Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Fuck. Me.
But that means the second Leo took over for him, Wick was off the clock. Why the hell would he choose to stay here?
My heart sinks. There’s one reason single men come to this bar, and it’s not the drinks or the dancing.
It’s the women.
Jade’s a great place to pick them up. We’re not membership based like Aces Underground. Anyone who can afford the cover is welcome within our walls. And that includes a lot of eligible local females.
Eligible local females like Thea Storm.
God damn it!
Wick picks up women at Jade all the time. Normally it’s one of those college-aged girls who ogles him while he preps her Wick-sy Sour. They hang around the bar until closing time and then leave on his arm.
This is different though. Wick got the latter half of the evening off, so it doesn’t make any sense why he’s hanging around.
Maybe Thea Storm is just that damned gorgeous.
She certainly caught my attention.
I’ve never been interested in the vapid Kappa-Beta-Whatevers who Wick normally takes home. This is the first time he’s gone for someone I had my eye on.
Granted, I haven’t had my eye on many women over the last few years. Sure, I’ve hooked up here and there to fill my tank, but Thea is the first woman who’s legitimately piqued my interest since…
Since…
Oh God.
Since Rouge Montrose.
“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“Rouge Montrose. Of the Chicago Montroses?”
I swallow. “I’m not familiar.”
She places a hand against her breast in mock offense. “Goodness. You have much to learn then.” Rouge—that’s seriously her name—crosses her arms. “Do you have a moment to speak?”
“Um… I suppose I do.”
I was going to go home and heat up one of my self-loathing microwave dinners, but I can put that off for a half hour. I don’t know who this woman is, and I frankly don’t care. She’s gorgeous, and I’m already getting aroused just looking at her. There’s an unmistakable allure about her as well, like the fragrance of a Venus fly trap as it seduces an insect into his clutches.
She’s also sticking her tits out, so there’s that.
I’ve always been a boob guy.
She closes the distance between us. “Somewhere private, perhaps?”
Fuck. Is she propositioning me right here and now? I’m usually the one pursuing women, not the other way around.
“My dressing room?” I gesture offstage.
“How about my hotel room?” She slips a key card into my hand. “I’m staying in the Grand Suite at the Bellagio. Are you familiar?”
Am I familiar with the Bellagio? What a question. Of course I am. It’s one of the nicest hotels on the Strip. Spectacular interiors, a huge casino floor with every game you could possibly imagine, and of course the enormous fountain.
“Yes. Yes, I’m familiar.”
“Excellent. I’ll have some bubbly sent up. Shall we go right now?” She runs her long fingernails over my forearm. “My driver is outside.”
She has a driver?
Who is this woman?
And what is she doing at my C-minus magic show?
We get into Rouge’s limo and make the drive to the Bellagio. It isn’t far—the Strip is only a few miles wide total—and she escorts me through the ornate lobby to the elevators up to her luxury suite.
And “luxury” doesn’t do it justice.
It’s like I entered a sprawling estate. I have to look out the window to see the fountain to make sure I didn’t step into a different dimension. A mosaic floor gleams under a glass chandelier. A cream-colored sectional sofa sits at the center of the first room, flanked by two oversized club chairs in a deep sapphire. At the center stands a marble coffee table adorned with a heavy crystal bowl filled with fresh orchids. A limestone fireplace is already lit.
A bucket of ice with a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne sits on the coffee table. Rouge picks it up, rips off the gold foil with her teeth, pops the cork, and pours it into two flutes.
She hands me one. The flute has a design engraved into it. The cardinal directions—East, West, South, North. Interesting. I figured it would be inscribed with the Bellagio’s insignia.
“Are these flutes yours?”
“Oh, yes.” She purses her lips. “I always bring my own glassware with me when I travel. You never know where they’ve been otherwise.”
Okay. That’s weird. But she’s clearly wealthy, if her attire and this suite are any indication. Rich people are often eccentric simply because they can afford to be.
“Do you have the cardinal directions on your glass?” I ask.
She lifts an eyebrow. “Why would I have those?”
“It’s what’s engraved on mine.”
She swishes the champagne in her glass. “Mine features the four card suits. Spades, Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts. I have two other flutes inscribed with other symbols.”
“What are those?”
She furrows her brow. “Do you really want to discuss glassware when we could be discussing your career?”
My career? What the fuck?