Prince Charming Undercover Read online

  “I thought you said you’d introduce me to your boyfriend so I can ask him about a job?”

  Grace was beginning to wonder if that was such a good idea. What did she know about this man? Nothing. Heck, he really could be a hit man.

  Which, a voice in her head noted cynically, Charles might welcome.

  At dinner a week ago, Charles had vented at length about his frustration of dealing with his partners. Ralph and Walt Salvatore were the septuagenarian brothers who each owned thirty-four percent interest in the Xanadu. Notoriously competitive, any decision one made was immediately countered by the other. If Charles met Walt’s asking price for his shares, Ralph would ask for more.

  “I’m not proud. I’ll do anything.”

  Grace didn’t believe him. Nikolai carried himself with the same pride and self-assurance her father had.

  “Well, I guess you could ask if they’re hiring.”

  They rode up the moving stairway without speaking. Grace covertly watched Nikolai scan the casino. He didn’t just look, he took everything in. As if he might be called upon to testify about it someday.

  The thought made her shiver. Grace didn’t like law enforcement. Probably a result of her Rom background. If one looked back at one’s history and saw nothing but persecution from those in power, one tended to distrust governing bodies of any type.

  “By the way,” she said, “for the record, Charles is not my boyfriend. He’s a friend, although he might become more in the near future,” she added without thinking.

  Was it her imagination or did the temperature between them just drop a degree or two?

  “What does that mean?”

  His judgmental tone compelled her to answer. “Not that it’s any of your business, but my sister and I own a restaurant. She’s a chef. An amazing chef and we’ve done well, but I want to branch out. The Xanadu is close enough to the Strip that we’d catch tourist dollars if we opened an ultralounge here. Something hip and chic. Theme bars are big business in Vegas right now.”

  She’d been arguing the pros and cons of this endeavor in her mind ever since leaving home for the airport. Her sisters might have legitimate worries, but Grace was certain the potential for success outweighed the risk.

  “At the moment, Xanadu’s coffee shop is more like Xanadon’t. But with the right decor—something popping, sexy, maybe a little dangerous—we could attract a younger crowd. The under-thirties drive this market, and I want a piece of it.”

  When she’d floated her idea past Charles, the concept had been just starting to take shape in her mind. “I want to call it Too Romantique.”

  “Ahh, very clever play on words.”

  She tried to hide her blush of pleasure by leading the way through the glass doors marked Headquarters. Charles and his partners each maintained an office that included a private bathroom, a bar and a sofa that made into a bed. Not that Grace had ever heard of either brother sticking around the office long enough to need a nap. Charles lived on the premises in a suite on the sixth floor.

  She opened the door and stepped inside. The waiting room was large and rather opulent. Grace never tired of studying the collage of black-and-white photos of old Las Vegas that hung on the walls.

  “Hi, Grace,” a voice hailed. MaryAnn was at her desk, which always struck Grace as too modern. The chrome-and-glass ensemble matched Charles’s office furniture—the effect he’d been trying for, no doubt.

  “Charles is busy at the moment. Do you want to wait?”

  Grace motioned Nikolai closer. “No problem. MaryAnn, this is Nikolai Sarna. Fresh from frosty Detroit. Well, I’m assuming it was cold, given your coat,” she said to him, suddenly embarrassed. Did her observation reveal too much interest in him? “Um…MaryAnn will be your neighbor once we get you settled. She lives two doors down from Mom.” She turned to her cousin’s wife. “Is Gregor here today?”

  MaryAnn didn’t offer to shake hands. In fact, she didn’t even make eye contact with Nikolai, which struck Grace as odd. “No,” she said shortly. “He’s working the night shift at the legal defense office in North Vegas. A lot of accidents happen at night. Someone has to be on call.”

  She sounded upset, Grace thought, but she didn’t want to go into family business in front of a stranger, even if he was family. Sort of. “Will Charles be long? We could wait downstairs.”

  “I’ll ring him and ask.”

  But before her hand touched the phone, the office door opened and Charles ushered two young women into the reception area. When he spotted Grace, he quickly scooted around the girls, who kept their chins down, making it hard to guess their ages. Young. Early twenties?

  “Grace,” Charles said. She couldn’t tell by his expression if he was glad to see her or put out. “You’re early.”

  He crossed the room to give her a peck on the cheek—his standard greeting.

  “Traffic was tolerable.” She heard her guest’s soft snort but ignored it. “Let me introduce you to Nikolai Sarna. He’s a distant relative, newly relocated from up north, and looking for a job. I thought maybe I could send him to Personnel while we talk. But if you’re not ready for me…”

  Charles quickly shook hands with Nikolai then turned his attention to Grace. “I’ll be free in a minute. Just let me make sure these girls—our new maids—are squared away. Why don’t we meet in the coffee shop in ten minutes, eh?”

  He started away but paused. “Oh, and MaryAnn can give you an application, Nick. She knows what jobs are open.”

  He left before Grace could correct him. “Nick” didn’t fit this man at all.

  She watched Charles escort the women away. He seemed inordinately friendly with the two. Not that she blamed him. They were beautiful. Long, nearly black hair. Smoky eyes. Thin enough to be models, but they weren’t dressed stylishly. The two could be sisters, except they looked the same age and weren’t enough alike to be twins.

  “Is it standard policy for the boss to meet with all new hires?” Nikolai asked.

  MaryAnn glanced up from the file drawer she’d pulled open. After pawing through some alphabetized folders, she withdrew a sheet of paper and handed it to Nikolai. “They’re from Canada,” she said. “Charles needs to be sure there aren’t going to be any immigration issues cropping up.” Looking at Grace, she added, “You know what a stickler he is about following the law.”

  Grace sensed some invisible reaction to that statement from Nikolai, but when she looked at him, he appeared to be studying the application. “Do you want to fill that out now?”

  “You can fax it to Personnel. Or give it to me at lunch,” MaryAnn said. “You’re bringing him to Romantique, right, Grace?”

  “Oh, yes. We’re headed there after I talk to Charles. Do you want a ride?”

  “No, thanks. Luca has a short school day, and Claude wants to take him, Gemilla and Maya to the ranch. He can’t fit two child seats and a booster in the truck, so we’ll switch cars at Romantique.”

  As the door closed behind them, Nikolai asked, “How long has she been working for Charles?”

  “A year or so, I think.” Her mind was on the two young maids. Something didn’t seem right about them. “She used to be the girl Friday for a dry cleaner that went out of business. For the first time since she and Gregor got married, MaryAnn was out of work. Normally, that’s what we say about Gregor. He’s a nice guy, but he can’t hold a job for love nor money. Charles hired them both, which was really quite sweet of him.”

  “You think he’s a good man?”

  Grace found his tone judgmental. “Charles is a good man. He was a friend of my father’s, and my father was a very good judge of character.”

  He smiled for the first time and some kind of magic took place between his cheekbones and lips. Her gaze became fixed on the sexy slant of his mouth, the hint of even, white teeth. The rakish twinkle in his eye. She was so distracted she forgot she was on a moving staircase. Her heels snagged on the disappearing step. She would have fallen if not for Nikolai, w
ho hoisted her to safety.

  His hands remained fixed around her upper arms, as if to make sure she was capable of standing. “You okay?”

  She pushed away too soon and wobbled drunkenly, but managed to stay upright. “Yes, thank you. I’m fine. The coffee shop is this way.” She hurried away, trying to regain her inner equilibrium.

  She’d never in her life had such a visceral reaction to a man. Especially not with a stranger. Something about him struck her as too perceptive, too familiar. How that was possible, she didn’t know, but she planned to keep tabs on him.

  A tough job, she thought, hiding her grin behind her purse, but somebody has to do it.

  Chapter 5

  Nick slid onto a bar stool to wait. Not by choice.

  “Charles and I have business to discuss,” Grace had told him seconds after he’d caught her on the escalator. Nick had felt something flash through him—a warning, he was certain. Grace was trouble, he’d be willing to bet on it.

  She was also intriguing. And it pissed him off that she was now shutting him out. Not that she didn’t have every right to. They barely knew each other. But even if Nick hadn’t come to Vegas specifically intending to get the goods on Charles Harmon, he would have disliked the man presently standing shoulder to shoulder with Grace at a table across the room.

  Although watching him in action, Nick had to admit, he could see how someone might be taken in by Charles’s patrician good looks. Just the right touch of gray at his temples. Thin but not scrawny. Rolled-up sleeves on a shirt that probably cost more than most cops made in a week. He exuded confidence and success.

  And Grace had greeted him like a savior when he’d shown up at the doorway to the restaurant where she and Nick had been standing awkwardly, not saying anything. Nick had been tempted to apologize but he wasn’t sure what for. He’d kept her from falling backwards off the escalator—and he hadn’t taken advantage of the situation. Although he had been tempted.

  Women. He furtively glanced behind him to keep tabs on the pair standing with heads almost touching, as they pored over some kind of blueprints that Charles had brought to show Grace.

  All flash, no substance. That was Nick’s gut opinion of the man. The first thing Charles did—after giving Grace a hug that seemed mostly for Nick’s benefit—was express his regret over not being able to attend the family luncheon at Romantique. “Tell your sister I was tempted to risk contempt of court for one of her meals, but MaryAnn wouldn’t let me.”

  His secretary. The one married to Grace’s cousin. Nick made a mental note to have Zeke run a background check on MaryAnn and her husband.

  “What can I get you?” a husky voice inquired. The bartender, a buxom fiftysomething Marilyn Monroe knockoff in a starched white tuxedo shirt and tight black jeans, gave Nick an interested look.

  He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the bar. “Tonic with a twist,” he said, laying a ten-dollar bill just beyond the video poker monitor embedded in the bar.

  “Coming right up.”

  The bar was exactly what Nick imagined a 1970s-era Vegas bar must have looked like—a rolled-laminate-and-chrome countertop with a dark brown tufted vinyl knee well. Suspended overhead were cheesy chandeliers. The mirror behind the bar was mottled with gold flecks. Talk about a candidate for an extreme makeover. The only modernization that he could see was in the form of the video poker machine in front of him. It looked state-of-the-art.

  Nick wasn’t a big gambler. He’d tried blackjack and craps in Atlantic City but had never won. He eyed the thing, wondering how it worked.

  “It takes bills. Any denomination.”

  Glancing to his left, Nick saw a tall, angular man in his mid-to late fifties leaning against the bar. His mostly gray hair was trimmed short the way Nick’s father used to wear his. Nowadays, Pete Lightner shaved his head. And looked pretty damn good. This man didn’t seem to have to worry about a receding hairline.

  “I’m sure it does,” Nick said drily. “Probably more than I want to give it.”

  The man chuckled as he sat down.

  Nick glanced at the row of empty stools on either side of him and tensed. Was this some kind of pickup? Before he could discourage the stranger from crowding his space, the bartender returned with his drink. “And what can I get you this fine morning?” she asked the man, with a come-hither wink.

  Nick gave the guy a second look. Ordinary. Clothes off the rack at Kmart. A navy windbreaker not unlike the kind the FBI used, except it was lacking the big yellow letters.

  “Coffee, please. Black.”

  A tingle of awareness passed along Nick’s spine. The man was a cop. Nick would bet his well-hidden Beretta on it.

  “Are you a friend of Zeke’s?”

  In profile, Nick saw a smile slowly wrinkle the side of the man’s cheek. His longish face reminded Nick of a beardless Abe Lincoln, only with a darker complexion. Latino or part black, Nick guessed.

  The bartender delivered the mug and picked up Nick’s ten spot. “Both?” she asked, obviously assuming the two men knew each other.

  “Sure,” Nick said. “Why not?”

  The man lifted his mug and nodded his thanks. After a tentative slurp, he lowered the cup to look at Nick. “Not bad. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, but you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Name’s Zeke Martini. Yes, like the drink,” he added in a tone that said he’d heard the unasked question a thousand times.

  “Impressive timing. How’d you know I’d be here?”

  “Had a tail on the princess for a week. She’s not the greatest driver in the world, by the way. Hope your life insurance is paid up.”

  Nick chuckled to mask his surprise. He’d known Metro was interested in Grace because of her association with Charles, but he hadn’t realized they were watching her round the clock. Would that change now that he was in the picture? “We should talk.”

  “We will. I’ll let you get your sea legs first.”

  Zeke took another drink of coffee then stood up. Nick stopped him with his foot against his shin. “How do I reach you? Dial nine-one-one?”

  “I’ll be around,” Zeke said cryptically. “Nothing’s happening at the moment. Unless you know what that’s about.” He nodded ever so slightly toward where Grace and Charles were standing.

  The spacious—some might say cavernous—dining room was mostly deserted so the couple had relative privacy in a sunny alcove with floor-to-ceiling windows made of glass block.

  “I’m not in that loop—yet.”

  “Positive thinking. I like that.”

  With a nod at the bartender, he tossed down a couple of singles then walked away, melting into the labyrinth of tables, slot machines and gamblers on the casino’s main floor.

  Zeke Martini. Not quite what he’d imagined, but something about the guy reminded Nick of his dad. A cop thing. All job, no bull.

  Staring into the distorted image of the mirror behind the bar, Nick tried to make out what was happening at the table in the alcove, but the only thing clear was Grace’s frown.

  “And I really like what he’s done with the restrooms,” Charles said, pointing to a spot on the plans he’d unrolled. “Get this—the only lights would be in the floors and behind the mirrors. Sounds very hip, doesn’t it?”

  Grace fought to keep her temper under control. Yes, this was exactly what she’d envisioned when she’d blurted out her idea last week over dinner at Aquaknox, her inhibitions no doubt lowered by a glass of primo Chardonnay.

  Charles had appeared cautiously interested. Then, not a word from him until now when he shows up with a set of architectural drawings. Created with absolutely no input from me.

  “What do you think?”

  She stepped back, hands on her hips. “You tell me. Since you’re so good at reading minds.”

  Charles’s head went up so abruptly a shock of dark auburn hair dropped across his eyebrows. He batted it away. His long, classically handsome face took on a troubled frown
. “Oh.” His eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, dear. I believe I let my enthusiasm for the project get away from me.”

  His look of chagrin seemed real. Was it possible he’d simply been caught up in the moment? Grace had felt the same way when the idea came to her in the middle of the night.

  The name, the concept, the location—everything about Too Romantique had made her giddy with expectation. Until breakfast when her sisters voiced their concerns. Now, Charles was standing here practically gushing enthusiasm, and she was acting like a spoiled child because he’d taken her ball and run with it.

  “I’m sorry, Grace. Really.”

  His apology seemed sincere, but Grace didn’t like secret agendas. “If we do this, Charles, I expect to be more than the money man…um, person. It’s my investment, my idea and my sister who will be putting her reputation on the line.”

  He nodded somberly. “Of course. You’re absolutely right. I should have talked this over with you. But you’ve been so busy with your family…”

  Grace couldn’t argue with that. She’d babysat Maya two evenings last week and had filled in three afternoons at The Dancing Hippo when Alexa was feeling under the weather. But still…

  “I appreciate the fact that this is your building, Charles, so you have final say in the remodeling process, but, let’s face it. Too Romantique is my baby. If it fails, you would still benefit from a badly needed face-lift, while I’d be out my entire trust fund.”

  “I would never let that happen, Grace.”

  Charles put his hand on her bare arm. His touch was cool and light. He wasn’t a hands-on kind of person, which Grace liked. Shawn had proven that touch could lie, and trust was easily abused. “I know this appears as though I usurped your brainchild, Grace, but, in fact, these plans weren’t something I commissioned.”

  “Then why do you have them?”

  “Well, I happened to mention your idea to the contractor who’s refurbishing some of our guest rooms. He was so impressed by what I described to him—all the things you’d mentioned to me—that he took it upon himself to put these sketches together on his computer.” He used his free hand to make a sweeping gesture toward the thick, bluish white paper. “Nothing is written in blood. You can mark them up all you want.”