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The Marriage Dare
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When we were childhood neighbors, she bullied me.
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The woman in front of me laughs. Loud and brassy and totally over the top. “And that’s why I say never spend too long in a tanning bed, you know? Too many risks.” She laughs again, this time placing her hand on my arm.
I laugh along with her, though I don’t find her funny. They rarely are. She’s only speaking to me because he knows that I’m the owner of this casino and she’s hoping that I’m going to fuck her. Take her upstairs and show her a good time so she can get showered in fancy room service and the bragging rights that she fucked the owner of Brazen Casinos. Sometimes I take them up on their offers and show them a good time. But usually those are the ones that have a spark. Something unique about them that makes me want them, at least for the night. Other than truly magnificent size of her implants, this one has nothing. And that’s saying a lot, considering how badly I need a good fuck right now.
Most of the women who try to throw themselves at me have done their research. And they know that I don’t enjoy speaking with sloppy drunks, and that I never have more than two drinks in an entire evening. She—I can’t remember her name—has had two drinks in the course of our thirty-minute conversation. Probably to convince me that I’m she’s drunk enough to hit on. But I don’t take advantage of people. If there was ever a way to turn me off, that’s one of the fastest ways. If she wants to spend her money in my establishment, I’m not going to argue with her. But nothing else is going to happen. Even though she’s bragging now about her extensive exercise routine and how flexible she is. I struggle not to roll my eyes.
Not that she has any idea that I’m not paying attention in the slightest. She’s self-absorbed enough not to notice, and you don’t get to where I am without having some charm and the stamina to speak to people that you don’t enjoy. Brazen Casinos is the most successful chain in the western United States, and everybody wants a piece of that. Especially here at our flagship in Las Vegas. So I plaster a smile on my face and make wannabe groupies and VIPs feel good about spending their money before they get so drunk that I have my staff take them back to their rooms.
She’ll wake up with a hangover tomorrow, remember this as the best conversation of her life, and wonder what on earth she did to wake up in her own bed before she has to leave for the airport. Oh, and she’ll spend another five figures in the casino before she leaves. No skin off my back. I’ve seen people like her a hundred times, and it’s worth it to spend a few minutes listening to vapid conversation for that much profit. Hell, maybe I’ll even tell the concierge to give her a ten percent discount on everything. Especially the drinks. In my experience, nothing makes rich women spend money faster than the thought that they’re actually saving money.
But fuck, I’m tired. I’m trying to focus on what’s in front of me but my attention keeps drifting to literally everything else. I make a note of a lightbulb over one of the poker tables that’s flickering. I’ll have to have that changed by maintenance.
I need a vacation. A long one. Which is laughable, given the amount of money I have and the fact that I run a business fueled by vacations. But as many wealthy men know, it’s hard to keep your wealth if you don’t work. So a vacation isn’t in the cards for me right now. I’m poised to open another two locations and I’m not going to risk anything going wrong during the launch of those properties because I couldn’t power through. I just need a good night’s sleep, and maybe a good fuck—though not with her—and I’ll be good as new.
The woman who’s name I’ve forgotten raises his hand to the waitress for another drink, and I pull out my phone. No urgent messages, unfortunately. Nothing to get me out of this. Usually I just let my mind fade into a smooth fog and wait, but this conversation is grating on me. I could flip through my phone and see if there’s anyone I feel like calling for that late night booty-call, but after this conversation, even the idea of that isn’t appealing.
I take a sip of the whiskey in my glass and savor it, focus on the rich taste. The smokiness. It’s the best that money can buy, and not the whiskey that the bar here serves to anyone. It’s reserved only for me. But tonight, it’s not enough.