for heartbreak thinking she could fit into his world of money and social status.

      For her, it had been rebound sex, pure and simple. After Tim’s rejection, she’d needed a man to demonstrate that she was an attractive, desirable woman. Sebastian had done an admirable job. Her memories would keep her smiling for a long time to come.

      Straightening, she stepped into the shower, taking her time beneath the spray. The idea of returning to the suite to face Sebastian’s wrath lacked appeal. He needed some time to cool down. About a week might do it.

      She’d go shopping. After her win last night, she had five thousand dollars burning a hole in her purse. The black dress had been her only new purchase yesterday. Sebastian and her father would counsel her to squirrel the money away. The pre-Las Vegas part of her agreed with their logic. Especially now that she’d quit her job. But her new future required a new attitude, and nothing boosted a woman’s confidence like looking fabulous.

      She stepped out of the shower, dried her hair, and then set about taming the natural wave with a straight iron. Humming her mother’s favorite gospel song, Missy sorted through her luggage for something to wear. She’d packed nothing but boring business wear. Pantsuits in black and navy. Dress pants and sweater sets for sightseeing and business dinners.

      Nothing sexy or eye-catching for her.

      Tim wouldn’t have approved of last night’s dress. He was as conservative as her father. But Tim wasn’t in her life anymore. He’d lost any right to an opinion on her wardrobe the second he’d met his “soul mate” and decided to marry her instead of Missy.

      Piece by piece, she consigned her wardrobe to the waste-basket beneath the desk. The act of emptying her suitcase was no less cathartic than quitting her job or wagering five thousand dollars on one spin of the roulette wheel. She’d become too complacent in her life. No wonder Tim had found somebody new.

      A firm knock sounded on the door that connected her room to the suite. Startled by the sudden noise, Missy answered it without considering her attire. Sebastian stood before her, holding her purse.

      “Are your father and Lucas Smythe gone?” she asked.

      “Were you hoping to offer them an encore?” His gaze burned hot enough to torch the towel she’d wrapped around her body.

      An encore? As if she’d planned for his father and business associate to catch her half-dressed. Whatever had transpired after she’d left had turned his mood from bad to foul.

      She glared at him. “Of course not. What is your dad doing in Las Vegas?”

      “He didn’t say.”

      “Did you ask?”

      Sebastian communicated more with one raised eyebrow than most men could with a ten-minute rant. “He claims he’s here to help with the leadership summit.”

      “But you don’t believe him?”

      “Let’s just say I wasn’t happy to see him in Lucas Smythe’s company.”

      Few employees at Case Consolidated Holdings would know the vast chasm that existed between Sebastian and his father when it came to business strategy. Brandon liked to take risks and chase profits, often losing huge amounts of money in the process. Sebastian and Max preferred to use more structured methods when it came to growing Case Consolidated Holdings. Acquiring Lucas Smythe’s company was a perfect example of where they differed.

      The two brothers liked the conservatively run company and the way the acquisition would help diversify their mix of product offerings. Brandon wanted to spend their investment capital on something that might offer more growth potential, and he had an ally in his youngest son, Nathan. Problem was, to get to the big gains, it was often necessary to risk big losses.

      “Do you think he wants to sabotage the deal with Smythe?”

      “He hasn’t had one good thing to say about the purchase. His showing up here means I have to keep an eye on him.”

      “What did you tell them about us?”

      “Us?” he echoed softly, the warning hiss of a cobra. “I didn’t tell them anything.”

      “Why not?”

      “It’s none of their business.”

      “But they’re bound to wonder. The contracts aren’t yet signed. What if Lucas decides not to sell you his company? You have to make some excuse why I was in your suite, wearing just your shirt.”

      “Like what?”