Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I took another step away. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t do that. The terms don’t matter.” I moved further and wondered if he’d follow. Wondered if those eyes would turn hard, his grin morphing into a sneer.
“Good luck,” I called the words over my shoulder and pushed open the ladies room door. I stepped into the empty space and reached into my pocket as soon as the door shut behind me, looking to see what he’d slipped me.
It wasn’t cash, and I pouted a bit at that. It was just a piece of paper, his first name and phone number scrawled across its front as if we were fifteen years old. I tore the paper into pieces and dropped them into the toilet, unzipping quickly and handling my own business. A purple chip. Fifty grand. My first week at this job, I would have been tempted, even knowing the risks. Back then, I was still living at home, watching illegal cable, and living off fast food and diner leftovers. Now, I had no excuse. I made good money, and becoming a prostitute was absolutely not part of my future plans. I flushed his number, washed my hands, and reentered the floor, my mind going over the interaction, my early suspicions about him growing.
He hadn’t just been a john looking for love. Who had he been with? Las Vegas PD? A competitor or a human trafficker? Had he come specifically for me, or had I just been an attractive opportunity?
I stepped back on the main floor and glanced over the open tables, but whoever Chris was, he was gone.
* * *
DARIO
The door to the limo opened, and the Chippendale dancer folded himself into the backseat.
Dario looked up from his phone. “Well?”
“I don’t know.” The man stretched out his legs and reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of cash and handing it over. “Here’s your change.”
“I don’t know isn’t an answer.”
“She’s not a prostitute.” Chris watched as Dario took the cash.
“Are you certain?”
“Short of her slapping me in the face? Yeah. She mentioned a boyfriend, but that seemed bogus. Either way, I gave her the number you gave me. So maybe she’ll change her mind and call.”
Dario finished counting the cash and looked up. “Are you sure you had the right girl?”
“The brunette with the great ass?” The kid grinned, and Dario wanted to punch the expression off his face. “Yeah. Her name is Bree or Bee, or something like that?”
“Bell.”
“Right. Anyway, it was her.” Chris leaned forward, rubbing his hands and eyeing the roll of money. “So, we done here?”
Dario nodded, his eyes lingering on the casino’s dark entrance, the dim lighting that gave little hint as to what was inside. He’d heard rumors of the place for years, and had felt a pull of nostalgia at the idea of a small house casino, something built by kids, a business model that reminded him of late night games on back porches in Louisiana. The rumors had persisted, and he had grown to want it: the building, the business, the clients. Bell Hartley had been a surprise, one that had stuck. But he needed to refocus on the task at hand—acquiring The House. A cocktail waitress shouldn’t matter in this equation. She couldn’t.
Which was all easy to say, but he was still sitting in a limo, looking at a stripper in a rented suit. All for what? To find out if this potential acquisition also dabbled in illegal prostitution? Or to see if a prospective cocktail waitress would moonlight as an escort?
It was all a complete waste of time. It didn’t matter if The House had hookers; that was an issue that could always be fixed. And it didn’t matter if Bell Hartley fucked strangers for money. She wasn’t looking for a job, and hiring waitresses was about a dozen levels beneath him. Not to mention, if escorting was an eliminator for employment, half of his floor staff should probably turn in their resignations.
There was no plausible scenario to explain why he was here, yet he was. Dario pulled five bills off the stack and passed them to the model.
“Thanks.” The man pocketed the cash and cracked open the door. “Appreciate it.”
Dario nodded and waited until the door was shut, the locks engaged, before he unbuttoned his jacket and reached for the bottle of ice water. Unscrewing the lid, he poured it over ice.
“What’s going on?” The question came from the man next to him, the bodyguard who had been at his side for the last decade. Dario ignored the question.
“You fuck this chick somewhere? Is that why you’re interested in this place?”
“No.” Dario tilted back the water glass, taking a long sip. “I met her here the other night.”
His man stayed silent, letting him collect his thought. It was a courtesy Dario appreciated, and he leaned back in the seat, thinking about the girl, the way her eyes had held his without fear. The way the corner of her mouth had twitched with the hint of a smile. The way she had flowed when she’d walked. He lived in a world of beautiful women, a constant buffet of sex and temptation, yet … ever since he’d met this woman … he couldn’t get her out of his head. When he had first looked up, mid-frisk from a security guard, and saw her—he’d had to force himself to look away, force his breath to even, his heart to calm.