ACE:Las Vegas Bad Boys(26)

“Um, okay….” Tess starts. “So, what was the deal with Ace Royalle needing to speak with you? It seemed like he knew you.”

“I worked his poker game last night.” Looking at Claire, I say, “That's the gig you turned down so you could go out with that bowler. I got a three grand tip. And all I had to do was serve rum and Cokes all night to a group of men who think they're hot stuff.”

“Ohmigod. Ace's private poker game?” Tess asks. “Those guys he plays with are the Vegas elite. Was Jack Harris there? I hear they’re, like, best friends.”

Claire snorts. “Sure you didn't do anything else to get a tip like that?”

I throw a breadstick at her, suppressing a smile, because of course she went there immediately. “Shut up.”

“Seriously, though, Emmy—what did he want to talk to you about?” Tess asks.

“It doesn't matter. It was a work thing.” I shove a forkful of lasagna in my mouth, trying to swallow everything that took place in the elevator. Trying to swallow my wrecked emotions, my ruined pride.

“Okay, I'm not trying to annoy you.” Tess sighs loudly. “But I have more questions.”

I immediately raise my hands in annoyance.

“No,” she says. “Not about Ace. About that amazing outfit you’re wearing. Because, um, no offense, but you usually sport clothing from the Target clearance rack.”

Blushing, I look down at myself. She's right; this designer outfit is not helping me keep a low profile amongst my friends.

Before I can formulate some sort of answer that isn't too vague or insane, or, you know, truthful—a woman in her forties appears at our table. She’s wearing a tan blazer, has a short bob, and basically looks as regular as regular can be.

“Excuse me, Tess and Claire?” she asks, looking at my friends across the table.

“Who's asking?” Claire asks, always on the offensive.

“I'm Denise, the personal assistant to Ace Royalle.”

I pull in a sharp breath. What the hell is this about?

“What's this about?” Tess asks, as if reading my mind. She leans in so she doesn't miss a beat.

“He wanted to make sure you knew you’re on the guest list for his private table at Stacked for this evening. He said to tell you it was a pleasure to meet you, and he hopes you will be able to join him.”

“Are you fucking for reals?” Claire asks, mouth agape. Getting into Stacked is no small feat—having the cash for the cover charge doesn't even matter, because the tables are impossible to get unless you have a bank roll. Or are willing to basically do anything to get a man to bring you with.

And we aren't the kind of girls who hang around players, anyways. Mostly because we are employees, not club-going girls who have trust funds and platinum Visas.

We're working for tips and have bad credit and have never been to the Vegas hotel spas these girls live in.

We’re regular. Probably an awful lot like Denise.

Tess is beyond gone. She gives a whisper-shriek and I've literally never seen a twenty-two-year-old so happy. She's like a six-year-old at Disneyland.

“I’m for reals,” Denise says, smiling.

“What about Emmy, can she come?” Claire asks.

“Of course; she’s aware that she's already been included on the guest list per Mr. Royalle's request.”

“You knew that and didn't tell us?” Tess asks, her eyes wide.

“Okay, thanks, Denise, we got it.” I smile tightly, wanting Denise to leave. I don't want to tread on this murky territory. Ace. Me. Clubs. All of it.

My friends will start asking way too many questions.

Denise raises her eyebrows, but smiles at us before giving a noncommittal nod. “He’s looking forward to this evening, ladies.”

And then she turns away.

“What. The. Fuck. Was. That?” Claire asks as Denise exits the buffet.

“Uh, that was Denise, apparently.” I shrug, trying to dismiss the whole thing. Does Ace seriously think he can force me to go to that club tonight? Tell his PA to sweet-talk my girlfriends like that?

“We’re going to Stacked!” Tess shrieks, no longer whispering—she’s in full-on hyperventilation mode.

“No we aren't,” I say, grabbing a breadstick and snapping it in half before shoving in my face.

“Oh hell yes, we are,” Claire says, surprising me. “When do we ever get to have fun?”

“Uh, last night?” I shake my head. “On your date?”

“My date with Carl?” Claire brushes me off. “That guy is golden, sure, but he is no Ace. And he wants to get serious. Like serious-serious. And I'm not ready for that. And whatever bullshit thing you aren't telling us, Emmy—your fancy clothes, and your earlier inquisition with Ace, and then to top it off, this Denise woman coming down to the buffet line to make sure we'd be at Stacked, whatever—that is your drama. But I, for one, am going to Stacked tonight. I'm going to have some fun.”