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So that was where Ryan went when he left the lodge alongside her in the evenings. She’d wondered where he was going, even though she’d told herself not to.
“Both times there’ve been women hitting on him, too,” Erica supplied.
She felt a stab of jealousy.
Stop it, stop it, stop it, she told herself.
Still, she steamed over Ryan’s double standard. Apparently, he was willing to paint her as a wanton hussy while he hung out with the swinging singles crowd at the White Fir Tavern.
She, meanwhile, had spent her evenings the way she usually did—quietly at home, alone. Often, she was simply trying to catch up on billing and other correspondence for Distressed Success.
Erica shrugged. “You’d think Ryan would expect to see you there, offering lap dances to the male patrons, from the things he’s said to you.”
“Yes,” she mused, “he would, wouldn’t he?”
This wasn’t the smartest idea she’d ever had, Kelly conceded.
Still, now that she was here, she had no choice but to brazen it out.
Inside the White Fir Tavern, she spotted Erica and Greg sharing a table near the center of the pub.
The second thing she noticed was Ryan, sitting at the bar holding a beer, turned mostly away from her and the entrance.
Kelly noticed Erica’s eyes widen when she saw her.
She’d told her assistant to go on home, since she just needed to finish closing up shop for the day. Instead, she’d gone to the back of the store and changed clothes before coming on over to the White Fir Tavern herself.
She knew Erica and Greg would be there, maybe sharing a quick drink or some finger food before heading home to the kids and relieving the babysitter, who happened to be Erica’s mother.
Of course, the other person Kelly knew she’d find at the White Fir Tavern was Ryan.
But as she moved toward Erica’s table, she refused to look around because she didn’t want to lose her nerve.
And judging from the look on Erica’s face, Kelly knew exactly how she must appear. Her whole outfit begged for attention, from the bronze halter top to the black skirt and three-inch spike heels.
She got plenty of looks from the male patrons—admiring, appreciative and lustful.
As she approached Erica, Greg turned around, too, and his arrested expression put both courage and fear in Kelly’s step, since it was probably a good indication of what Ryan’s reaction would be.
“Hi,” Kelly said brightly, stopping at their table.
“What are you doing?” Erica asked in a low voice.
“Just what we discussed,” she responded. “Living up to what’s expected of me.”
Greg looked from Kelly to his wife. “Anyone care to fill me in?”
Erica nodded her head toward the bar. “It’s about the guy over there who’s staying at the lodge this month while Kelly is decorating. Ryan Almighty Sperling. He thinks Kelly is a—” she paused and threw Kelly an apologetic look “—slut. Kelly has taken it into her head to make a point.”
Kelly watched as Greg looked up at her. “Well, I’d say she made it, all right.” His glance moved beyond her, and his lips twitched. “And to the guy at the bar, too.”
“Good,” she said emphatically, though she felt the hairs at the back of her neck prick. “I’m going to get myself a drink.”
She sauntered to the bar, taking care not to look directly at Ryan, though she could sense the heat of his gaze.
“Jack and diet,” she instructed the White Fir Tavern’s bartender, a genial-looking man in his sixties.
The bartender’s eyes crinkled and he set down a napkin before her. “Coming right up. Lady knows what she wants.”
She smiled. “Today I do. Thank you.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Ryan said roughly.
She took her time turning to face him.
His expression was grim as his eyes raked her, pausing at her cleavage, where her breasts threatened to spill from the restraint of her halter top.
“What am I doing here?” she challenged. “I thought you were the newcomer.”
His lips thinned. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m acting the way you expect me to,” she said with defiance. “Isn’t this where you thought I’d be?”
Given his opinion of Hartleys, he should think she’d fit right in here among the women hanging out at the White Fir Tavern—and pawing him, if Erica was to be believed.
The bartender set her drink down before her and she picked it up and took a sip, scanning the room. More than a few men continued to look her way—and enjoy.
Ryan threw some bills down on the counter and said grimly, “I’m settling the tab for both of us.”
Kelly threw him a flirtatious look, then turned to walk away.
Without invitation, Ryan followed.
She stopped at her table and gestured at Erica and Greg. “Have you met my friends? Erica and Greg Barnes—” she waved a negligent hand in Ryan’s direction “—this is Ryan Sperling.”
Erica smiled and Ryan and Greg shook hands.
She and Ryan sat down at the small round table.
Erica turned to Ryan. “So, Kelly mentioned you’re staying at the lodge while she’s decorating.”
“Yes, I am.” Ryan shot Kelly a look, but she refused to turn his way. “Just for the month.”
“How do you like Tahoe?” Greg asked.
“I haven’t been here in several years,” Ryan responded, shooting her another look. “It’s interesting coming back. Some things have changed and others are really familiar.”
While Erica and Greg continued to make desultory conversation with Ryan about the local area, the atmosphere at the table continued to carry an undercurrent of tension.
After some time, a young waitress in a low-cut top came around to take an order of drinks. The waitress smiled invitingly at Ryan, who looked as if he didn’t mind the attention, and Kelly thought sourly that bare boobs were apparently acceptable on anyone not named Hartley. She put in an order for a green-apple martini—one of Brenda’s favorites. After that, she remained determinedly distracted, smiling an invitation at the men who happened to look her way.
Eventually, though, Erica and Greg announced they had to get back to the kids.
When everyone rose from the table, Erica leaned close. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Kelly smiled reassuringly. “I’m having the time of my life, can’t you tell?”
With a look of semiserious warning, Erica turned toward the door and Kelly took the opportunity to walk back to the bar and settle herself on a stool, leaving Ryan alone at the table.
Ryan’s presence had been keeping men away, she thought irritably, and it was time she did something about it.
After she’d ordered another fabulous martini— why hadn’t she discovered them earlier in her life?—she smiled at the attractive man sitting next to her. She’d noticed he’d looked her way occasionally since he’d walked into the bar fifteen minutes ago, and now she met those looks straight on.
He looked to be around thirty, with sandy-blond hair and blue eyes. If it had been wintertime, she would have said he was a ski bum, drawn to the slopes nearby. Tahoe attracted those with money to burn to its slopes, lake and nearby casinos.
“Buy you a drink?” he offered.
She smiled back. “Thank you.” Then she leaned closer, conspiratorially. “You’re more likable than the other guy who offered to buy me a drink tonight.”
She used the term offered loosely. Ryan, in typical high-handed fashion, had announced he was settling the bill and that was that.
The man next to her smiled back. “I noticed you the minute I walked in.”
She learned his name was Tate and he was another money-to-burn fun seeker vacationing in Tahoe.
All the while, however, she could feel Ryan’s eyes boring into the back of her head.
She took another sip of her drink, her third, and thought she had a nice little buzz going.
She cast a sidelong look at Tate, then one at Ryan, who still sat sullenly, beer in front of him, at the table they’d shared with Erica and Greg.
The contrast between the two men couldn’t have been more apparent. One was a blond thrill seeker, the other a dark angel with a mission. And the more she talked and flirted with Tate, the more she thought she preferred the former.
She smiled languidly at her bar buddy. He was a nice man, she decided with a warm rush. He was full of effusive compliments that bolstered her confidence, unlike another man she could name.
She leaned in, resting her hand on Tate’s arm.
Ryan’s jaw hardened.
She was tipsy and getting more inebriated by the minute.
Of course, the smooth-talking charmer Kelly was flirting with was enjoying every second of it. Likely, he was waiting for the moment when she was so far gone he could convince her to head home to bed with him.
On top of it all, the guy had thrown him a couple of amused looks, as if he knew he was an interloper and was enjoying the fact.
Ryan’s hand flexed on his drink. He itched to slug Prince Charming.
He knew the type. Growing up under Webb Sperling’s roof had taught him to identify it.
He told himself he didn’t care, but then Kelly leaned toward the guy, laughing, her eyes too bright, and Ryan downed the last of his drink and rose.
As he walked toward the bar, he told himself he was just irritated this was the thanks he got for toiling for her all week.
“Are you here with someone?” Charming said to Kelly, noting his approach.
“No—”
“Yes,” Ryan cut in, “she’s with me.” Kelly swung around. “No, I’m not.” She looked beyond him. “Where are Erica and Greg?” “They left,” he responded flatly.
“Oh, right.”
He looked at her closely. She’d clearly passed tipsy and was well on her way to ditsy.
He turned then and sized up the guy she was with.
There was a reason, he thought, that the initials for Prince Charming were P. C. The guy looked as if he never put a foot wrong—as if he knew exactly how to ingratiate himself with women.
“Tate Henderson,” the guy said, offering his hand.
“Ryan Sperling,” he responded, ignoring the hand.
Tate’s face registered surprise. “Ryan Sperling? The guy behind El Ray Technology?”
“None other,” he responded curtly.
Tate, however, became more animated. “I’ve heard of you. You’re a legend in the cable world, not to mention a favorite on Wall Street. Those shares you offered—“
Kelly stifled a yawn with her hand.
Ryan glanced at her. He was putting a damper on her tête-à-tête with Tate and she clearly wasn’t happy about it.
Ryan didn’t mind invoking his wealth and power when it suited his purposes, and now definitely suited his purposes.
Ryan signaled the bartender and leaned forward, wedging himself between Tate and Kelly to order another drink, tonic water that he intended to sip while he kept an eye on Kelly’s Brenda Hartley impersonation.
Turning back after he’d ordered, he took the opportunity to murmur to Tate, “Sweetness is on her way to Happyland. I’m here to make sure she gets home safely—and alone.”
Tate raised his eyebrows. “What’s she to you?”
“There’s a family connection.”
The other man’s lips quirked up. “It’s always something like that.”
Tate downed the rest of his drink, then leaned back to reach into the pocket of his jeans.
“Leave it,” Ryan said. “I’ll settle the tab.”
Tate gave a brief nod of acknowledgement and slid off his bar stool as Ryan stepped back from the bar.
