His new PA gave him a concerned look. “And what if Mr. Foster decides to blab about why you let him go? The police might get involved. That would be terrible for the hotel.”

“That would be terrible. But it won’t happen. Foster won’t tell anyone because that would mean telling them about his coke habit.”

“Right.”

“Call security, and then once Foster’s out I want his office searched high and low for any drugs. Once it’s clean, call Delia and tell her I want to talk with her in the Carrington Saloon.”

“Delia, sir?”

“My head of housekeeping.”

“She quit six months ago.”

A new anger stirred in his gut. “What?”

Ryan winced. “She got a new position because she didn’t like how things were going here. She asked Mr. Foster to contact you but . . .”

“He didn’t. My God.” Vaughn ran his hand through his hair. He’d hired Delia as a housekeeper ten years ago and she’d made her way quickly to head housekeeper. She was smart, funny, not intimidated by him, and the hardest worker he’d ever met.

No wonder things had gone to hell around here.

“Do you know where she works now?”

“No, but her niece, Lila, still works here. She’ll know. And she’s on shift right now.”

Vaughn’s eyebrows drew together. “You seem to know my staff well, Ryan.”

“I pay attention, sir.”

Thank God someone does.

Renewed irritation bubbled through Vaughn. First he’d let two sisters drive him out of his city, and then he’d let one tempting little redhead keep him away.

Now his hotel was in danger because of it.

Women.

“After you’ve dealt with Foster get Lila down here and get Delia’s details from her. I’ll call Delia and see if I can get her back. We’ll go from there.”

Ryan looked energized, determined, and it calmed Vaughn somewhat to know he apparently had someone on his side. He only hoped the young man proved to be as competent as he appeared.

Dealing with the mess at the hotel was a great thing because he had very little time to think about Bailey. He’d left Hartwell, needing that distance, and he did it knowing Cooper was there to look out for her.

He wasn’t sure he could have left if he hadn’t known there was someone he trusted to watch over her after the violent break-in.

After what he himself had done to her.

Every time he heard her flat voice saying, “I’m going to shower you off of me,” he felt a sharp pain in his chest.

The first few days at the hotel had been manic. He and Ryan had worked together to make sure the staff knew the boss was back in town and if they didn’t start working their asses off, there would be firings. With the promise of a raise and a tighter supervision over the hotel, Vaughn managed to talk Delia into coming back as head housekeeper. He had no qualms firing the new head housekeeper since he wasn’t doing his job.

There were a few more firings as Delia went through her roster of employees and discovered the housekeepers who weren’t keeping up with her strict standards. He let her set up interviews for new staff, while he set up interviews for a new manager and chef.

Once the first few days of upheaval calmed a little, Vaughn found himself in Foster’s old office at the end of the day, with a moment to think.

And he didn’t like it.

Because when he had time to think he only thought of one person.

She made him feel weak.

This obsession with her . . . it made him feel weak.

He resented her a little.

Or a lot.

But he never stopped wanting her, and at night, when he fell into bed exhausted and closed his eyes, he saw her beneath him; he smelled her perfume, felt her soft skin, remembered the way it had felt to move inside her . . . and the longing would make him hard. He’d come by his own hand, climaxing in frustration like a pubescent teen.

Vaughn felt himself stirring at the memory of her gasping his name as he thrust into her for the first time. He clenched his fists, determined to think of anything but Bailey Hartwell.

His phone buzzed and he felt nothing but a deep-seated gratitude for the distraction. He reached over to switch the phone speaker on. “Yes?”

“Sir, a Mr. Oliver Spence is here to see you.” Ryan’s voice crackled over the line.

Not surprised by his friend’s appearance, he glanced at the clock. It was seven p.m.

“Send him in. And Ryan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go home to your wife and daughter.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He smirked. Ryan was never anything but professional and respectful, to the point he was almost amusing. But only because Vaughn could sense the hunger in the young man. He was ambitious. And he was smart. So smart, that if he’d had more experience and qualifications, Vaughn would have hired him as his new manager.

The office door opened and his old friend, Oliver, strode in like he owned the place. That was how Oliver entered any room. His air of superiority and entitlement groomed by a lifetime of privilege. They had been friends since they were small boys, but they’d grown into two entirely different men. Vaughn, his father’s son, was plagued by the constant desire to strive for achievement and success, to build a name not off his father’s accomplishments, but from his own determination. Oliver hadn’t worked a day in his life, having been granted his eye-wateringly large trust fund at eighteen. He was smart enough to make good investments, however, and not to piss the money away.