Chapter 4

Everything at the hotel and casino in Las Vegas where she was booked was red and gold. Not gold, but gilt—every table leg, every mirror frame, everything. The opulence managed to look both fancy and tacky. A little bit like me, she thought cheerfully. She rode the mirrored elevator, checking out her reflection from every angle, tugging at her leggings a little where they were bunched up behind her knees. So she was bent over, yanking on her leggings, when a man got on the elevator.

She stood up and tried not to look flustered, despite the fact that she was embarrassed—cheeks flaming—and he was gorgeous.

He was tall with broad shoulders and chiseled features, your basic fantasy. Dark hair swept back from his forehead. Dark, penetrating eyes, a square jaw that spoke of authority or, at least, stubbornness. She stared. She was riveted; it couldn’t be helped. He was wearing, she observed, black trousers fitted perfectly, a deep purple polo shirt, a slim chronograph watch—everything tailored, of the highest quality and ruinously expensive. He didn’t have a smartwatch or any sort of obvious tech toys of the kind.

Everything about him said rich and classic and nothing to prove. His forearms were muscled, his wrists thick. She always looked at wrists because, despite the urban legend about finger length and certain masculine attributes, she’d often found men with strong and sturdy wrists were far better endowed than their slender and elegant counterparts. Forget artistic hands or pianist’s fingers. Give Marj broad, strong wrists and capable hands any day of the week.

She didn’t meet his eyes. She was too captivated by the rest of him. When the elevator pinged to signal its arrival on floor 34, she sashayed past him, dragging her weekender suitcase on its lopsided wheels with as much dignity as she could muster. He warranted a hair flip, so she gave one—not too extravagant, but enough to draw attention to her lustrous mane of naturally auburn hair.

Once she was in her room, she flopped on the bed with a groan. He was no doubt the hottest man she’d meet this weekend—or in her life. He probably only wanted one night stands. Nothing too serious. This was what came of being so jaded—she assumed everyone was obnoxious and out for themselves. The hot rich guy could have been trying to say something civil, to inquire if she needed a button pressed on the elevator panel. As if she were incapable of pressing her own button...which sounded both filthy and sadly accurate these days.

The email she’d received from HR indicated a seven p.m. report time for dinner at the Italian place downstairs at the hotel. That gave her about twenty minutes to get ready. She plugged in her flatiron and wriggled into the size six deep blue cocktail dress of dreams. It was better to call it that than the deep blue dress of debt, which it had more claim to.

Marj decided this was an occasion for false eyelashes, and she applied them neatly thanks to much practice, then did a credible cat eye with her felt tip liner. A soft nude lipstick with a touch of gloss at the center of her full lower lip completed the look. She stepped into the navy suede stilettos she’d bought and surveyed her reflection. Sophisticated enough to attend a business dinner, sexy enough to attract a guy. Satisfied, she snapped a selfie to send to Britt and headed downstairs. The elevator was crowded, but notably absent was the hot guy she’d seen before. She wouldn’t have minded running into him again, dressed like this.

The Italian restaurant was lovely with wide planked floors. Her work party was seated in the private tasting room with a long high table and leather stools perfect to perch on and cross her long legs, to dangle one stiletto off her toes provocatively as she sipped a rich cabernet. Sylvia from the Manhattan office was also there, and they whispered about how beautiful everything was.

Sylvia was fortyish and married, no threat to Marj’s half-baked plan to snare a husband from the bar. She didn’t seriously believe she’d meet anyone special this weekend, but it was fun to formulate a wild plan and imagine success. The thrill of anticipation, the pounding of her pulse. It was like buying a lottery ticket, a really expensive one with matching suede pumps.

Power Regions, Ltd.’s delegation was composed of an executive vice president called Mallory, a pair of lawyers, and the notably absent COO—the soon-to-be dethroned son, the predecessor of the Wicked Queen. In the absence of desirable members of the opposite sex, Marj talked with Sylvia and flirted a little with Rob, one of the lawyers, just to get warmed up. Surely the endless dinner would eventually be over, and she could check out one of the clubs and meet a high roller worth her time.

Rob was boring. He liked to talk about fly fishing. A lot. The VP spent most of her time making excuses as to why Brandon, the absentee COO, hadn’t been able to make it to the dinner. He’d had an emergency meeting with...someone. Marj picked at her pasta with artichokes and tried not to overconsume carbs. She did, however, enjoy a glass or two of wine. It kept her hands busy, felt elegant, and kept her away from the crusty bread. She hadn’t had crusty bread in so long it was nothing but a seductive memory.

“Have you tried these olives?” Sylvia asked her, indicating the extravagant plate of antipasto that sat before them otherwise untouched.

Marj shook her head and eyed a sliver of Parmigiano-Reggiano with the greed of a Roman emperor. Darting her hand out, she snatched it and took a salty, melting nibble. The flavor seemed to explode in her mouth—being, as it was, neither salad nor a damn Healthy Choice frozen meal. She shut her eyes for a moment and popped the rest of the paper-thin sliver in her mouth. It coalesced, heavenly, on her tongue. It had been so long since she had let herself enjoy something like this—a beautiful dress, new shoes, good cheese. It felt indulgent.

After considering the seemingly nonexistent upside to this merger/acquisition and narrowly managing to decline more than a single taste of tiramisu, Marj disengaged herself and headed out to the casino floor with a forty-dollar budget. Hell, maybe she could win rent money! She played roulette, betting it all on 26 (her age) and winning. With eighty dollars’ worth of chips, she headed to the craps table where she lost thirty of it almost instantly. She ordered a tall blue cocktail, which a signature of the casino, apparently, judging by the quantity of them on the table rails. It was some sort of kamikaze, she decided, when she took a taste of the sweet, potent mixture. One more roll and she was up ten more dollars. A man sidled up to her and hooked an arm around her hips. She turned her dark eyes on him, half suspicious.

He was older, sixty perhaps, and balding, but he had a stack of chips beside him worth thousands.

“Would you be so kind as to blow on my dice? You caught my eye and took my breath away, so it’s the least you could do.”

He said it slyly, knowing it was a line, and she laughed. He placed his bet. She blew on his dice and he won, another stack of chips pushed toward him. He took a five-hundred-dollar chip, thick and silver, and pressed it into her hand.

“For my good luck charm,” he said, and she thanked him.

Marj clutched the chip and nodded.

“I think I’ll cash out. You’re the best luck I’ll have in this casino. Thanks,” she said.

He offered to buy her dinner, but she told him truthfully that she’d already eaten. The truth was she didn’t want to marry a bald sixty-year-old that stared at her like a piece of meat. That blue drink just wasn’t strong enough to make him look appealing.

She cashed out her chip and decided that leaving the casino floor $560 richer than when she’d entered was a victory. It would almost pay for the dress and shoes. After a few drinks, Marj headed up to one of the clubs to dance with two of the single ladies from the marketing group.

“C’mon!” said Tina. “Let’s dance!”

“Yeah!” Della roared.

Marj slid onto the crowded dance floor of a club as dark purple as her dress was dark blue. It felt lush, like the night sky, with glittering dots from the disco ball sliding across the walls and ceiling. Techno music throbbed, and they danced in a group until those expensive shoes started to hurt. She sat down at the bar on a plush stool and ordered a whiskey sour with extra cherries. She crossed her legs and sipped her drink.

“Hey, girls,” Tina said. “I’m wasted. Let’s head back to the hotel.”

Della nodded. “Okay. Sounds like a plan. At least I got to experience a little bit of Las Vegas. It was fun.”

“I’m ready to go too,” Marj said.

A man sat down beside her. Correction: the hot man sat down beside her. The one from the elevator who had asked if she was going down and she had cut him down to size with a withering look. Now here he was in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, everything about him dark and forbidden. The room seemed to recede, to grow quieter, warmer, and more shadowy somehow. His eyes dimmed the light, the scent of him that of expensive herbal body wash, she guessed. Frankincense clung to him, exotic, spicy, and strangely reminiscent of Sunday Mass. But he was far more fallen angel than altar boy.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked.

Marj smiled. “Yeah. We really stayed later than we should. We’ve got a big presentation tomorrow. And I haven’t met my new boss yet, so I have to make a good impression.”

“I think he’s beyond impressed,” the man said, his entire face lighting up.

Tina finished the last gulp of her drink. “He won’t be if we’re late tomorrow.”

The man set down his empty glass on the bar. “Maybe he’s preoccupied with more pressing matters and doesn’t really care if you ladies show up with a hangover.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Tina said, slurring. “But we have to go.”

“Have a lovely evening, ladies,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The man then ordered another drink. Marj looked at the handsome man and noticed that something troubled him. It looked like he needed somebody to talk to.

“Hey,” Marj said to him. “What’s wrong?”

“The long version or short version?”

“Short.”

“My entire life is crashing down around me.”

“Need somebody to talk to?”

“I’d love someone to talk to. It won’t change a damn thing, but getting it off my chest might make me feel better. Oh, who am I fooling? I’m so screwed. My life is over.”

Marj turned to Tina. “You guys go ahead on back. I’ll be back in a little while.”

“And leave you here with a total stranger?” Della said.

The man waved his hand. “Um, I’m not a stranger, I’m—”

Tina cut him off. “If my friend doesn’t come back, then I’ll...”

“I can handle myself,” Marj said.

They said goodbye and left.

“Your friends just left you with a stranger,” the man said.

“I just met them today. They work in a different location and don’t know me from Eve.”

He laughed. “Eve instead of Adam because you’re a woman. Funny.”

She chuckled. “They’re just work colleagues.” 

“I’d offer you a drink, but you have one,” he said, his voice low, almost dismal.

“I’ll have another,” she said quickly, and slammed back the one she had so fast the ice hit her in the nose.

Marj placed the empty glass on the bar with a cheeky smile, and he managed a ghost of a grin. It was slight, and yet it made her catch her breath. She wondered if a real smile from him would stop her heart. This half smile alone shook her. If she’d been standing, her knees would’ve gone weak. She gripped the edge of the bar to steady herself from her perch on the stool.

“I’m Marj Reynolds. I’m in town on business. Until this moment, the only pleasure Las Vegas has afforded was a sliver of cheese at supper,” she said, biting her lip alluringly.

He motioned to the bartender, who proceeded to bring her a new drink. He watched her fish a cherry out of her drink by its stem and bite it.

“And you are?” she prompted when he didn’t introduce himself.

“I was watching you. My name is Brandon, and I’m supposed to be here on business, but, as I’m sure you’ve discovered, business in Vegas is rather loosely defined.”

Speaking of loose, Marj’s lace panties were feeling a bit loose. Like they might hit the floor any second thanks to the deep burn of his voice that seemed to hit her in the sternum.

“Pardon me, but did you say you had only a sliver of cheese?” he said. “Where did you eat? It sounds like the portions are unforgivably small and I’d like to avoid it.”

“Giorgio’s in the hotel,” she said.

“Ah, I was supposed to be there tonight with you lovely ladies.”

A lightbulb went off in her head as recognition struck. “Let me guess. Brandon as in Brandon Cates, the COO of the company that just bought out Simpatico Papers?”

“One and the same, I’m afraid.”

“Shit! You’re my boss,” she said.