This made Sunny’s nose crinkle. “Too busy even for your grandma? I mean if my grandma were still alive and asked me to come out, anywhere, I’d make the time.”
Cole’s lips thinned. “I suppose we have different ways of showing our relatives we value them. I think keeping my grandmother rich beyond her wildest dreams is enough, whereas you seem to think I’m neglecting her if I don’t show up at her little Christmas party.”
Sunny shrugged. “Money’s nice, for sure. Believe me, I know that,” she said, thinking fleetingly of her dream to move to New York. “But if I had to choose between a big old pile of money, or family, I’d choose family every time.”
Cole gave her a grumpy look. “I can see why she likes you if you go around spouting crap like that.”
“Excuse me, it’s not crap—” Sunny broke off before her temper could get away from her. Yes, Cole Benton was an ass who couldn’t be bothered to support his own grandmother, but unfortunately, he was the ass who could get The Benton Girls Revue back up and running. She had to be nice to him.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Benton, I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” She pasted on a smile and went back to the script Rick had gone over with her. “I’m actually here as a friend of your grandmother’s to talk with you about your recent decision to cancel The Benton Girls Revue.”
Mr. Benton’s mouth twisted up. “Oh, that,” he said, his monotone making it clear how unenthused he was to pursue the particular topic of conversation. But then he surprised her by stepping back, and holding the door open for her. “I suppose you’d better come in.”
She did, glancing around the mostly black-and-white room before tentatively sitting down on one of the hard black guest chairs. The whole office put her in mind of a chessboard, and she had the feeling that the association was intentional, as if to say to visitors, “once you step into Cole Benton’s space it’s game on.”
And it became clear who was the king on this board when Cole Benton sat down in the much larger chair behind his white desk, steepling his hands over its glass cover. “Talk.”
Sunny swallowed and folded her hands in her lap. “As you know, The Benton Girls Revue is one of the oldest revues in Vegas, and even though I know it comes with its share of costs, it does still break even.”
“Barely,” Cole added. “And I’m not a fan of breaking even, especially when there are plenty of other shows interested in that space. Shows that would cost less and bring in a higher profit.”
“I understand,” Sunny answered. “But when you add in The Revue’s long history, anyone can see that you can’t put a money amount on its value.”
“Only if they don’t have an MBA,” Cole answered. “I’m assuming you don’t.”
What. A. Jerk. What complete and total jerk, she thought, trying to keep the lid on her temper. “No one knows the value of that history more than I do. My grandmother was the first black Benton Girl, and it really makes me sad to think her legacy won’t be able to continue on—”
“So that’s how our grandmothers met?” Cole asked. “While kicking up their heels on the Benton Girl line?”
“Yes, and that’s why—”
“Save it,” Cole said with a bored expression. “You’ve way overestimated the nostalgia factor. I’m a businessman first and foremost in all things, so I don’t care how old The Benton Girls Revue is. The fact is we’d make more of a profit selling the costumes and set pieces we’ve used in it than we would keeping the show going, and that’s what I value most, the bottom line.”
Sunny had tried. She’d really tried, but she couldn’t hold her temper back any longer. “Look, Mr. Benton. I’m not here about your bottom line, I’m here about the people who signed on to do a job in good faith and then had the carpet pulled out from under them today. Good people.”
The man behind the desk threw her a skeptical look. “Let me guess, good people like you.”
“Yes, good people like me,” she agreed. “I have no shame in admitting I need this job to hit my life goals. But also, good people like my best friend, Prudence, who has a younger brother she’s supporting all by herself. Two weeks severance isn’t going to cut it for her.”
“Life goals like what?”
Sunny blinked, a little thrown off track by his response to her passionate speech. “What?”
“You said you have life goals that you need this job to support. What are they?”
Sunny frowned, all sorts of discombobulated. “You really want to know...?”
Mr. Benton heaved a huge sigh. “You’ve already seen how much I value the bottom line, so you should just assume that I also value my time, since it’s worth a lot of money. Believe me, Ms. Johnson, I don’t waste it with questions I don’t want answered.”
Sunny adjusted herself in the black chair. “All right. I haven’t told Rick or your grandmother this yet, so I’d appreciate you keeping it to yourself until I do.”
She paused, waiting for him to promise, but he just stared back at her. The king on his chessboard, refusing to make any concessions to a mere pawn.
“I recently received a scholarship to earn an MFA in dance pedagogy—that’s basically like dance education—at New York Arts University. They’ll cover my tuition in exchange for me agreeing to teach in their dance program for low-income neighborhoods for the two years that I’m there. But they don’t provide room or board, and room and board isn’t exactly cheap—even in the outer boroughs where I’d be living...”
“No, it isn’t,” he agreed, his voice thoughtful, like he’d never even considered how the other half lived before.
Probably because he hadn’t, Sunny thought to herself before continuing on. “So you see why I need this job at least until August, along with all the other hard working dancers in The Revue.”
For some reason, Mr. Benton smiled. Smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Yes, yes, I do see now.”
She waited for him to expand on that statement, but he continued to sit there, his brow crinkled, like he was running some sort of calculation.
Sunny looked from side to side. “Does this mean you’re actually thinking about not cancelling the show?”
“Depends,” Mr. Benton answered.
“On what?” she asked when he once again fell quiet.
He sat forward. “On what you’re willing to do to make sure the show goes on.”
Cole watched as the showgirl’s eyes widened slightly, like a rabbit suddenly caught in a trap. He continued to study her every reaction, while calculating his next words. He could tell she was confused. Very confused, but he didn’t rush in with an explanation. He hadn’t gotten to the top of his business by not carefully evaluating each and every one of his business rivals before and after they sat down on his chessboard, and he considered this showgirl, Sunny Johnson, a business rival.
One who happened to be extremely sexy, with long legs and soft curves that made his hands itch to do more than talk business.
She was fascinating, not at all what he’d expected, not just because she was African-American—though Nora choosing someone outside their race for him to wed had certainly been a surprise. She was so opposite of most of the people he associated with in Vegas. Vegas was a town built on big gambles and everyone who worked there from CEOs to the guys who cleaned the pit floors tended to hold their cards close to the chest. But not this woman.
It