I’m not drunk enough to be seeing angels, am I?

But that’s what I think I just saw behind the gauzy curtain of my private booth—a petite angel dressed in a clinging white dress that was sexy as fuck, showing off her curves and swerves but still somehow remaining innocent. That last part could’ve been thanks to the long, light blond hair flowing over her shoulders or her big blue eyes or even the way her full lips parted in a sweet gasp right before she took off.

I’ve never seen anything like an angel in my life. Maybe that’s because I’m the fucking devil. Or, at least, I feel like one tonight, alone in a hell of my own making.

After the angel—who might or might not have even been there—flits away, I frown and sit back in my booth, waiting for my server to get her ass over here to bring me more top-shelf vodka. I push the mysterious girl in white from my mind and let the flashing nightclub lights distract me. I’ve had enough booze to drown a shark, and it feels like I’m drifting in an ever-widening void that makes me realize how alone I really am.

I didn’t come to this town to be alone. I’m supposed to be celebrating my latest acquisition for my company, Nash Industries. As with all my other new acquisitions, I’m ready to pick this one apart, office by office, manufacturing plant by manufacturing plant, and sell it off for parts. Of course, after I dismantle Ally Steel, jobs will go overseas, but I won’t be around to give a damn, because profits will shoot into the stratosphere and I’ll be on to my next conquest.

Every time it’s the same, and it’s boring the life out of me. But you know the worst part? I’ll end up giving into the temptation to share this victory with my father, hoping for just a glimmer of approval, a sign that I’ve finally done something that’ll make him do more than criticize something I inevitably screwed up, at least in his view.

I can’t do anything right by that hardass. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old billionaire CEO and entrepreneur who’s just as ruthless as my father taught me to be from day one, and that’s why I rule my own business empire. But none of it’s good enough. Coming to Vegas to fuck supermodels, actresses, and pop stars is supposed to help me forget it, but tonight the alienation is worse than ever, especially after what a dick I was earlier to the woman – a supermodel, of course -- who was supposed to soothe my soul tonight.

I glance at the abandoned crystal tumbler in the glaringly empty spot next to me. Yeah, this particular acquisition won’t be back. Not that I minded. She was probably great in bed, but tonight I just couldn’t be fucking bothered.

My server returns silently, parting the curtains and bringing another bucket of iced vodka with her. Her name is “Lilac” and she gives me a flirty smile under her false eyelashes as she replaces one bucket with the other on the table.

“Will Miss Nassar be returning, Mr. Nash?” she asks.

“I’m afraid not. She had to take off rather…suddenly.”

I’m putting it mildly, because Aida Nassar actually left in a huff from this booth. Even after I had her giggling and sighing, I fucked up when I accidentally called her by a different model’s name. And, just my luck—this other model is her biggest rival and way more successful than Aida.

I can’t blame her for stomping off in a huff — no one likes getting salt thrown in their wounds. I should know.

Lilac leans over again to give me a teasing view of her significant cleavage in her skimpy cocktail uniform. I should have a hard-on the size of the high rise I occupy in New York, but I don’t.

For some reason, that sweet angel who was outside my booth is starting to creep into my thoughts again.

When Lilac gives me a strange look, I ignore it. She only smiles professionally, nods her head to me, and leaves without another word. I start feeling the walls closing in on me again, the void of loneliness, and I yank the vodka bottle out of the bucket by its neck. There’re other ways than women to chase away whatever’s ailing me, and, for the rest of the night, I’m going to drink, gamble, and then go back to my enormous high roller suite at the Venetian and pass out.

But after I pour my vodka, my mind is once again clouded by that girl in white. My cock starts pounding. The lining of my stomach pulls into knots, and the tighter it gets, the more I need a release.

It’s not that I’m smitten or something. I don’t get smitten. Love doesn’t exist—I’m not even sure my prick of a dad even loved my mom before she passed away years ago—and I sure as hell don’t think love at first sight exists. Jesus. The only thing I do believe in is money and the things it can buy, and, in my experience, everyone can be bought.

Even angels.

Fuck it—now I’m curious about her, and I’m drunk enough not to give a shit about pissing off yet another woman tonight if that’s the way my luck is going.

I grasp the vodka bottle and leave the booth, searching the nightclub for that beautiful girl with the light blond hair and white dress. I don’t even have to walk very far because, there she is, filming some guy with her phone by the bar as he chats with her.

A spark of jealousy lights me up, because in some way, this angel is already mine. But then that sparks turns into a flame, because I didn’t see the back of her before, and what I see is cock-bustingly gorgeous. Under her tight white dress, her ass is like two round pieces of fruit that I’m dying to squeeze. I have no idea who she is, but she’s real, and I want.

I’m going to have.

As I lean against the bar, I swig from my bottle and feel the iced drink tumble down my throat and warm my gut. I fix my gaze on the guy who’s with the angel, and when he sees me looming, his words slow to a trickle. His Adam’s apple bobs as he shuts up and swallows hard. He doesn’t even say goodbye to her as he slides off the stool and scrams.

The angel slowly looks over her shoulder and up at me. Her pupils expand, taking me in, and for a moment, I almost fall into them, completely consumed. Something catches in my chest just before I pull myself back out and offer her my most persuasive smile.

Normally, I don’t even have to say a damned word. If I jerk my chin toward my booth, she’ll come with me. That’s all it ever takes.

But this girl just blinks, gives me an odd look, and then takes off again.

Maybe I really am drunk enough to be hallucinating her.

But then I see her threading her way through the crowd of people. It’s not hard to track her since I stand a head above the crowd. It’s not even hard to catch up, and when I ease in front of her and bring her to a stop, we’re at the less crowded bar at the back of the pulsing room.

“Did I do something to chase you off?” I ask with that guaranteed-to-work smile.

She seems surprised that I’m talking to her, and she’s obviously unsure of what to say to me. Under the low, warm lighting, I can tell she’s blushing. I’m not used to blushes, and my veins are in a tug of war, blood jerking through them with such force that it leaves me aching.

She finally speaks, and I have to bend down to hear her over the music. “I wasn’t running!”

Her breath is a hot whisper against my ear, and I contain my hunger as I angle my mouth toward her ear. Damn, her hair smells like orange blossoms. “You were rapidly headed somewhere.”

She takes a step back from me—that’s a fucking first—and holds up her phone like it’s a shield keeping me at a distance. There’s a list on the screen, and I squint at it, realizing it’s a scavenger hunt for a bachelorette party.

I smoothly take the phone from her to get a closer look, and she starts to protest until I bend to her and say, “Tell me you’re not the one getting married.”

“No.” She grabs her phone back. “My best friend is. I’m the maid of honor.”

Maid, not matron. Good sign.

She crosses her arms over her chest, which is not a good sign. “You just stopped me from checking off one of my scavenger items back at the bar.”

“Which item?”

Is it possible that her blush gets even deeper? “I needed to find a guy who’d give advice to the bride about performing a…” She takes another step back from me. “Never mind.”

“Blow job?”

Her eyes widen.

She really is innocent, and my body nearly rips itself apart with lust, because how can someone with curves like this and blowjob lips like that be shocked just by hearing the words?

I lift an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re unfamiliar with what a blowjob is.”

She looks flustered. “Listen, I’m just doing this for the party. I’m not going to sit here talking about BJs with a complete stranger.”

“You were just doing that at the bar.”

“Yes, until you interrupted. It was painful enough then, but now I have to do it again, thanks to you.”

She sticks a finger at my chest to emphasize her point, and when she wobbles in her high heels, I reach out to steady her. She dodges me like she’s got a lot of experience avoiding dicks like me, but I think she’s as drunk as I am. God, there’s something about her that has me staying right here, determined as hell to win her over. Maybe it’s because she’s beautiful, and I’m not sure she even knows it.

“I’ll tell you what.” I point toward my booth with my bottle. “I’ve got a place where I can give you a quiet interview.”

“Oh, right. You want me to go to a curtained booth with you.”

“Curtained? It’s the same thinly veiled booth you were peeking into earlier.”

“I was only looking for guys to help me with this hunt.”

“And I can help you.” I smile again. “You’re absolutely safe with me.”

She narrows her eyes. “You don’t seem very safe.”

“Trust me.”

She narrows her gaze even more. Smart girl, but that won’t make a difference. I’ve had a lot of smart girls and, tonight I want what I want, and now that I’m in pursuit, I’m not walking away. If it takes acting like a gentleman to have her, I’ll oblige. “The interview even comes with a bonus. Order anything you want, and it’s yours. I only require one thing from you.”

“And what would that be?”

“Your name.”

She gives me a suspicious, hazy look, then shrugs. “Everly.”

Everly. It even sounds like heaven, and my night brightens a little. My smile grows. “I’m Jaden.”

We don’t need more than first names.

Not for what I have in mind.