ACE:Las Vegas Bad Boys(22)

“Sure would, Emmy.”

“Thanks, though,” I tell Clark, meaning it. At least he followed through and kept me in the loop.



As I walk though the corridor of the hospital, my new heels click-clack against the floor. I think it sounds sexy, and I blush remembering why I have these on my feet at all.

Knowing Claire probably thinks I'm the flakiest friend ever, I send her a quick text.

Me: Sorry for bailing on brunch. I have a good excuse.

Claire: Prove it. Meet me for dinner? I'm off at 5.

Looking at the time, I see it's 3:00. Perfect.

Me: Sure. Where?

Claire: Here. Davey gave me a 2 for 1 at the buffet.

I smile, knowing how Claire loves the Spades Royalle buffet. No way would I be able to talk her out of it. That girl loves food like nobody’s business.

Me: I think Davey is in love with you.

Claire: We don't date players, remember?

Davey works hotel security and clearly has a thing for Claire. I wouldn't say she's a dick tease, but she definitely hasn't put the kibosh on his attempts.

Me: See you at the buffet line, chica.

Pocketing my phone, I'm once again grateful for her friendship. It lessens the sting of not having any family.

Back in Washington, where I was born and raised, I worked my ass through school. My life always felt complicated and stressful, friendships were always on the back burner. But then when I moved here, got this job, and met Claire—we just clicked. Tess, too, but she's a bit too innocent to take in large doses.

Though she probably really needs girls like Claire and I in her corner—that girl is gonna get herself in trouble one of these days.

Thinking of her, I send a quick text inviting her to meet us at the buffet. She immediately replies with a string of emojis letting me know she is in.

I shake my head. That girl has a never-ending reserve of energy.

Stopping at the nurse’s station, I offer them a smile and write my name on the check-in sheet.

“Any progress?” I ask Amy, the head nurse.

“I wish, sweet pea. But nothing to note. The doctor stopped by earlier; you missed him by an hour.”

“Oh, really? I was hoping to catch him.” My heart falls, feeling like I can't catch a break today. Tears prick my eyes, and I quickly wipe them away, wanting to remain positive and brave. I know that’s what Janie needs more than anything. “I just feel like she's never gonna wake up.”

“I know it feels that way, but there's still hope. Her latest CT scan was positive, remember that. No blood clots, no swelling. But the doctor did say he wanted to speak with you.”

“Well, I'll try and catch him tomorrow.” I know that most coma patients recover after two to four weeks—and we’re going on eight. “I'll just go talk with her. Okay?”

“Okay, Emmy. Chin up, okay?”

I smile at her, but it's a phony one. I wish I had unlimited positive mojo to dish out, but I don't. At the end of the day, I'm kind of a mess.

Sitting with Janie in her sterile hospital room, I hold her hand. In the quiet space I'm able to confess how lonely I am. Admit what I did last night.

I figure, why the hell not? Maybe hearing about my escapades will jerk her out of her current state.

It doesn't work.

After sitting there for ninety minutes, watching crappy daytime television, and crossing and uncrossing my legs anxiously, I kiss her forehead and leave. Maybe tomorrow a miracle will happen.

Maybe she'll wake up and tell us who Bullet is.





8





ACE


After leaving Kit’s Gym, I'm hot, sweaty, and horny. The day has disappeared; it's already five o'clock. I park my Mercedes S63 in my garage, and take an elevator up to the casino floor.

While I need to get to my penthouse to change out of these workout clothes, I want to stop to see if by chance Emmy is working. My chest is still pounding from the sparring with McQueen, from the conversation with Mark. Grotto has gotten under my skin and I need Emmy on top of me to make the world right again.

I'm standing next to some blackjack table when I realize I actually have no fucking clue who the manager for the cocktail waitresses is. This is below my pay grade.

I pull out my phone to text my assistant, Denise.

Just as start typing a text, I see her.

Emmy Rose is headed to the long buffet line in a tight-ass pair of white jeans, a V-neck top that reveals just enough cleavage. As much as I wish there was more skin shown, I also see the guys around me give her a greedy once-over.

It's obvious that every man here wants want I had last night. What I'm going to get again.

“Emmy,” I call to her. She's with two women, giving hugs.

She turns, hearing her name, sees me. Her eyes grow wide. I swear she shakes her head as I cross toward her.

“Emmy,” I say again. Her name on my lips is so fucking sweet. This woman has completely melted me. If earlier I thought I was a pussy, right now I'm a fucking puddle.