Chapter Seventeen

Reagan

Taryn’s by my side again, a designer sundress molded to her killer curves, a pair of giant sunglasses holding her thick hair back. With minimal makeup and her skin tanned a golden brown, she fits right in with every goddess in Vegas. We’re checking out a couple of new venues Nixon dug up for the fashion show.

“I think this could be good,” Taryn says as we walk down a sloping lawn of fresh grass. “It’s outdoors, which means we could attract a lot of attention. And the weather is usually pretty stellar this time of year. Rain isn’t expected.”

“I didn’t know they could grow grass here,” I say, reaching down and petting the emerald spears. It reminds me of home. Even though I live in a metal jungle, I go to the Hamptons quite a bit in the summer. One of my partners has a beach house there.

She looks at me over the rim of her sunglasses. Lust crawls through me, and I want to pull her close and lay her down in the grass, kiss her, and split her in half with my cock. It’s already twitching its approval of my idea.

I’m going to need to buy more condoms.

Just as I’m about to ask Taryn why she looks so curious, Nixon calls out.

“Hey, bro,” he yells. “Sorry I’m late.”

“I didn’t know you were coming,” I say, frowning.

Cockblocker.

“I asked Nixon to come,” Taryn says. “I wanted him to have the final say. I felt like, you know, the last thing we need is another obstacle being thrown in front of us. We’re on such a tight timeline, if we see something that works, I want to book it immediately.”

Nixon jogs over, his jacket draped over his shoulder. He nods to Taryn. “Nice to see you. I didn’t know my brother was going to be helping you out today. I thought he’d be much too busy going over the contracts back at the hotel.”

“I decided to take a break from that today.” I glance back toward the venue. “A little fresh air is good for the soul.”

“This is nice,” Nixon says. He nods approvingly at the sight of the outdoor amphitheater. “I think this would be good. Really good, in fact.”

“I agree,” Taryn says. “This way, if people are in the park and happen to see something going on, we might have a bigger attendance than planned.”

“Good.” Nixon nods and looks at me. “Can you help me out with something later?”

“Sure.” I’d been hoping to talk to Taryn. After leaving the High Roller car last night, we’d kept things pretty superficial, neither one of us wanting to define the explosive experience. She’s such a closed book, I want to figure out where she stands on…well, us. But at the same time, I know that being with her doesn’t make logical sense.

“Reagan?” Nixon snaps his fingers. “Bro, you keep spacing out. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” I say, glancing at Taryn. She’s walking around the amphitheater, making notes, and frowning. When Nixon sees the direction of my gaze, he laughs.

“You’ve got it bad, don’t you? She does kind of have a glow about her today.”

“You’re just seeing things,” I say. I have a feeling he can sense something lingering in the air between us.

“She lives here; you live in New York,” he says. “Remember that, will you? Before you go and break the heart of someone I’m really starting to care about. All I need is Taryn moping around for months on end.”

I don’t like thinking about that, it makes my chest ache. The thought of going home to my boring life and never seeing Taryn again slays me.

“Consider me warned,” I say, looking around at the lush lawn, wide open space, and charming amphitheater. “You think this is a good venue?”

“Stop trying to change the subject. You know, you should tell her how you feel. Things have a funny way of working out when honesty leads the way.”

“It’s not a good time,” I say, brushing his comment aside. He’s right, but I don’t give a shit. “Getting involved with her is detrimental to the situation with Dante. It could make me weak, soft. I need to be laser focused if we’re going to take him down or at least get him to stop tormenting your leasees.”

Nixon throws his head back and scoffs. “Bro, this is Vegas. Trust me – the rules don’t matter as much out here. Just like our mutual friend Dante,” he adds with a scowl. “That shithead never signed on the dotted line.”

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll consider it.”

But I won’t.

As I watch Taryn picking her way around the amphitheater, my heart thuds in my chest. She’s so beautiful, everything about her sets me off like a rocket. But how the hell could we ever make it work? Nixon’s out of his fool mind – what are we supposed to do, have some stupid bi-coastal relationship that fizzles out after six months? Seeing each other once a month, fucking like rabbits and then catching the red-eye back to our own brand of civilization?

I inhale and try to swallow, but it catches in my throat. That seems better than never seeing her again.