"Here Comes Trouble" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kauffman Donna)

Chapter 17

Brett had tried to reach Dan on his way up to the resort, but he hadn’t gotten an answer on the room phone or Dan’s cell. He might have been telling the truth about being wiped out and was already asleep, but it wasn’t even eight in the evening. And the time change was only two hours. He ducked into the first set of elevators, hoping no one on staff noticed him or any of the early arrivals for the event. One in particular he hoped to avoid. The very last thing he needed at the moment was-

“Ah, Mr. Hennessey, here you are, at last.” A beefy hand shot out to prevent the elevator doors from closing. They reopened to show a smiling Maksimov standing just beyond the threshold.

Brett was sorely tempted to hit the CLOSE DOOR button again, but knew he’d have to deal with Maks sooner or later. He’d just been hoping for the latter. He really wanted to talk to Dan, see if the two of them could get back on even ground. That whole situation had really taken him by surprise.

“Could I persuade you to join me in the lounge for a drink? Or perhaps we could talk in your suite, if it’s privacy you prefer.”

The suite was out. And perhaps a public setting wasn’t a bad idea, anyway. “Nothing for me, but let’s go ahead and have our little chat.” Brett exited the elevator and fell into step beside the much shorter, stockier Russian. “Or we could skip this part and just go right to where I politely decline your offer.”

“You haven’t even heard me out yet,” he said, a smug smile creasing his wide, perpetually shiny face.

“I don’t need to. I appreciate the gesture, you coming all the way out here,” he said, straining to be polite. He had no real reason to be any longer, other than it was never wise to burn a bridge you didn’t have to. “But I’m not coming back to the tables, Maks.”

“Except here, where you are playing again.”

“It’s for charity. One time only. I’m retired and I’m planning on staying that way.”

“And yet, there are so many other worthy organizations who could use help from someone like you. Perhaps you have a specific one in mind? We would be happy to help. In fact, I must admit, Rudov wasn’t happy when you chose to allow the Bronfield brothers to oversee this event. We have worked tirelessly for you in the past. And we were the first to make you very generous offers when you were starting out.”

“And I believe I’ve filled those very generous coffers back up. Several times, in fact.” He paused just outside the entrance to the lobby pub. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, as I hope you appreciate what I’ve done for you in return. I’m working with the Bronfields because they have hotel interests in places other than Vegas and were best suited to handle things this far afield. No personal slight was intended.”

Maksimov paused outside the door, and his smile widened as his eyes hardened. This was the more familiar side of Rudov’s hired hand that Brett had been hoping to avoid.

“Perhaps you don’t understand the offer we are making you.”

“I believe I do,” Brett responded, hoping the shorter man understood him. “Please tell your boss that I am flattered by the continued attention and his persistence. But I am no longer available, regardless of the beneficiary. If you decide to stay on for the event, I hope you enjoy yourself. But please don’t feel as if you have to for appearances’ sake. I know Mr. Rudov relies on your assistance, so if your time would be better utilized back in Nevada, I’ll certainly understand.”

Now even the smile faded. “I don’t relish the idea of disappointing Mr. Rudov again. Surely, given your generosity here, you could see your way clear to supporting the good works of a needy organization out west. After all, it is your hometown. Giving back, and all that. We would make the appearance well worth your while, donating your media fees to whatever charity you name.” He lifted a hand to stall Brett’s reply. “This sport has given you wealth beyond what most could measure.”

Brett could have mentioned that he’d earned that money by playing the sport but didn’t bother wasting his breath.

“There are others, after you, young and eager.”

“Perhaps you should be focusing your largesse on them, then.”

“Oh, we are. But it takes time to groom the new talent, expose them properly, build their names. Most don’t stay in the sport long enough, and none have shown even a glimmer of your particular talents.”

“As you said, it takes time. But better to focus on the future.”

“You’d think you would want to be part of that grooming process.”

“Perhaps you missed the part where I’ve given seminars, many for free, for that very purpose, over the past few years. Trying to eliminate the online scam sites and to help bring more organization and a better profile to the sport. I’ve given at the office, Maks. Now I’m done.”

The smile returned now, only it was the kind that made a person’s skin crawl. Reptilian, was the word that came to mind. “In this game, in this sport, you are only done when you lose too much to come back. It breaks your heart, this game, and your spirit. That is not the case with you. You will not be walking away, as you claim. Perhaps for a time, but it will bring you back.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a sterling silver business card sleeve. He depressed a button and some hidden mechanism pushed a single, engraved card from one end. He extended the card to Brett. “When that time comes, it is strongly suggested that you contact us first. We will work together again, as we have in the past. It will be good for all concerned.”

Brett took the card merely to expedite the end of this little tête-à-tête.

“And you have much to be concerned about, Mr. Hennessey.”

Brett had already taken a step back in preparation for heading back to the elevator, glad that their business had been concluded without the whole charade of drinks at the bar. But as he paused and looked back, his gaze narrowed. “Care to explain that comment in more detail?”

“I only meant that there are always those who will rely and depend on you, no matter how far you run. In fact, I believe I noticed one of them here in the hotel, earlier. A friend of yours, I believe. If I’m not mistaken, I believe I overheard him on his phone, while dining a table or two away, looking to find some action on the event this coming weekend. Perhaps he could use your assistance there?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Brett said, quite honestly, but the hairs on the back of his neck had prickled a bit at the comment. Maks could be lying to try to get a rise out of him. He wasn’t surprised at the veiled comment; it hadn’t been the first time. And he hadn’t been the only one who was more than a little persistent in trying to woo him back for another round or two. Maks, and his boss, Rudov, were just the only ones he didn’t like. Their association had ended a long time ago; though he had played more than a few events at their resort in the intervening years, he’d done no work for them personally in promotion or marketing. Only now that they weren’t getting any piece of him did he fully realize to what lengths they were willing to go to get any piece of him back. He could have told Maksimov that that approach alone had already cost him any opportunity that might ever arise. Not that one would.

“Perhaps you should have a little talk with your friend.” Maksimov slid the silver case back inside the breast pocket of his perfectly tailored suit jacket. He lifted a shoulder as if to say that it mattered not to him, one way or the other. “I will be staying through the weekend. We will talk again, I am certain.” With that, he tipped a hand to his forehead and turned away from both the pub entrance and the first bank of elevators, strolling through the remainder of the lobby and out the rear doors that led to the private villas.

Brett watched him exit; then he finally turned to the elevators, thankful that no other untimely intrusions occurred, breathing a little sigh of relief when the doors slid shut without further obstruction. He glanced at his watch. Half past. Surely Dan was still up. His friend could nurse a bit of a grudge, but now was not the time to let him wallow in his dissatisfaction. Brett would find some way to make him understand why he’d made the choices he had, and also find some way to help him out. If Maks was telling the truth, then Dan was in far more desperate straights than Brett had realized. Dan would listen to him this time. He wasn’t leaving until they had a working solution. To both the business and the friendship issues.

The door opened to the top floor, which housed three suites in this section. His was the larger one at the end of the short hallway. He patted his jacket and realized he’d left the inn without his wallet, which had his other key card in it. So he rapped on the door. “Dan, it’s Brett.”

He didn’t hear anything, but the suite door was thick. Premium rates got you as quiet a room as possible. He knocked again, harder this time. “Dan,” he said again, as loud as he dared without risking annoying the other occupants of the floor. He wasn’t entirely sure there were any, but thought it best to err on caution’s side.

He was just considering heading back down to the lobby for another key, willing to risk pissing his friend off further by letting himself into the room, when the door cracked open. The safety latch was in place.

“Not exactly a hotbed of crime here, you know,” he said lightly. “You want to let me in?”

It was dark beyond the small crack of doorway. “I thought we agreed to put this off a day. I’m beat.”

He also wasn’t showing his face. “What’s going on, Dan?”

“Sleep. Or it was, anyway. Till you came banging. Shoulda gotten my own room. What, she kick you out or something?”

“No, I came to talk to you. About…well, everything.”

“Can’t it wait until I get some sleep?”

He either sounded extremely fatigued or a little drunk. Or both. He and Dan had shared a few beers after a particularly grueling workday, but neither of them were drinkers by nature. So he didn’t really know what to think. Had he really been that upset? Or were things just that bad? He remembered what Maksimov had told him downstairs. Not that he’d put it past the man to lie, but Brett had a niggling suspicion there was more to that story. “Come on, it’s not even nine p.m., which makes it seven back in Vegas. You’re not that jet lagged. I thought we could take some time before the true craziness descends in the next day or two to catch up and maybe talk things through a little.”

He waited. Dan didn’t say anything, but he didn’t close the door in Brett’s face.

“I feel like I’m standing out here begging for a nightcap; come on.”

He thought he heard a short snort. Then the door closed, but just long enough for the safety latch to come off. When the door swung back open, Dan was holding the knob but standing just behind the door in his boxers.

“Mind if we turn a light on in here?”

Dan’s response was a short grunt. Fortunately Brett’s hand was already reaching for the light switch before the door shut behind him, sinking them both into full darkness. A moment later, soft lighting on low tables situated just beyond the foyer area flickered on, bathing the stylishly decorated main room in a warm glow. Perfect mood setting for that late-night date a guy might bring back to the room, but not much to go on for a regular conversation. He moved into the living area and reached down to turn on one of the end table lamps.

“Can we just-not,” Dan finished lamely, as Brett switched on the more high powered lamp.

He turned to see Dan squinting in the sudden light, holding his hand up like a shield. But not shield enough to keep Brett from seeing the nasty bruise on his cheek and the split at the corner of his mouth.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Ran into a door,” he retorted. “Can I get you a beer? Why the hell not,” he answered himself, “you’re paying for them. Did you know they stock the damn fridge? And I don’t mean the minibar. I don’t think this room even has one of those.” He scuffed bare feet across the thick carpeting as he headed into the more dimly lit kitchen area. It was more a wet bar with a Jennair in the middle, and a full-size Sub-zero fridge lodged at one end, then it was a full-fledged kitchen, but it screamed luxury nonetheless. “Wait, what am I saying?” he added dryly as he opened the fridge door, ducking his head a little at the bright interior light. “Of course you know they stock the fridge. You’re used to this shit. How in the hell you’re tired of the shit, I have no idea. Pretty sweet deal,” he added, fishing out two long necks and closing the door with an audible sigh. He grabbed a dish towel and screwed the tops off. “Of course, I guess there’s the irony that you score the best free stuff when you can actually afford to pay for it, but why go there?”

Brett was still standing by the couch, watching his friend. Who was clearly at least a little drunk, and definitely no less bitter than he’d left him a few hours before. Possibly more so. “Some door,” he said, gesturing to Dan’s face with the bottle he’d just been handed.

Dan turned and flopped down in the nearest chair, propping his feet up on the engraved crystal surface of the free form hardwood coffee table now situated between them.

Brett took the couch and propped his feet as well. He took a slow pull from the bottle, trying to figure out the best way to ease into any semblance of rational, constructive conversation. “Ran into Maksimov,” he said, deciding that perhaps it was better to start neutral and wind his way back around to the real topic at hand.

“I’m sure he’s been laying in wait for you,” Dan said, the accompanying chuckle carrying more than a little edge. “He try and woo you back like I said?” He took another pull.

Brett noticed he wasn’t maintaining any kind of eye contact; rather he was looking at the bottle, or staring at his feet. “At least, and then some.”

“And you said?”

“No. I told you that.”

Dan lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug that said he really couldn’t care less. But Brett wasn’t so sure about that. He watched Dan start to pick at the label on the bottle, the digging motions proving there was more than a little tension beneath the lazy, drunken sprawl he’d adopted.

“Folks change their minds all the time.”

Brett understood the unspoken challenge. “I didn’t change my mind. Not about Maksimov. And not about coming back to work with you. I never told you I would. You do know that.”

Dan snorted. “You’ve only done two things in your life. Play poker and work for my dad, then me. When you gave up poker, what the hell was I supposed to think you were gonna do, huh? Of course I thought you’d come over full time. Hell, I was all ready to propose a partnership. I know you want to design shit, with those degrees you have and all. I was willing to accommodate that.”

“I don’t want to design homes in the desert.”

“What, not good enough for the likes of you now?”

“You know better than that. It’s just not the challenge I want.”

“And what the hell is?”

Brett thought about telling him, about the property he’d found today, about the business idea that had sprung, almost fully formed and too stunningly perfect to be anything but exactly the right thing for him to do. Or at least try. But that business plan involved him…and Kirby. Probably not the best time to spring that tidbit on his oldest and dearest friend.

Then another thought occurred to him. Wouldn’t have ever crossed his mind before, but that was before he understood the reality Dan was facing. Personally and professionally. What if…

“Maybe I’m the one with a proposition for you?”

Dan let his feet slide off the table and thump to the floor as he shoved himself out of the chair and scuffed back to the kitchen for another beer. “I already told you. Not interested.”

“I’m not offering a handout, or a loan for that matter. I’m offering a new business venture opportunity.”

Dan screwed off the lid of the beer and turned around, facing him fully for the first time.

Brett had to work not to wince as he caught the full scope of the damage someone had done to Dan’s face.

“What kind of opportunity?” He lifted his beer in a warning gesture. “Patronize me and I’ll kick your sorry, over-educated ass. So you better have a straight plan in mind and not some elaborate scheme to dump some of your money in my bank account. I work for what I have. We might not all have freak talent like you do, but I’m damn proud of what I built, what my father did before me. That means something.”

He crossed back into the room and dropped heavily back into the chair, wincing a little as he propped his feet up once again. Giving up all pretenses of pretending his face hadn’t been beat all to hell, he rolled the cold bottle over his cheek and groaned a little. “Go on,” he said when Brett simply sat there and watched. “I’m not gonna keel over from a little thump to the head. You know it’s hard. Take a lot more than a fast fist to put me down.”

“You gonna tell me what really happened?”

“Well, obviously, I got in a little fight. It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He propped the beer on his stomach. “Go on. What’s this amazing new deal all about? Funny how you didn’t mention it this afternoon, but go on, I’m all ears.”

Dan was a little drunk, more than a little pissed off, and a whole lot hurt. So Brett tried to rein in his own temper. He also tried not to feel sad. Dan didn’t deserve his pity. What he deserved was a good friend who could find a way out of whatever mess he’d gotten himself into.

“Actually, all the pieces just started falling into place today. Before I ran into you,” he added. “It’s still in the idea stage, but I think it has real potential.”

Dan tried and failed to maintain his look of casual disinterest. His body was still slouched in the chair, feet and beer propped, but his eyes had lasered in quite directly on Brett’s now.

Brett wondered if he was more impaired by alcohol or the fight he’d gotten into. Dan wasn’t what anyone would call a hothead. He wasn’t a gambler, either, that Brett knew about anyway. Running a football pool with some of his employees was about the extent of it. Dan had never gotten into the casino life, leaving that to Brett. He worked long hours, rarely took a full day off, and never took vacations. The occasional strip club night out with some of his crew maybe, but that’s about it.

In fact, if he wasn’t sitting there with a face that had been used as a punching bag, Brett would have discounted Maksimov’s comments as nothing other than trying to stir up some trouble to see what might shake loose.

“Well?” Dan prodded. “You gonna tell me what’s got your designer knickers all knotted up or not?”

“They’re Levi’s,” Brett said, trying harder not to get exasperated. He and Dan had their moments, but this was a snide side he’d never heard. “So, I found an old log cabin, up in the hills on a ride today. Falling down, abandoned, lot totally overgrown. Then, on the way down, I passed by an old farmhouse, barn, silo. Beautiful creek running through the property, wide open spaces. Looks like it’s been empty for some time now, too.”

“Fascinating. What has this got to do with us?”

“It got me to thinking, with the resort newly opened, over time, there will be a need for vacation housing, time-shares, as well as full-time homes for people who are drawn into the growing development, that kind of thing.”

“You mean the kind of thing we already have in Vegas?”

“I don’t want to build tract housing. Even ridiculously over-the-top Liberace mansion tract housing. I’m talking smaller, intimate, one-of-a-kind places, unique in structure and suited to the landscape here, both mountain and valley.” He leaned forward, excited now that he’d finally gotten to tell someone. Saying it out loud wasn’t nearly as terrifying as he’d thought it would be. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He was really going to do this. It had already grabbed his heart. “I want to work with what’s already here, as well as build new.”

“And you think I should take the company that my dad spent his lifetime building, that I inherited, and what, chuck it? Sell it? Move east? Holy hell, Brett, what has this chick done to your brain?” He made a little crazy motion next to his head with the beer bottle. “No, seriously, are you even listening to yourself? I’m asking you to come home-home, bro-and work side-by-side with me, and you turn me down flat. Now you have the nerve to invite me to what…work for you? Are you fucking serious?” He downed the beer in one swig and stood, albeit a bit unsteadily. “I’m going to bed. Frankly, I don’t care what the hell you do. But as of this moment, I think it’s safe to say you can officially leave me out of it. Thanks for nothing.” And with that, he tossed the empty beer bottle in the general vicinity of the kitchen, where it bounced from counter to floor-thankfully not shattering-before stalking off to the master bedroom and kicking the double doors shut behind him.

Brett sat, perfectly still, on the couch opposite where Dan had just been sitting, wondering what in the hell had happened to his best friend since he’d left Vegas. That was not the Dan he knew and loved. Granted, maybe he should have thought through his presentation a little bit better, given the status of their relationship when he’d shown up this evening. Hell, he hadn’t even been thinking of Dan when the idea had hatched in his head. He’d been thinking of Kirby, and partnering her into the business using her excellent interior design skills. What she’d done with the inn, the personal touches, the local flourishes, the natural warmth she’d created…that’s how he pictured these places.

He’d design and do the reno, she’d design and decorate the interior, then they’d sell it and move on to the next project. His biggest concern was whether she’d want to take on something like that while running the inn, but he figured his busy season would be her slow season, so perhaps it would be the perfect partnership. He’d help her out in the winter with the inn and guests; she’d jump in with him in the spring and summer.

He hadn’t really thought about Dan, or bringing him in, until just about thirty minutes ago. The truth of it was, he really wanted a fresh start, and he wanted to share this new adventure with Kirby. He wanted a break from his past. Not to abandon it, but to move forward. He’d always love Dan, Vanetta, and the rest of the friends he’d made back in Nevada.

But here…this was where he wanted to be now. And he’d meant what he’d started to say, he hadn’t thought about it, but now that he was, yes, he’d take Dan on, too, form some kind of partnership. If Dan were remotely acting like Dan, anyway. They would make a good team in this endeavor. Dan’s strengths were in building solid structures with solid craftsmanship. Brett could design and help with construction, but Dan would make the perfect site manager and project foreman.

He acknowledged that his offer had been seen as an insult, and he even got where Dan was coming from. He’d been clumsy, at best, thoughtless at worst, in presenting it to him as he had. He didn’t know what to tell Dan about his dad’s company, or where he should go. Maybe Dan needed a fresh start, too. Though good luck convincing his deeply entrenched, routine-loving best friend of that possibility.

He spent a few more minutes considering if there was a way to expand on the Vegas business and just branch it out. He thought about what Kirby had said, about it being hard on Dan to have a friend who was a well-known celebrity, that his ego could only take so much. So he’d make Dan a full partner in this new endeavor so it didn’t come off sounding like he was offering Dan a job in his own damn industry, the one place where Dan was supposed to have the leverage and expertise in their friendship.

He hung his head and let the tension roll from his shoulders. Then he knocked back the rest of the beer before getting up and retrieving the other bottle, throwing them both in the trash.

He let himself quietly out of the suite, trying to decide what the best next step would be. But though the ride down in the elevator didn’t bring any answers regarding his friend, he did know what the next step was going to be with Kirby.

Smiling despite still feeling deeply unsettled about the situation with Dan, he climbed on his bike and headed home.