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“Let’s start with seven.”
Devon cocked his head, a disbelieving frown etched across his face. “Sir, we’re going to have to take down a deposit for that many?—”
Brendan huffed out a frustrated breath. “Take it then. Charge me now if you want.”
“Very well,”—Devon brought the card up to his face—“Mr. King.” He lifted a bushy brow. “Quite the name—if this ID is even real.”
“How do you comb your VIP customers?” Brendan tossed up a hand. “Do a background or credit check on me, heck, do both—whatever it takes. I want the villa, a high-limit gambling card, and an appointment to speak in person with Manning Cole.”
Devon’s jaw twitched. “Sir, guests don’t request private audiences with Mr. Cole, no matter who they think they are. Now, I’m happy to check your credit, and we can settle this once and for all.”
“Go for it.” Brendan plucked a butter mint out of the bowl on the counter and popped it into his mouth, followed by another just to toy with the snooty clerk. He’d never attempted a VIP check-in blind before—usually, he had status when he walked in the door due to whatever conference or event he’d been brought in for—and he didn’t like how they treated the average Joe. By the fifth mint, the clerk’s nostrils flared, and Brendan smirked while the man turned and stalked off.
Brendan strummed his fingers on the copper marble countertop while the precious minutes ticked by. Finally, a different man wearing a tailored suit—perhaps a Tom Ford?—appeared. The man oozed suave from his firm stance to his distinguished mustache and slicked-back brown hair.
“Mr. King, I apologize for my front desk clerk’s less-than-welcoming behavior. It’s not often we have multi-millionaires walk in off the street in worn-out T-shirts and shorts without a reservation.”
The man handed Brendan’s credit card and license back to him before continuing, “The villa is on the house for the first three nights. You’ve been added to our High Rollers Club, as has Quill Webber. Here are your room keys and high-limit gambling cards. Mr. Webber can get another set made here at the VIP desk if you aren’t available when he arrives.” He handed Brendan two sets of shimmering gold cards. “Please reference the back of the gambling cards for all our casino locations. You’ve both been granted VIP access to any of our properties.”
“Mr. Cole, I presume?”
The man held a steady gaze. “You’ve piqued my curiosity, Mr. King. Most people who request a private audience with me do so with more of an effort to impress me.” He leaned forward, one corner of his mouth inching up. “I fucking hate it. Fake doesn’t suit me. I’ve never liked that part of my job. Something tells me you’re not here to sell me portfolio plans, though I must say your company’s website is quite impressive. I might need to look into your services.”
Brendan chuckled, propping his glasses higher up on his nose. “Not why I’m here, but I can probably double your investments in less than six years.”
His eyebrows flashed up, a full smirk swinging free. “Perhaps we’ll revisit that another time then. How can I help you at present, Mr. King?”
“Brendan.”
“Brendan.” He nodded in acknowledgment. “Manning, please.”
“Manning, I want to take out Jed Marshall. Preferably put him behind bars.”
Manning tried to hold his face even, but Brendan saw surprise followed by acute interest cross his features. “Why would an Aspen-born finance millionaire startup genius with a clean record—not so much as a parking ticket, mind you—be interested in dabbing in a Reno criminal mastermind’s business?”
Brendan tightened his eyes. “Mastermind?”
“If he wasn’t, I’d already have taken him out.” He crossed his arms, raising a brow. “So?”
“Let’s just say something happened that made his dealings my business.”
Manning studied his features, perhaps gauging his seriousness, before motioning a hand toward the heart of his hotel. “Do you enjoy a good steak?”
“Without hesitation.” Brendan glanced down, grinning. “Probably should change, though. I was trying to fly under the radar—too much, it seems.”
Manning laughed. “Whatever you want to do. No one will question it anymore. Took care of that.”
Brendan nodded, returning a soft chuckle. “Rumor around town is that you’re mostly a decent guy.”
Manning boomed out another laugh. “Mostly is the key word. Don’t worry about changing.” He waved out a hand. “Let’s get something to eat. I’ll have them seat us in a private room.”
Four hours later, Brendan was feeling a lot more confident about his chances of taking down Jed Marshall. He and Manning had a plan, but these things took time. He tossed his suitcase onto a burgundy sofa chair in one of the villa’s upstairs bedrooms and laid out a suit. He couldn’t sit around and do nothing. Every minute Genevieve spent under Jed Marshall’s control was dangerous. The things Manning told him Marshal had done chilled him to the bone.
Genevieve. Brendan closed his eyes and imagined her safe in his arms. He should probably wait for Quill to arrive. He should probably use his head. But that’s what he’d done his whole life. Did using your head win women’s hearts? Would it win Genevieve’s? He had a feeling it took a lot more than brains to be with Genevieve. She liked a man willing to take a risk, so that’s what he’d do, but he had no intention of being stupid in the process. He sent Quill a text outlining his plan in case something happened to him. Quill would see it through.
Should he wear a disguise? He shook his head and began to slide on a white dress shirt. No, he’d go as himself. Confident men didn’t hide behind fake mustaches. If he was going to take on Jed Marshall, he needed to do so boldly. Tonight, he’d own being Brendan Carter King and walk without hesitation through The Outlaw’s most central and visible front door.
Twelve
