5. Cole

CHAPTER 5

COLE

C ole Gallagher thunked his head back onto the pillow and groaned.

She was gone, and so were her clothes.

He should have known she was too good to be true, that his luck wouldn’t last. Bella had been a bright spot in the darkness, but now it was time to step back into the nightmare.

The Galaxy.

Cole had only met Uncle Mike a handful of times, but he owed the guy. That was why he’d left his life on Emerald Shores and travelled back to the US, into a situation that was far beyond his understanding or control. He had to at least try to fix this. Hundreds of people were depending on him, and he’d never felt so alone.

His muscles ached as he rolled out of bed, but after last night with Bella, that was no surprise. But the disappointment… He hadn’t been prepared for that.

She’d been beautiful, confident, fun in a wild way, everything he’d been avoiding for the past six years. He should have known better than to fall for her charms, but this whole state of affairs was messing with his head. Making him crazy.

Making him do things he wouldn’t normally dream of.

Until Bella walked into the bar last night, the trip to the Black Diamond had been thoroughly depressing. The decor was modern and immaculate, no scuffs or scratches to be seen. Service was efficient and unobtrusive. He’d listened to guests raving about the spa, the casino floor was buzzing, and Suzi Quade was two weeks into a three-month run in the Diamond Dome.

The Galaxy couldn’t compete with that. They had to cut corners just to make the various loan payments, and no matter how hard the staff tried to turn things around, the hotel sank deeper into the red with every month that passed. Uncle Mike had been successful in the beginning. He’d built his vision on the Strip, a grand hotel that offered a warm welcome to families, provided entertainment options on a budget, and prided itself on excellent service. But that vision hadn’t changed while the world had moved on around him. Kids wanted VR headsets and race car simulators, not face painting and crafts. The rooms were dated. And they could only afford to book cover acts now.

What the place needed was investment, but Cole wasn’t the person to find it. Where would he get millions of dollars? He knew plenty about marine life but nothing about running a business beyond his own. And there was a world of difference between hiring out a single boat for diving and scientific excursions and running a five-hundred-bedroom hotel.

The banks wouldn’t lend any more money, not that Nebula Holdings could afford increased repayments anyway, and then there was Jimmy. Or at least, that was what he’d called himself. Cole had no idea whether that was the man’s real name, and he was shady as hell.

But that was a problem for tomorrow. Today was Sunday, no longer a day of rest but a time to placate unhappy guests, mediate in staff disagreements, and pray nothing else broke. First up was the daily management meeting, which started at ten a.m. prompt, and he’d have to take a cab because he’d left his car at the hotel last night. Or maybe he could save money by walking? Although everyone had told him to avoid the area known as Naked City, so he’d have to go south and then east… What time was it?

Cole glanced at the clock, then knifed up in bed, the beginnings of a headache rattling around beside memories of Bella. One thirty? How was it one thirty? His alarm was set for eight, and— Where was his phone?

He screwed his eyes shut, trying to remember. In his jacket pocket… Bella… Downstairs… Fuck. And when he stumbled into the hall to retrieve it, the damn thing was dead.

Cole leaned back against the wall and sighed.

Then frowned.

Why was the wall sticky?

He pulled away, and a layer of paint came with him. What the…? Could paint degrade like that? He’d turned down the AC to save money, but his home in San Galli was just as warm, and paint didn’t melt off the walls there. The house was old, so maybe it was a different kind of paint? He sniffed the air. There was a strange odour too. He would have googled if his phone had been working, but it wasn’t, and there was no time to worry about trivial things like decor when he had jobs to save. Uncle Mike’s home was mere months from foreclosure anyway.

Cole found his phone charger and plugged it in, then jogged up the stairs to take a shower. He couldn’t walk into the Galaxy smelling of sweat and sex and her . What he wouldn’t give to get on a plane and fly back home… To fo rget about Uncle Mike, Las Vegas, and the whole damn leisure industry.

His mom had always said his tenacity was a good thing, but now he wished he knew how to quit.

“Stanley Fuller is on the phone.”

Cole looked up as Nancy, who’d been Uncle Mike’s assistant and was now his, stepped into his office. She’d been with Mike since the early days, and there wasn’t much she didn’t know about the Galaxy, including all the mistakes Cole’s uncle had made.

“As if today wasn’t bad enough already.”

“Should I tell him you’re out?”

No point; he’d just call back later. “Put him through.”

Stanley Fuller was a former NFL linebacker who’d turned to the leisure industry after he retired from sports, and he’d been running the hotel next door, the Neptune, for a quarter of a century. Successfully, which was undoubtedly why he always sounded so damn condescending. Cole sighed. He couldn’t complain too much—Stanley had helped out with several issues at the Galaxy after Mike died suddenly.

“How are you doing, son?”

“As well as can be expected.”

Stanley chuckled. “Must be difficult, being thrust into a world you know nothing about. Have you given my offer any consideration?”

Cole had. And it wasn’t a terrible offer if you only looked at numbers on the page. Stanley would pay a little more than the land the Galaxy was built on was worth, and then he’d raze the hotel to the ground to make way for a golf course. The older of his two sons was a golf pro on the PGA Tour, and Stanley wanted to “build up his brand” by putting Jackson Fuller’s name on a new golf school.

The money would pay off the company’s debts, plus cover redundancy payouts, and Cole would be left with Uncle Mike’s McNeil home, enough cash to buy a bigger boat, and a clean slate.

But there were two problems with that.

Firstly, all the staff at the Galaxy would lose their jobs, and with that, their healthcare. The economy was still shaky—President Harrison had been in office for just over a year, but cleaning up the mess the last guy left was taking time—and some of the team were approaching retirement. How easy would it be for them to find new positions?

Secondly, Uncle Mike’s feelings about Stanley Fuller had been mixed. Cole recalled him mentioning the man once, something about a fundraiser he was hosting with his wife, even though he spent more time with his mistress. Plus Nancy had spilled the dirt. Mike had respected Stanley as a businessman, but he didn’t agree with the man’s ethics. Stanley had cheated on both of his wives, a position that didn’t sit right with Uncle Mike, who’d adored his wife, and after Cole’s Aunt Deborah died young, Mike had never remarried. According to Nancy, Stanley had made several offers to buy the Galaxy when Mike was still alive, and he’d rejected them all. He’d haunt the place for eternity if Cole offloaded his legacy to a man who treated women as accessories. Uncle Mike had morals, but sadly his business sense had been lacking.

“I have considered it, but I owe it to the staff to see if we can turn the place around first.” They’d been welcoming, and their loyalty to the Galaxy ran deep. “You’re basically offering land value, so I have nothing to lose by doing that.”

Stanley gave a world-weary sigh, even though he was probably sitting in an office that had its own luxury bathroom, a putting green, and a Picasso on the wall.

“I can increase the offer by half a million, but my accountant won’t let me go any higher than that.”

“This isn’t only about the money.”

“Give it some thought,” Stanley said, ignoring Cole’s words. “You could buy a mansion on that island you call home. Take a vacation to Europe, spend a year on the beach.”

“Thanks, but I’m planning to run the Galaxy as a hotel and casino.”

“You have no experience in this industry, son. You’re only prolonging the inevitable.”

“Rest assured, you’ll be the first person I call if I decide to sell.”

That was a lie. If Cole decided to sell, he’d explore every available option before he handed the Galaxy over to that man. Helpful or not, Cole just didn’t like him.

“You don’t have the capital behind you to make a success of the place. The Galaxy is weighed down by debt, and no amount of wishful thinking will change that.”

“Have a good day, Mr. Fuller.”

Cole hung up and leaned back in Uncle Mike’s leather swivel chair. It squeaked loudly. Like everything else in the Galaxy, it had seen better days, say thirty years ago. The lucky shamrock hanging on the wall opposite was crumbling too. Uncle Mike had picked it himself on a trip to Ireland right before he opened the Galaxy, and it had hung in his office ever since. According to Nancy, Uncle Mike had been a superstitious man, and he’d firmly believed that the leaf brought good fortune to all who set eyes on it.

Given that Uncle Mike had collapsed and died over by the coffee machine in the corner, Cole had his doubts about its abilities, although he had run a finger over the glass as he left the office last night. And then he’d met Bella.

Bella.

She’d been an intoxicating mix of filth and fun. After they’d snuck into the rooftop party via a set of emergency stairs that the waitstaff used as a shortcut to the other end of the club rather than fighting their way through the partygoers, she’d blown his mind as well as his cock. The scars on her body and the tattoo on her ass—a heart with devil horns and a tail—told a story of their own. She was a risk-taker. An enigma. He should have asked for her number, but he never thought she’d sneak out of his bed in the middle of the night.

On impulse, he rose and touched the glass again.

“You found her once. Can you find her again?”