ACE:Las Vegas Bad Boys(4)

“Thanks, Claire.”

“Anytime, sweet cheeks.” She slaps my fish-netted booty and leaves the kitchen.

I’m touched by her thoughtfulness, by her knowing what the extra money means to me right now.

Looking at the clock on the wall, I know I won’t have time to refill those drinks before this job.

Tess, another one of the waitresses, comes in the back, and I beg her in the nicest way possible to help me out. She agrees, because she’s from the South and never thought a bad thing in her life.

Okay, it’s a stereotype, but her sweet-tea smile makes my teeth hurt. She’s too innocent for this town. She is the opposite of Claire, who is no-nonsense, no-frills.

Tess came to this town looking for fame, some sort of fortune. More than once, I’ve seen her sitting at a slot machine during her lunch break, biting her lip, hoping for a payday.

I hand her my list of drinks and direct her to the tables I’d been working. I’d been over at blackjack and know there are better tips in that area than the slots she’s been working all night.

“You’re a life saver,” I tell her.

“Thanks, Emmy,” she says. “I am so sick of those blinking lights.

“Sure thing.”

I know it’s Vegas, all steamy sex and scantily clad women—but I don’t actually hate this job. I like the girls I work with. There’s a sense of camaraderie I’ve never had before. I know it’s a far cry from my life in middle-of-nowhere, Washington, but as stressful as things have been with my sister, I’m grateful to be able to come here to work and feel like the women around me genuinely have my back.

Leaving the kitchen, I head to the break room to grab my purse and coat, because I’ll be in the private suite all night and will take my breaks up there, too.

But before I can ride the elevator to the suite, I need to wash the lipstick off my face.

As I step down the corridor on the way to the bathroom, I see the hallway guy from earlier, the one who made me heat up with desire.

He doesn’t notice me though; he’s talking to another man, a man even more intense than he is. And this other guy is nowhere near as put together. He looks like he stepped out of a mafia movie, all old-school gangster, like he belongs in an Italian restaurant in NYC, or at least in downtown Las Vegas, on the old strip.

Everyone knows the owner of Spades Royalle has past ties with the mafia, but I’ve never glimpsed any dark dealings here. Granted I haven’t worked here very long. And I promised myself that if Spades Royalle ended up being a seedy establishment, I’d get the hell out.

I don’t need any drama; I’ve spent my life fighting against a shady past.

Spades Royalle was the first place I was hired when I moved here, and I needed money. Bad. And since the girls who worked here were nice I figured, worst-case scenario, it would be a temporary position. Everyone says this place is more exclusive than other casinos, and it has a boutique-y feel that I like.

But while it may be smaller in size, the Spades makes up for that with the big-name guests. Spades has become the go-to swanky, sex-pot locale for the rich and famous coming to Vegas.

Still, it is Vegas. Near-naked women are everywhere—hell, I’m one of them. There are strip poles in every hotel room at the Spades, and while prostitution isn’t legal per se, there’s a phone directory beside each bed, listing women you can call if you want to be “tucked in.”

And after a childhood with a father who never put women first, I know the best thing to do is stay far away from the owner of this hotel. Keep my head down, show up to work when I’m told, and cash my paycheck.

Because even if some people say the owner has changed, that his dirty past doesn’t follow him, I know the signs of shady dealings—and from where I’m standing now, watching these two men, I don’t like the exchange I’m witnessing.

And while this guy I’m staring at may be shady —he has still gotten me downright hot. His eyes are full of suppressed emotion, his jawline square—and everything about him screams I’m a mother-fucking man.

Pausing at the doorway to the women’s break room, I can’t help but feel a shiver run down my back as I look back at that hallway stranger. His broad shoulders and strong jaw dominate the space between himself and the other man. I can tell this other guy is pissed, but I can’t hear what they’re discussing.

Whatever it is, it’s not good. There’s a hell of a lot of sneering taking place.

But hot damn, just looking at that man, I feel myself get wet down there. Which is not good in my barely-there uniform. Obviously it’s been way too long since a man has had his way with me.