I sat back and grinned with amusement. "Some people think that place is haunted."
"I know. That's part of the draw.”
"Most business owners stay away from it now because they also think it's cursed,” I said. Rumor had it that no business ever succeeded in that location since the club closed down about sixty years ago.
He arched a brow. "Do you believe in curses?"
"I don't believe in voodoo witchcraft type curses, but I believe there are locations that people don't want to visit, which makes them very bad places to run a business. That building is one of them."
He thought for a moment. "I know what you're saying because that's what I'm telling myself."
"And yet... "
"And yet, I'm drawn to it. It has a ton of historical significance, and while it's tired and rundown, it retains much of its historical architecture and design. It has ghosts and gangster lore. It's in a location that I think would be ideal for what we want to do—close enough to the attractions of Las Vegas and yet enough away to sit on its own and not get lost in the glitz of those big hotel resorts."
"I imagine others have thought the same thing."
He shrugged. "I've asked my realtor to do some research to see what sort of businesses have been in there that have failed."
"Well, you're braver than I am. I suppose the good news is you'll be able to get a good deal on it."
Our server returned, taking our orders. Max ordered the prime rib, while I opted for the Irish stew. It seemed like an odd item to have on a menu at a place as fancy as the Roarke, but rumors were that it was the best Irish stew anywhere in the world, including Ireland.
"Maybe I should order you a Guinness," Max said after I ordered. "The stew is best with Guinness."
"That doesn't quite fit with this fancy wine you got us."
"There are no rules when it comes to eating and drinking." He raised his hand, and our server returned. Max ordered us each a Guinness to be brought with our meals. I wasn't really a beer drinker, but my understanding was that Guinness wasn't like regular beer.
The stew and Guinness were excellent, and the company was even better. The night was ticking away faster than I wanted. I wished it would slow down, giving me more time with Max. That sort of thinking was a little disconcerting, and while I wanted to spend more time with him, I was glad he was leaving the following day. I needed to focus on my business and finish the year strong, not be distracted by a handsome New Yorker.
When we finished, we took the elevator down. It was a long enough ride, and we were alone, so I was pleased when Max took the opportunity to tug me in close and plant a heated, hot kiss on me. Thank God he was holding me because my legs immediately turned into Jell-O.
When the elevator stopped, Max lifted his head, his green eyes filled with erotic promise. "You're more intoxicating than Guinness."
"And here I thought it was you."
The elevator opened, and we stepped out, walking through the lobby of the building out front.
"Is there something to look at within walking distance from here? Or should I order us a car?” he asked.
I was about to suggest ordering a car and finishing the rest of the night in his room when a gentleman dressed in a suit called his name.
"Mr. Clarke. I’ve been sent by the hotel to be your driver this evening."
Max looked at me with the same quizzical expression that I looked at him with. Why did the hotel send a car? Then again, hotels were known for taking care of their big spenders.
"I think they're hoping you'll gamble away some of your wealth,” I said.
"That could be fun." He leaned closer to me. "But I like sure things better."
All my girly parts flared to life. "I'm a sure bet, slick."
He grinned wickedly.
"There's champagne and other drinks in the back for you. We have a great Vegas by night tour."
"Is there a privacy shield?" Max asked the limo driver.