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  Yes, I thought. Yes he would.

  Tate, Tate, Tate. The name chastised me, awakened me, confounded me. God, I wanted to fuck him.

  I was touching myself with such speed that I seemed to levitate off my seat when I felt my orgasm coming.

  My hand bore down, pressing into my sex and demanding pleasure.

  That was it — I exploded.

  “Tate!” I screamed, unable to stop myself.

  Joy and contentment washed through me, offering a momentary respite from the realities of life, taking me out of the dingy Jeep and into another plane of existence.

  A long moment passed as my muscles quivered and, finally spent, relaxed.

  I dropped back down to the seat, a little sweaty and totally satisfied.

  Why the fuck had I screamed Tate’s name at orgasm? That couldn’t be a good sign. I felt better after the orgasm, definitely more chill, but it left me with more questions. Why, even after he’d treated me so poorly, was I hooked on Tate?

  It was time to call in reinforcements.

  I typed a few commands into my phone, then chewed at a fingernail as I waited for her to pick up.

  At long last:

  “Sonia?”

  “What’s up, girl? How’d the second shift go?’

  “Oh, it was — there’s actually something a little more, um, interesting that I have to tell you.”

  Sonia perked up. “You never say that. You always say your life is dull as rocks.”

  “I know.”

  “So?”

  “So…” I hesitated, shocked at the words which needed to come out of my mouth. “So, my father is in one hundred thousand dollars of debt and to get the money, I’m gonna sell my virginity.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Hello? Sonia, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  Another pause.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “Mad?” I could just picture her eyes, agog at the very implication. “Of course not. Not at you, anyways. I’ve got some choice words for your father, but — not you. I’m just nervous for you, I guess. That’s a big thing to do.”

  “Yeah.”

  She seemed to mull it over, then said, “Well, I guess you’re probably nervous too, and we can’t both panic, that’s not productive, and you’re the one selling your virginity, so you’ve got every right to be on edge. So, what I’m saying is, I’ll be calm for the both of us.”

  I smiled, and hoped she could hear my grin through the phone. “Thanks, Sonia.”

  “When is it?”

  “Next Friday.”

  “All right, I’ll come over on Friday after work and get you all dolled up and ready. Some billionaire is gonna drop beaucoup bucks on you, baby.”

  “You’re so sweet.”

  “I’m just being a good friend,” she countered. “And, in the meantime, Ki, remember that you can always change your mind. You don’t owe anybody shit.”

  “Definitely.”

  Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t altogether true. I was in far, far too deep to back out now. Plus, if I did, I wouldn’t have the chance to do this again. It was like bobbling on the edge of the diving board and on the third bounce, deciding not to take the plunge — my feet were already unsteady, my body tilting forward into the cold water. Nothing to do but jump.

  “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Sonia. Love you.”

  “Love you too, hon.”

  I hung up and revved the Jeep’s engine.

  CHAPTER 12

  Tate

  I AWOKE TO the sounds of trashy reality TV.

  “And then I was like, kill the bitch! So anyways I smashed a glass of Bacardi over her head and called her a slut and now we’re best friends.”

  Through mountains of fluffy white sheets, I managed to focus on the enormous TV, which was closer to the size of a standard movie screen than a regular one.

  Oh, great. This dreck must have been playing all night. Guess I’d turned it on when I’d stumbled drunkenly into the suite last night.

  A girl was about to whack another over the head with a fake Louis Vuitton when I managed to find a remote and turn off the offending program.

  With a groan, I flopped back down on the Egyptian-cotton pillows. Why the fuck had I come to the penthouse?

  Technically, I have my own penthouse in Dazzlers. It’s called the Owner’s Suite, but I’ve been told the employees privately refer to it as the D & P suite. The D, because of the casino name, obviously, and the P… well, I’ll let you suss that out for yourself. Let’s just say that, in his heyday, my father got around Vegas. This isn’t exactly the kind of information you want to know about your dad — I could’ve had a much healthier childhood, being in the dark on his nighttime sexual escapades — but such was my lot. The staff still grumbled about the suite because my father’s parties in here would leave them with a mess that took them days to clean up.

  But anyhow, I never stayed in the penthouse. It was much too flashy for my taste. It was situated on the fiftieth floor of the casino, one secret story above what we told our most exclusive clients was the top floor. Everything was covered in gold, exotic skins, crystal, and the occasional inlaid ruby. It was a bachelor pad extraordinaire, and tacky as all get-out.

  I much preferred my personal home, a quiet, modern oasis in the suburbs of Vegas that I’d designed with the help of an architect. No gold, no precious jewels, just wood and white.

  Which begged the question, why the fuck had I crashed here?

  With a start, I remembered the escort from yesterday. Alice.

  Fuck, did I bring her upstairs? I wondered frantically, trying to get my bearings. I’d been so certain that I’d dismissed her in the private kitchen, but maybe I’d changed my mind…

  I looked around, searching the covers for a lithe blonde girl, then collapsed back with relief.

  No, no, I was right, I definitely hadn’t brought Alice upstairs. Phew. Not that anyone would punish me for sleeping with a call girl, but after last night with Kiki… well, it would just feel wrong.

  Kiki.

  Ugh. Memories of the previous evening inundated my brain. There had been something real between us, right? There was no way I could fabricate a connection that strong. Or, it had been, up until my dumbass entourage had pulled that little stunt. It was like the universe was reminding me that I hadn’t chosen — or been born into — a life that allowed for genuine romance. The moment I got close to a girl, my money and the group of followers it attracted reared its ugly head.

  Disappointed and disgusted with myself, I searched through the covers, at last finding my phone.

  I clicked the home button and checked the notification screen.

  “Shit,” I mumbled.

  It was one in the afternoon, and I had about a million missed calls, most of them from Jack. This wasn’t any indication of urgency. He rung whenever he had something I needed to sign, and when you run about eight businesses in the heart of Vegas, there is always something to sign. Whatever it was could probably wait, but I figured I’d better get it over with now.

  “Jack,” I said, getting him on the first ring. “Whatever it is, just do what you think is best.”

  “Are you sure, sir? Wouldn’t you like to hear about the proposals and the—”

  “No, you have it under control, I’ll sign anything. Unless you think I need to check your work, like some kind of school teacher?”

  “Certainly not, no, no I most undoubtedly have your best interests in mind, and serve, as always, at your pleasure.”

  Gross.

  But, frankly, I didn’t care what he did one way or another. Perhaps he was in the middle of making the worst deal ever to come across the proverbial Dazzlers desk. So be it. If he ran the business into the ground, it’d be something of a relief.

  “Sir?”

  I groaned. “I thought we were done for the day, Jack.”

  “Just one more thing. There’s a tech investment opp
ortunity, and I know you asked me to keep an eye out for those.”

  My ears perked up. Finally, something I was actually interested in! Were it up to me, I’d be living in Silicon Valley this very minute, wheeling and dealing with the Zuckerbergs and Bezos of the world — though, I like to think, with a little less corruption. The only matter that truly piqued my interest at this stage was technology and the future. Everything else was just another dull way to make cash. But the future… now that was full of possibilities.

  “Glad to hear it,” I told him, trying to hide just how eager I was. “Go on.”

  “So, it’s this app getting developed by some guys out of U of A, and the elevator pitch is this — it’s like Uber, for strippers.”

  I sighed. It had been naïve to get my hopes up.

  “So you turn on your GPS, and the app, it finds the nearest strippers or—”

  “Yeah, Jack, I get it. I’ll pass on the investment.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  “That’ll be all.”

  I threw the phone back on the bed and kicked off some sheets. Why the fuck was sex — especially sex for money — so prominent in my life? Now it was even encroaching on the one thing that genuinely got me interested, that kept my spark alive. Why was I trapped in this maze where even the most primal acts had to be tied up in cold hard cash? I didn’t begrudge people who made a living this way. It was more so that there was no part of my world that didn’t care about how rich I was. Everyone wanted my money, and no one wanted me.

  Except, perhaps, for Kiki.

  She hadn’t talked to me as though she wanted a raise. Hell, she’d spoken as if she didn’t mind if I fired her. It was all so… refreshing.

  With a great effort, I rolled out of bed and away from my despondent thoughts about Kiki and the chance I’d blown last night. Or, rather, the chance that had been blown by my so-called friends.

  After putting a track by The Ramones on the speakers, I went through my morning ritual — shower, brush teeth, wash face, a couple of quick pushups. The penthouse was kept stocked for me at all times, even though I only slept here a handful of days out of the year, if that.

  I pulled on a clean gray suit which had been custom-made for me out of Savile Row, and took another look at myself in the mirror.

  I was handsome, no doubt about it. Even if I weren’t rich, it wouldn’t be a far cry to think that women would throw themselves on me. But I’d never get the chance to find out if this estimation were true. My money would always hang about me like an expensive cologne, muddying any sexual triumph with the question of, Do they like me, or do they like my cash?

  This was too much for early in the morning. Or, um, mid-afternoon.

  Nothing to do but go downstairs, get some breakfast and then get the fuck out of Dazzlers. Even a day here was twenty-four hours too much. I always found that, when I stayed and played in the hotel, my thoughts turned dark.

  I meandered to the elevator and took it to the lobby, which at one-thirty in the afternoon on a Saturday, was in full swing with weekend tourists and our regulars. I ducked my head down, hoping to make a beeline for my favorite French patisserie, maybe sort out a croissant or two —

  And that was when I ran face first into Kiki.

  “Um, excuse me!”

  I spluttered, taking two steps back. I’d run straight into her, upsetting her tray of watered-down cocktails all over my suit and the casino floor.

  “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry—”

  “You have to watch where you’re going.”

  “I know, I know,” I said, taking a handkerchief from my pocket and dabbing it across the front of my cashmere lapels.

  Finally, the frenzy of the moment subsided, and I was able to get a good look at her.

  She was tired, that was obvious. She had rings under her eyes and her hair was frizzy, the curls licking up in little mini riots. She was also, clearly, not pleased to be seeing me.

  “Did you do that on purpose?” she asked.

  “Spill your drinks? Hardly.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So, in this entire casino, you just happened to run right into me, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hmm.” She wasn’t believing my story.

  I sighed. She’d already made up her mind. I took the rag from her waistband, my hand brushing against the very outer reaches of her hip bone, and knelt to the ground.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, incredulous of my ministrations.

  “What’s it look like? I’m cleaning up the mess I made.”

  “That’s my job.”

  “Sure, but it’s my fault,” I replied, and I hoped she understood that when I said ‘my fault,’ I meant more than just the drinks.

  She softened a little at this, and added, “I’m surprised you know how to scrub.”

  “I’m rich, Kiki, not a moron.”

  In spite of herself, she let out a laugh, which she quickly tried to stifle.

  At last satisfied with my handiwork, I stood up, dusted off my pants and tucked the rag back into her waistband. Her eyes danced across my face, her expression angry but not flamingly so — not the way it’d been last night, when I thought she might deck me just for the hell of it.

  “Kiki, let me explain.”

  I waited for an objection, but she stayed silent. That was a good sign.

  “Last night, with the escort… that’s not me. Those guys—”

  “Your friends.”

  “No, not my friends. My — this isn’t going to make me look great, but whatever — they’re my entourage. I don’t like them, they don’t much like me. But when I go out in public, which I’m expected to for the sake of the casino, I have to travel in a group. It makes Dazzlers look better in whatever paparazzi photos get taken, because it creates the illusion that I’m this like Bacchanalian party spirit. It’s stupid, I’m well-aware.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Why not just go out with your real friends?”

  I looked away, clenching my teeth and hoping my pain wasn’t written across my face.

  “I don’t… I have a hard time letting people in,” I admitted. “But anyways, they’re the kinds of men who hire escorts. Not me. It wasn’t my idea, and I never slept with her, or any other escort. Last night, or any other night.”

  Kiki mulled this over, inspecting my face like she were visually probing it for lies. Apparently, I held up under the microscope, because she replied, “So you didn’t hire her.”

  “No! Of course not. Sex isn’t good if you pay for it.”

  A shadow passed over Kiki. She visibly darkened, her eyes casting downward to the floor. Was it me?

  “I’m sorry,” I followed up immediately. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No… no, it’s nothing.” She straightened up, shaking the cloud from her demeanor. “All right, Tate, I think I believe you.”

  “Good, because it’s the truth.”

  “But I still don’t trust you. Guys like you, rich guys who’ve been handed everything, you just don’t know what the real world is. You come from a place where you need entourages and brands and you hire escorts just because.”

  “Wait—”

  “Your friends hire them, okay. All I’m saying is, fine, I forgive you for the escort, but we don’t have jack shit else in common.”

  “That’s not true,” I countered. “I think we were getting along rather well before that slip up, don’t you?”

  She ran a hand down her exposed arm. “Well, yeah.”

  “Even though I’m a rich asshole.”

  “Right.”

  “So, listen, I had a good night with you. If it’s not mutual, that’s okay, tell me to go fuck off and I’ll be out of here faster than the Road Runner. But if, despite everything, you enjoyed our time together, let me take you on a date, a real one. And not to be presumptuous, but you looked to me like you were having fun in the club.”

  She furrowed a brow. “Yeah, after I got off the
shift you made me do as punishment.”

  “You did call me an evil prick,” I shrugged. “Can’t let my other employees see you getting away with that.”

  “If we were to go on a date—”

  “So that’s a yes?”

  CHAPTER 13

  Kiki

  MAN, HE WAS smooth. Tate had moves, you gotta give him that much.

  And maybe his slickness would’ve pissed me off more if he weren’t, uh, dead on the money. I did have a fun time at the theater/club/whatever you call it, even though I was pulling a double shift at his behest. And if I could enjoy myself under those circumstances, how well might we click over dinner and candlelight?

  Hell, I wanted to go on a date with him! I wanted to kiss him, and I wanted to…

  Fuck him, my mind finished. You want to fuck him.

  Which I couldn’t do before Friday, because Dad still had debts — debts which, lest we forget, were accrued in Dazzlers. But after my little jack-off session in the car, I was pretty far past worrying about Tate and his casino’s troubling history with my family. This was an itch that needed to be scratched.

  But not before Friday. Because with a smile like that, and those blue eyes and taut frame, Tate would have me between sheets in a minute flat. And though the auctioneers couldn’t possibly test my virginity, because “intact hymens” as a sign of virginity was a literal myth, I had the sinking feeling they would just, like, know, as if my newfound sexual status would be written all over my body in red Sharpie.

  So as much as I wished to pull Tate to the ground in the middle of the casino, it was a no-go, mostly because I knew that once things heated up, I wouldn’t be able to keep them from boiling over.

  “You’re my boss, Tate,” I said at last. “The lines are too blurry, and I can’t afford to lose my job, not right now.”

  Besides being an excuse, it had the added advantage of being absolutely true.

  He nodded. “That’s true. How about this. Let me get you a job anywhere else in Vegas, you name the place and I’ll set it up. Wanna work at another casino? Pick the joint. Maybe a restaurant, a bar, a nightclub? Anywhere, I can make it happen in, ten minutes. Maybe five, if need be.”