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people like Gam-Anon. You know, legitimate charities.”
    “I’m not here for money, but clearly you are.” The words spilled out of her, kick-started by adrenaline. “You’re a wealthy man. Did you have to open casinos? Were they such a passion for you? Couldn’t you have opened, I don’t know, a supermarket chain instead? Or was that not sexy enough for the great Liam Doyle?”
    His lips compressed. Had her comment hit home? Good.
    “You have no right…”
    “I have every right.” Her face was burning now. “If I can save even a few lost souls from places like this, then I’ll sleep a whole lot easier.”
    She had to get out before she started crying. She wanted to leave with her head held high. Leave him thinking. She turned and headed for the elevator, but he grabbed her hand before she could get away.
    “Wait.”
    Kate yanked her hand out of his grip. “How do you even sleep, Mr. Doyle?”
    His eyes bored into her. “Like a rock. But that crown of thorns must keep you up at night.”
    She tried to appear like she was still in control, but that had hurt. “You just keep telling yourself that.”
    Kate marched to the elevator and punched the button. As the door opened, she threw a look back at him.
    “By the way, I will be back. I’ll show you how many lives have been devastated by your casinos.” She walked into the lift, even though she felt like running. She didn’t look back.
    Liam called out to her. “Watch your step, Ms. Callender. I don’t forgive and forget.”
    She channeled her last ounce of bravado before the doors shut. “You really should see someone for that. I hear being an asshole can be terminal.”
    Once the elevator began its descent, Kate leaned against the back of the small space and closed her eyes, winded by her hostile exchange with Doyle. She didn’t open them again until the door opened.
    That night, Liam did sleep well—until about 3am, when he woke with a pounding headache.
    He stumbled out of bed, eager for a glass of water. He attributed the headache to any number of things. Despite little hiccups, the grand opening at Vice had gone smoothly. More bothersome was a recent rash of thefts at Sin, his first casino, ones that appeared to be an inside job. He treated his staff well, and nothing irked him quite as much as betrayal from those in his inner circle.
    Been there, done that, didn’t want to do it again. Thank God he could rely on his security team.
    Then there was the problem getting permits for his next venture. Why city officials wanted to save that crumbling old government office off Fremont Street was beyond him. There was no way the derelict shell that used to house the old works department could be considered of historical significance.
    On top of that was his issue with Bridget, his ex-girlfriend and the way she continued to keep him away from the one person who meant anything to him, Michelle. Luckily, he had his new hotshot lawyer on the case, and it would soon be resolved to his satisfaction. Michelle would be back under his roof in no time, and not a moment too soon.
    Christ, he missed her.
    He rubbed his face. Yes, each of these issues had kept him up on previous nights. However, even as he padded through his condo on yet another night-time quest for water, he knew this time the ache in his brain had a different origin.
    One with knockout curves and auburn hair.
    Why on Earth should he be so affected by Kate Callender, the singer on a crusade?
    I don’t respect your work, Mr. Doyle. And I don’t respect you.
    Bull’s-eye.
    He’d been called a lot of things during his career, and knew full well many resented his meteoric rise in Vegas society, but no one had ever put so fine a point on it. He supposed it stung because in a town where there were no limitations, he’d always conducted business above board. Yes, he owned casinos. Yes, tons of folks out there had issues with gambling. Still, he didn’t force those people into his clubs, didn’t