Page 93 of Can't Win 'Em All
“You know, down the road, I don’t think an amphitheater is the worst idea in the world. If we had a regular residency, it would bring in a lot of money. The thing is, we need more than a few months of planning. It’s not just the theater itself—although we have no room for it right now—but it’s also parking, added workers, and pinning down talent.”
“Dad says he wants to get Taylor Swift.”
“That’s not even reasonable. She’s too big. Vegas residencies involve artists on their way down. Or icons,” I added as an afterthought. “I mean … Cher is always on top. She’s not a modern day draw for the kids, though. She brings in the parents.”
She snapped her eyes in my direction. “Cher is definitely an icon. I will want to see Cher perform every year until she decides she can’t perform any longer. She’s just that good.”
“The kids don’t want to see her, though,” I pointed out. “They want to see Beyoncé, or Chappell Roan.”
“How do you even know who Chappell Roan is?”
“I know things.”
She laughed. “Sure. When I look at you, I see a Chappell Roan fan. It’s obvious.”
“I’m just saying that the sort of artist we could get for a residency is not going to be a current headliner. It’s someone like Christina Aguilera, Shania Twain, Lionel Richie, or Janet Jackson. It’s not people who pack stadiums at present.”
“So … you think my father is trying to do something underhanded with a former top dog musical artist?” The way Ruby screwed up her face in concentration suggested that she was having trouble wrapping her head around that possibility. “I don’t think that’s it,” she said after several seconds. “Whatever he’s up to, it’s more basic than that.”
“Well, what would that look like?” She wasn’t going to let it go. It was better to help her than stand in her way. “Let’s break it down. What would be the first thing to happen if he got the votes for his amphitheater?”
“Well, you said it yourself, we don’t have the room. He would need space.”
“And what are we surrounded by?” I gave it some thought. “There’s that strip of restaurants. That doesn’t strike me as big enough for an amphitheater, though.”
“No, but behind us, there’s a parking garage and the Chiffon Hotel.”
I was already nodding before she finished it out. The Chiffon was a rundown hotel for people who wanted to be close to the Strip but didn’t want to spend great gobs of money on accommodations so they could blow more on gambling. There was no casino associated with the property. It was dilapidated. The owner was Chet Haskins. He’d been a mainstay in the Vegas mob scene thirty years ago. Then, as the Strip went more mainstream—no more all you can eat buffets and shady backdoor card games—he’d been left behind. He’d been bitter about it ever since.
“That would be a big enough space to build an amphitheater,” I agreed.
“People have been trying to get Haskins to sell that spot for years, though,” Ruby pointed out. “A lot of money has been thrown at him, and he’s refused. We’re talking the sort of money he could retire on comfortably.”
“So, why did he hold onto the property?”
She hunched her shoulders as she considered it, then automatically reached up to rub her neck. “That’s a very good question.”
“Come here.” I prodded her to shift so she was in front of me, and I immediately started rubbing her shoulders when she rested her back against me. We fit together. I was a foot taller than her, but we still fit. Perfectly. It was as if we’d been designed to be together from the very beginning. “Better?” I asked when she let loose a little moan.
“So much better,” she agreed in a wispy voice that did strange things to Little Rex.
“You can’t moan like that,” I teased her. “You make me think things I shouldn’t be thinking.”
“Who says you shouldn’t be thinking them?”
My heart skipped a beat, then I calmed myself. I didn’t want to fall into bed before she was ready. No, I wanted to do this right. I’d done everything wrong in the beginning. If there was an incorrect decision to make, I’d made it. If I wanted this to work out—and there was nothing I wanted more, I realized that now—I had to be patient.
“You said I shouldn’t be thinking them,” I reminded her. “The night of our first date, we agreed that we should do this the right way.”
“I know but … it’s been going well.” She chewed on her bottom lip and looked over her shoulder. “It’s something we might be able to talk about.”
I had to refrain from laughing. “Are you feeling horny?”
“Excuse me?” she sputtered.
“You said you were feeling horny the day we went shopping with Livvie. If you want to know the truth, that’s the day that I started allowing my mind to wander about where we—meaning you and me and this relationship—is concerned. It was as if you flipped a switch in my head.”
“What sort of switch?”
