He smiles. And just like that, Las Vegas suddenly feels a whole lot less terrifying.
21
BEN
I stare at my laptop,reading the same line of this graph over and over again, completely unable to focus. Spreadsheets, budgets, permits, and contractor bids. All the things that should be consuming my attention are blurring together into a gray, useless fog while my mind keeps doing something spectacularly unhelpful?—
Thinking about Grace.
Why did I follow her to Las Vegas? Every few minutes, I glance at my phone like it might suddenly grow a conscience and confess it’s been hiding her missed calls just to mess with me. It doesn’t. It sits there all smug-like. No Grace, no texts, no calls, no accidental emojis sent at 2 a.m.
Nothing.
Fine. Whatever. I don’t care. (Which is obviously a lie.)
Since I’m getting nowhere with my work, I do the only reasonable thing a rational man would do. Buy a digital copy ofViva Las Vegas.Because of course a movie from 1964 isn’t streaming anywhere. And I promised her I’d watch it. I tell myself it’s just curiosity. But five minutes in, all I can think is,Grace would love this.
If she were here, I’d order popcorn and all of the favorite candies she’d mentioned from room service and make a night of it. She’d be singing, quoting lines, and telling me obscure trivia about Elvis and Ann-Margret while I pretend I’m not already halfway in love with her.
I shift in the overstuffed lounge chair, tugging at my collar as Lucky starts searching for Rusty. Then shenanigans ensue. Ann-Margret’s character pushes him into the hotel pool, where Elvis loses all of his winnings. So, he needs to stay longer to win his money back. While he’s in town, they manage to go water skiing, take a tour of Hoover Dam, and of course, there’s lots of dancing and singing. I keep imagining how Grace would look leaning over the balcony railing,wind in her hair, laughing about something ridiculous. I close my laptop, frustrated.
Even after several high balls, I struggle to sleep. I keep picturing the way she looked that night. When she exited the bathroom in nothing but my favorite shirt from Uni. The way it clung to her curves, the peaks of her firm nipples straining against the front.
But the thing that haunts my dreams more than her perfect body, is that angelic face. She may be full of sass, but I’ve no doubt this girl has a heart of gold. The way the ladies in that boutique all jumped at the chance to help her. And she’d charmed Milton with ease, even after learning I’d told him we were engaged. Never once doing anything that would give away my misdeeds, despite the cost to her.
I know I was a bad judge of character when it came to Chanel, but this girl is honestly a breath of fresh air. A genuinely lovely young woman. Her only offense has been putting me under her spell when I’ve tried so desperately to stay focused on my work.
The next morning, when my phone still hasn’t lit up, I pack my bag like a sulking toddler who just got told he can’t have a popsicle before breakfast. “I would’ve taken her out,” I grumble, stuffing clothes into my bag. “We could’ve gone to the Hoover Dam. We could’ve gone singing. Dancing.” I pause. “I wonder if she water skis.” I shove a shirt into my bag so hard it knocks the whole thing off the chair and onto the floor. “Oh, enough of this.”
I could’ve called Max and asked who picked her up. Where she was staying. What she was doing here that was more important than calling me. But I’d already crossed too many invisible lines following her here in the first place.
Clearly, she’s not interested.So I do the sensible thing.
I go home.
“Hey, Max. You in Virginia?”
“Ben. How’s it going? My friend Dave and I are just driving backfrom a Washington Capitals game. We were headed to DPG. You coming to The Playground?”
“I am now. It’s been a long weekend.” A long, disappointing weekend. “I could use a drink.”
“Well, get your sorry ass down there. I’m sure Gianni has a new girl or two that might turn your weekend around. We should be there in a few hours.”
As if. “See you then.”
There’s no point even pretending anymore. I’ve tried to find interest in other women. Tried to focus on growing my empire.
But all I see is Grace.
This drop-dead stunner of a girl who doesn’t seem to give me a second thought unless I’ve placed myself in her orbit. So, for now, I drown my sorrows like a pathetic sap. At least I might be able to distract myself with a few drinks with the guys and some much-needed advice on where to locate good contractors from Max.
Walkinginside The Devil’s Playground shouldn’t relax me. The place is fraught with temptation at every turn. Whatever your vice, you can find it here. Within reason anyway. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. And don’t get me started on the alcohol.
The club was designed to perfection. Gianni arrived in the U.S. with a few million dollars of his family’s money and a billion dollar plan. His forward-thinking design and amenities were focused on attracting the upper echelon, who could afford the steep membership fee. Similar to the strategy I have for marketing my high-security, uber-private hotels and villas to the super-rich. I can only hope my venture will be half as successful as the Devil’s Playground has been for him.
Two hours later, I’m nursing a beer in our usual section of the club when Max arrives. He and his friend have barely gotten their asses in their seats before a beautiful blonde server wearing a tiny silver dress and platinum stilettos deposits two glasses of scotch onthe table in front of them. This cocktail waitress is the last one I’d expect to have Max’s attention.
While he looks like he’s jumped off of the pages of an Eddie Bauer catalog, this girl resembles someone from a No Doubt cover band. She’s bringing young Gwen Stefani vibes with her retro pin-up hairstyle and flouncy dress. There’s no missing the way Max’s eyes trail up from the red soles of her shoes to the pink-tipped hair.
