ACE:Las Vegas Bad Boys(7)

“Let’s get you boys some drinks,” I say, looking around for the cocktail waitress. Not seeing anyone, I look at Carla, who holds up one finger, signaling that she’ll go figure out where our waitress is.

I specifically only have one girl working our game, and Carla is the one who picks her out. She has a good pulse on the waitresses working, since she’s been a manager here as long as I’ve owned the place.

The last thing I need is rumors flying about any of us. Discretion is important in my private space, and Carla knows that. Which is why it pisses me off that the person she hired tonight hasn’t shown.

A minute later Carla returns. “She’ll be here in a moment. Sorry about that, boss, I guess the shift got traded.” Carla gives me an apologetic look, and I know she won’t let this happen again.

“This new girl, we can trust her?” I ask, speaking low.

“I think so. She’s new, but seems eager to please, and she’s never been late to work before.” She begins dealing the cards and we take our seats.

“Eager to please, huh?” Landon asks. “I like the sound of that.”

Carla smirks, and we all look down at our hands. We start making bets based on what we’re holding, and I smile, liking the way the deal went.

A moment later the door to the lounge opens and my eyes flick up, remembering those long fish-netted legs from earlier. Remembering the tendrils of brunette hair out of place, remembering how Emmy said she was going to be late if she didn’t hurry.

Late for this poker game.

I wouldn’t have minded her being late if it meant I could have pushed her panties aside and pressed a finger into her wetness.

Not that she’s any wearing panties, not in that skin-tight uniform, the thonged back sliding between her perfect ass cheeks. I chose those cocktail uniforms for that specific reason—I don’t want anything left to the imagination. I want to know exactly what sort of pussy is walking around my casino.

I want to know what sort of pussy is walking into my private suite. And, god—hers is exactly what I want.

She meets my eyes, and I see her take a sharp intake of breath. She wants me too. Earlier, the only reason she walked away was because she didn’t want to get fired.

In her hand, she still holds that damn cocktail tray, and I want to push it aside, wrap those legs around me, and press her into the wall, my cock leading the way.

I don’t like that she denied me, but I think it’s cute how she takes this job seriously. I like that she doesn’t know who I am, because it means she hasn’t heard the rumors that I know circulate about the size of my cock, the way I pound women until they cry out in ecstasy.

I grin, knowing she’ll find out all on her own





3





EMMY


Oh shit.

The guy from the hallway is here. I try not to look surprised, hoping my flushed cheeks don’t reveal the real reason I was late. You know, because I was busy getting off like a total horn-dog.

Oh my god, I am so over my head with my life.

Standing in the private suite, I know my eyes get wide. Because, oh my word, this place is amazeballs—the carpet is plush and black, the walls are painted a dark purple, and gorgeous sconces hug the walls of the dimly-lit room. It’s a dream in here, nothing like Janie’s crap apartment that I’m using while she’s in the ICU.

But even with all this jaw-dropping interior design work, my eyes can’t help but stay on the hallway guy, can’t help but wonder if his dark green eyes want to undress me as much as my blue ones want to rip off his suit.

Gah. Here I am, at my biggest gig since getting this cocktail job, and I’m thinking about the cock of a legit stranger.

Get a freaking grip, Emmy!

But I have an inkling he’s thinking the exact same thing. He looks me up and down, as if swallowing me whole. Fuck, I want to swallow him whole … and I don’t even know what sort of package he delivers … not that I can’t make a guess by the large, tight bulge I saw in his pants earlier in the hallway.

He waves me over and I take a deep breath, knowing I need to serve the clients without thinking about screwing them.

Claire told me the number one thing to remember about this job tonight was to act professional. No flirting, no wagging my ass for extra tips—I’d get those just by showing up. All that’s required of me is to straight-up take the drink orders and serve the beverages for the private party.

I walk to the table where he sits with three other men, all handsome, all way out of my league. I’m small town through and through, and these boys are city slickers … I have no interest in getting greased up by them.

Well, that isn’t entirely true … the hallway dude is seriously turning me on as he rubs his hand over his jaw, as if debating the next move. I can’t tell if the move is about the poker game or me.