Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 505(@200wpm)___ 404(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 505(@200wpm)___ 404(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Raucous laughter follows him in the form of two more almost heinously attractive men, one of whom is curiously holding a hand over his eyes.
“Ty,” the dark-haired one says, “stop bothering people.”
“Who’s he bothering?” the one covering his eyes asks, earning a smack to the back of the head from his dark-haired counterpart.
“Just uncover your eyes, Jude. I’m pretty sure Sophie knew you were going to have vision when you came here. You’re not cheating, for fuck’s sake.”
“Sophie is a goddess,” the man recites then, making me smile big for the first time during this interaction. They’re all drunk, which can be intimidating for a woman on her own, but they’re funny too, and I take that as a good sign.
Maybe my relaxed state is why I’m so caught off guard when a fourth man approaches, but perhaps it’s because he immediately strikes me as different.
Given his strong jaw, swirling ocean-blue eyes, perfectly messy dark hair, and a body that looks fit and trim beneath his jeans and white shirt, there isn’t a single cell inside me that’s upset by his presence.
I quirk an amused eyebrow in his direction as I address the first man, the playful one I now know is named Ty. “So…you’re saying I should cash out before this slot machine can eat up all my winnings?”
Mr. Reserved doesn’t say anything, but I swear his mouth almost hitches up at the corners.
“Yep,” Ty answers, a little too loudly for our close proximity. “But no matter what you decide,” he continues and places one single black casino chip in my hand. “It’s my patriotic duty to make you leave here a winner.”
“Patriotic duty?” I question, and he just winks. The other two drunk companions burst into laughter, but my eyes, they jump to the fourth man—the one who’s yet to say anything.
I glance down at the chip in my palm. Holy shit. Five hundred dollars? It sure seems like Lady Luck likes my balls just as they are.
“Wow. Thank you. This is beyond generous, and I’m not sure I can acc—”
“Yeah, you can,” the man interrupts me with a sway and a smile. “I’m not paying you for sex or nothin’. Just doin’ my patriotic duty.” He punctuates that statement by saluting me as if I’m a soldier in uniform, and it spurs a giggle to jump from my lips.
“Jesus,” the dark-haired one chastises, grabbing Ty by the shoulder and pulling him farther away from me. An apologetic smile crests his lips when he meets my eyes. “I wish I could say he’s never like this, but I’d be lying.”
“Remy’s right,” Ty agrees with a lazy grin. “I am, in fact, always this charming and resistible.”
“Resistible?” Jude, the man who is still covering his eyes, bursts into laughter. “I might be blitzed, but I think that’s the wrong word, my man.”
“Nah, I think it’s the perfect word,” Remy, the tallest and not-quite-as-drunk one, comments with a big grin.
So far, through this crazy conversation that I’m only half involved in, I’ve gathered three out of the four men’s names—Ty, Jude, and Remy.
Which only makes me more curious about the most reserved one of their group. He has yet to say a word, but somehow, his presence is the most undeniable. He’s confident without uttering a word or showing any sort of obvious expression. And for some reason, that only makes me more intrigued.
I almost open my mouth to ask him his name, but the raucous ringleader and the gifter of my chip performs a deep bow, saying, “My lady, I bid you adieu.”
The other two start to laugh, but after a silent command from the fourth stalwart companion, they turn away and leave, stumbling slightly as they walk.
Without another word or explanation, Mr. Mysterious and the gang are just…gone.
I don’t know what in the hell just happened. But seeing as it ended in me being five hundred dollars richer, maybe I need to come to Vegas more often.
Daisy
“Daisy girl!” my boss Damien greets me with a huge smile on his handsome face and walks straight over to place two European-style air kisses to my cheeks. “How was the flight in?”
“It was fine,” I remark, smoothing the satin of my blouse with a delicate hand. I swear, I just put it on five minutes ago, but the damn thing is already threatening to wrinkle.
“Fine?” he repeats with derision in his tone. “Girl, you flew commercial out of LAX. Unless you consider the pits of hell fine, I know it wasn’t anywhere close to that.”
Damien Ellis is rich, sophisticated, and one-hundred-percent spoiled to the point of not understanding what life is like for most folks. I honestly think when people reach a certain level of success and income, they lose sight of what the day-to-day is like for those without eight-figure bank accounts and investment portfolios.