“Yeah. I can make anything happen.”
She looked at me longer this time.
Her eyes were low. Pupils wide. She was high and drunk, but aware.
“I’m not one of your girls, Ares.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s why I’m asking.”
She held my gaze and then stood up.
“Let’s go.”
My car was already outside.
Blacked out Lambo.
She got in when the door opened for her.
I got in after her and pulled off.
Music loud. Window cracked.
“You always drive like this?” she asked as I blew through a red light on accident.
“Only when I got somewhere to be.”
She turned toward me.
“You think I’m worth going behind your best friend’s back?”
I looked at her. “Yeah.”
I had one hand on the wheel.
The other was on her inner thigh, too close to her pussy.
She didn’t move it.
I took her straight to the top of the Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas, private terrace already set, the Strip laid out under us. Private. Quiet.
Table set.
She walked ahead without checking if I was behind her.
I paid attention to that.
Dinner was quick. Wagyu steak, garlic mashed potatoes, and expensive champagne.
She barely ate.
“I know your type,” she said. “You like to control your bitches.”
“I don’t control anything but my money.”
“If you say so,” she sipped her champagne.
“You don’t sound impressed.”
