Page 13 of Sexy

Grrr. I have not read his contract. I was, after all, watching him strip online while getting drunk.

“Because I know for a fact that my contract has no stipulation that I don’t date show patrons. That would be ridiculous considering more than a thousand people come to watch me every week. It would severely limit my dating pool.”

“Maybe so, Mr. Novak. But I’m positive that you are not allowed to act in a manner that embarrasses the hotel. And the way you take home—”

“Who do I take home, Miss Preston? Who?” He stares hard at me for several seconds and his jaw muscles tighten, telling me that this is something he takes serious issue with.

“Do you take them home?” I play it safe.

“I do not.”

“Do you go to their rooms?”

“Yes.”

“Do you…”

“Fuck them?” he asks, with another one of those sly grins. He averts his eyes for a moment, looking down as his smile grows. He flashes me a glance from underneath his dirty-blond hair that tumbles over his forehead. “If I want, Miss Preston. There’s nothing in my contract that says I have to be celibate.”

Then he winks. And laughs, not in a mocking way, but more like a chuckle, making his smile grow and a dimple appear in his chin. Jesus, he’s really handsome.

The door bursts open and Amy rushes in with an armful of folders. “Sorry, Miss Preston. I was on a call with the accounting department. I wanted to make sure we had our numbers straight before we decided on any disciplinary action.”

“I’ve been keeping track as well,” Fletcher says, reaching down under the table and pulling out a laptop. “I’ve got the total number of ticket sales since the first month I started.” He flips his screen around so I can see it and then points to the graph. “As you can see, when I started the show we were barely half-full on both Wednesday and Saturdays. And once I took over as the central dancer and made changes to the lineup, fired the poor performers—”

“Wait. You fired? I thought that other dancer was in charge. What’s his name? Chandler?”

“He is,” Amy says. “Technically. But Fletcher is in charge of the dancers.”

“I am, and have been since the first day I started performing in this nearly defunct show,” Fletcher says with another one of those sly grins masquerading as shy. “When I come on board, I come to win. I did my research and found out what each dancer brought to the table and coached them on how to play it up. I know people, Miss Preston. I understand people. And I use it to my advantage.”

Oh, please.

“I pulled the Mountain Men up from obscurity and placed this show on the map. In fact, I’ve been working on a plan to franchise the show. You know, hire more dancers to go on tour. Keep a troupe here in Tahoe, and then get an elite troupe for a hotel in Vegas. Your father owns casinos in Vegas, I presume?”

“Um…” Fuck a duck. He’s smart. “Yes. We have four, actually.”

“Right. And two have stage shows. We could technically…”

I drift off after that. Because he never stops talking. The full hour of our meeting is all about the genius expansion plan of the Mountain Men Male Revue Show. There is no more mention of Fletcher Novak’s sexual escapades, disciplinary actions, or tardiness. Even Amy, who was clearly not on his side the last time we chatted before I came to the hotel to see for myself, is smitten with his plan.

“So what do you think?” he finally asks, turning his attention to me. “I’ve put together a business plan”—he rattles away on his keyboard for a moment—“and have just emailed it to Cole and your father for consideration.”

That two-timing swine! He went over my head! But I will be damned if I will give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that pisses me off. “Great.” I fake a look at my watch. “Well, I have another meeting at ten, so I’m going to move along. Thanks for your time, Amy.” I shake her hand as I try for a quick escape. “And I’ll be in touch, Mr. Novak.”

I cannot get out of that room fast enough. I smile brightly at the secretary, and then pull the outer door open and practically run down the hall to get away from that vile man with the sexy grin.

I hate him. I mean, I hated what he represented when I walked into that meeting. But now I just hate him in every way possible. He did all that to make me look bad. Make himself look so smart. Make me feel—

“Hey, Tiffy!”

Oh, no, he doesn’t. He does not get to embarrass me like that and then expect me to be civil in the fucking hallway. I make a beeline for the elevators and press the button. God loves me, because the doors open and there is no one inside. I rush in, hit the button for my floor, and then stand back against the mirrored walls.

But just as the doors are about to clang shut, a hand is there to ruin my escape.

“Hey,” Fletcher says, getting in with me. “Didn’t you hear me call your name?”

“I heard.”