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“And you married her instead of buying the stock?” Brent asked, sounding very much as if he thought JT wasn’t thinking clearly. “If you’re short on cash, you could have come to me.”
A year ago Brent had sold the company he’d started and had not yet found a place to invest the four billion he’d made.
“The terms of Tiberius’s will don’t allow her to part with the stock in any way until my dad dies.”
“Good old Tiberius.” Brent grinned in admiration. “And until you married her, she couldn’t vote because she’s not family.”
JT knew he could count on his cousin to grasp the entire problem. “That sums it up.”
Brent blew out a worried breath. “When your dad finds out about this, things are going to get nasty.”
“That’s why I need to meet with as much family as I can before he finds out.”
With regret tugging his dark eyebrows together, Brent said, “I wish I could help you out.”
“Me, too.”
His cousin was one hell of a businessman. His father had taught him well. Again JT felt the twinge of envy. Why did bad things happen to good people while manipulative bastards like JT’s father sailed through life unscathed?
“Where are you off to next?” Brent asked.
“Atlanta.”
“Cousin Skip.” JT’s cousin rolled his eyes. “I don’t envy you.”
Six
At midnight, Baccarat’s couches and barstools were occupied by a twenty-something clientele with palates sophisticated enough for Rick’s special blends. As Violet crossed the threshold into the lounge, her pulse escalated but she immediately told herself to calm down. Even if JT was in town, it was too late for him to be at the bar. She usually swung through here at eleven-fifteen, but tonight she’d been held up by the manager of the sports book.
The only contact she’d had with JT in the last several days was a series of terse text messages, each less hopeful than the last. He was having no luck finding more shares to buy. His father had either bought up what he could or had convinced his family to vote with him.
Her phone vibrated, indicating a text message had come in. Someone at the front desk was looking for her. Violet left Baccarat without catching Rick’s attention and headed for the lobby.
As she approached, she saw a tall man standing with the night manager. The stranger had his back to her, but when Violet was five feet away, he turned his head and she glimpsed his profile.
She almost stopped dead in her tracks. Preston Rhodes? What the hell was he doing here?
JT’s father hadn’t spotted her yet, but she was too exposed to make a run for it without drawing unwanted attention. Gathering a deep breath, Violet stiffened her spine and marched forward.
“Good evening,” she said, doubting her ability to pretend she had no idea who Preston was. Although the man had never appeared in Vegas before, she recognized him from articles she’d read about him. And then there was the resemblance to JT around the man’s eyes and chin. “Preston Rhodes, isn’t it?”
While the night manager returned to his post, Violet held out her hand and wasn’t surprised when Preston clasped it in a punishing handshake. Of course the man would choose to demonstrate his power with brute force. That he wouldn’t pull any punches just because she was a woman wasn’t as flattering as it might have been if he were someone else.
“Ms. Fontaine.” His smooth tone did little to hide the poisonous nature of the man’s character. “Or should I call you Violet since we’re now family?”
She tried to keep her surprise from showing. His thin laugh let her know that she hadn’t been successful. JT hadn’t mentioned that he’d told his father. Irritation flared. She wished he’d warned her. Facing someone like Preston without preparation was better suited to Harper, who had a knack for staying calm no matter what the catastrophe.
“Mr. Rhodes—”
“Preston,” he corrected, a viper’s smile twisting his lips. “Unless you’d prefer Dad. I know you never had anyone you could call by that name.”
It wasn’t in her nature to call him what he deserved. “Preston,” she acceded. With that one word, she was out of polite things to say to the man who’d ruined the most important man in her life and who cared little that his son distrusted him.
“Why don’t we go have a drink and get to know each other a little better.”
Preston caught her by the arm and turned in the direction of Lalique, a stylish two-story bar inside a spectacular three-story crystal chandelier that was Fontaine Chic’s centerpiece. Her grandfather hadn’t said a word about the three million dollars she’d spent on this single item. Crystal was Violet’s signature décor. Throughout the hotel and casino, multifaceted crystals sparkled above the gaming tables and from the fixtures that lined the walkways. Pillars sparkled with embedded lights made to resemble crystals and all the waitresses and dealers wore rhinestone-accented black uniforms.
