Daniel pressed down the almost overwhelming urge to fight, to jerk out of the bodyguard’s grasp and slug him, then go after Colton. Long years of practice hadn’t rid him of that instinct but had given him superhuman strength to suppress it. Before he could see or clear his head of the throbbing, he said in as commanding a voice as he could muster, “I’m Daniel Blackstone. I just arrived from New York to handle PR. Get this guy’s camera before he can upload.”
Released from the bodyguard’s grip, he stood blinking, half wishing the bodyguard still propped him up. He struggled to stay upright while bringing the suddenly too-bright casino lights back into focus. The security guards had come forward to help the bodyguard manhandle the photographer and the call girl. The gawkers stared from behind an imaginary velvet rope, unwilling to join the fray but eager to find out what trouble Colton Farr had gotten himself into now.
Daniel had to hustle Colton out of there before more cameras were produced. He stepped around the table to where Colton, fists on his hips, scowled over his driver’s shoulder at the photographer. Daniel said softly, “I’m your new PR specialist. Come with me.”
Colton looked Daniel up and down, assessing. His gaze lingered on Daniel’s eye, which was probably bruising by now. Colton’s lip curled. “I’m down a hundred thou. I was just getting my mojo back. I’m not going anywhere.”
Daniel felt his own fists clenching down by his sides. He’d thought his impulsiveness had been shamed out of him by his father many years before. But at the moment, it was all he could do to keep from slamming this smug ass**le square on his nose job. He quashed the startling thought that he wasn’t going to leave Vegas without doing just that.
But not now. Now he had a public relations disaster to avert, whether or not Colton wanted to cooperate. He gave Colton his coldest stare as he said, “You called me, Farr. I have plenty of other business. Come with me, immediately, or I will take the next flight back to New York and bill you for my wasted time.”
Colton stared back at Daniel for several seconds while Daniel calculated what his own next move would be. He didn’t have a friend in the place, and his dizziness was progressing into vertigo. The only tool he had, really, was the illusion of control, which was somewhat difficult to sustain with a black eye developing.
Colton turned to his bodyguard, whose foot was resting on the photographer’s head. “We’ve got to talk shop. Can you take care of this?”
“Sure thing,” the bodyguard grunted.
Daniel spoke to security. “Even if you don’t see the picture, get the camera. And tell the casino to ban the photographer and the prostitute, or Mr. Farr is checking out.” The Bellagio had asked Colton to vacate after the fountain-pissing incident last night. But some casinos were pickier than others. This one was happy to be associated with any star, even a tasteless and mentally unstable one.
Impressed with Daniel’s confidence, but not sure whether they were supposed to be taking orders from him, the bodyguard and security guards nodded at him.
Daniel wasn’t satisfied. He would have preferred a “yes, sir.” He wasn’t satisfied with his own handling of the situation, either. The other tourist, the one who resembled a battle-hardened Colton, might have been involved in the conspiracy to snap Colton’s photo, too. But he’d disappeared. Daniel had lost track of him. And there was only so much Daniel could ask of himself under the circumstances, with his eye throbbing and threatening to fall out of his face. He turned to usher Colton toward the elevator.
Colton stayed planted to the spot. Daniel thought he knew why. Colton’s ex-girlfriend, Lorelei Vogel, was also a guest at this hotel. Colton had been furiously feuding with her online since their all-too-public breakup a few weeks ago, but that only gave away how invested he was in the failed relationship. As long as she was staying here, he wouldn’t want to leave.
Daniel put his hand on Colton’s shoulder—trying not to flare his nostrils in distaste as he did so—and assured him quietly, “The casino will take care of this, and you’ll still be here tomorrow.”
As if in answer, from behind them came the sounds of a scuffle, several chairs turning over, and a shrieking call girl.
“Don’t look,” Daniel advised Colton, afraid that his client’s image could still get snapped by a curious passerby, and the headline on the cover of the tabloid would be COLTON FARR INVOLVED IN CASINO BRAWL WITH PROSTITUTE. The article inside would explain that Colton was involved only tangentially, but nobody would read the article. They would only glance at the headline and photo in the grocery store checkout line and reach a verdict about Colton.
And turn the channel when the Hot Choice Awards aired Friday night.
Daniel managed to prevent that catastrophe, at least. He steered Colton all the way into the elevator, growling, “Don’t turn around,” as the doors slid shut behind them.
2
Feigning her usual confidence, Wendy strode out of the conference room and stopped to talk with one of her assistants. “I’m on the Lorelei Vogel case, so I need access to all those files on the server, please. And tell the travel office I’m flying to Vegas this afternoon. Have them text me the deets.”
“Vegas!” the young woman exclaimed. “You are so lucky!”
“I feel lucky.” Wendy walked through the wide room of cubicles, toward her own office. She consciously quieted her high-heeled footsteps as she approached the open door of Tom’s office. She loved Tom like a younger brother, but if he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close in the hallway to comfort her, she would lose what little composure she had left. She hoped he wouldn’t call out to her as she sneaked past.
“Hey, Wendy.” He had senses like a Navy SEAL.
Reluctantly she peeked into his office. He sat with his elbows on his desk and his chin in his hands. As she appeared, he turned his head slightly to shift his mischievous blue eyes from his computer screen to her. Tom had been hired a couple of summers before, fresh out of college and four years younger than Wendy and Sarah. At the time, her overall opinion of him had been twofold: that his still-in-college girlfriend was very, very fortunate, and that he was a complete mess.
Fearing for his job safety, Wendy had tried to impress on him the importance of looking professional at work. He’d responded to her suggestion with as much alacrity as Sarah had, which was none. Today he wore a wrinkled blazer over a rock band T-shirt, and he hadn’t shaved. In fact, he never seemed to shave, which was impossible. He must have shaved sometime or he would have looked like a member of ZZ Top. Wendy called him Scruffy. Sarah argued that Scruffy sounded like a border collie, but Tom was more of a German shepherd. He looked friendly, he acted playful, but he had a dangerous air about him. When Wendy talked about him like he was a little brother, Sarah pointed out that he was like a little brother who had been to prison.