Hector and Dex have been keeping me entertained for the last ninety minutes, while I wait for Kara, with stories about their family. Hector’s mom recently surprised everyone in the family by presenting his cheating father with divorce papers the day after his youngest sibling turned eighteen. Dex’s twenty-three-year-old sister called him from her summer trip to Italy to inform him she’d fallen in love with a forty-five-year-old Italian drummer. These are the kinds of stories that make me feel like I might actually be normal rather than the screw-up my father makes me out to be.

I know it’s not “normal” to gamble away millions of dollars in less than two months. And partying almost every night of the week is probably not the best way to change my father’s opinion of me. But there are very few things that make the memories of that night on the beach fade into the periphery. One of those is getting shit-faced drunk. The other is the adrenaline high I get when taking huge risks at a blackjack table or in a board room.

Now that I have to magically produce a fiancée to win back the hearts of a bunch of stodgy board members, it’s time to focus my risk taking elsewhere.

“Hey, hey. Heads up,” Hector says, and he and Dex stand up straight.

I cock my head to the side and smile as I watch Kara approaching her car. “You look like you could use a drink or four,” I say, pushing off her car to meet her near the rear of the SUV.

She stops a few feet away from me. “Sorry, it’s against club policy to fraternize with customers.”

“Is it against club policy to exercise with customers? I’ve got a great home gym in my penthouse.”

She laughs, then she seems to realize something and she quickly stops. “I have to go.”

Without thinking, I reach out and grab her wrist to stop her. “Wait.”

She glances at my hand around her wrist. “I can’t,” she whispers, shaking her head.

I can feel her pulse racing under my fingertips. “I know you probably get approached by billionaires in parking lots all day,” I begin, relishing the smile she’s trying to suppress. “And I know you’ve probably heard a lot of very bad things about me. Aside from the obvious, you’ve probably heard that I’m a bit of a player.”

This time she doesn’t try to hide her laughter. “A bit of a player?”

“Okay, it’s true. I’ve spent the past few years going through women like a fat man goes through Cheetos, but don’t let my past scare you.”

“Your past?” she scoffs. “You call front page of this week’s Star magazine your past?”

“I thought you said you don’t believe everything the media tells you?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Can I have my wrist back?”

I smile as I let go, trying to brush off her mention of this week’s media scandal, though inside I’m really hoping she didn’t read any of the articles. Especially the one in Star magazine.

Lana Trudeau, the reporter at Star, has a love-hate relationship with me ever since I fucked her brains out in L.A. a couple of years ago, when I was trying to convince her not to print a story about a very wild trip I took to Cabo. This week, Lana printed a timeline of all the famous women I’ve been spotted with since Vanessa’s death. I’m sure that really impressed her bloodsucking coworkers.

“You don’t have to worry about that club policy with me, because I’m no longer a customer. I just quit gambling.” I take a step closer, so close I have to look down into those wide chestnut-brown eyes. “I think you should celebrate with me.”

She swallows hard and, for a good minute, she seems to be staring at the top button of my shirt. Finally, she glances over her shoulder, toward the elevator, then she looks up at me.

“I’ll go home with you on one condition.”

I blink a few times, surprised that she’s giving in so quickly. Obviously, it doesn’t take most women very long to acquiesce to my whims, but I expected Kara to make me work a bit harder. And honestly, that’s kind of what drew me to her. Maybe she’s not as smart as she seemed when I was sitting at her table earlier.

“What condition?” I ask, hoping her terms will prove my new suspicions about her are incorrect.

“You have to make me want it,” she replies, the corners of her luscious lips turning up in a seductive smile, and it takes everything in me not to kiss her right there, just to taste her lip gloss. “And I don’t want you to make me promises you don’t intend to keep. I’m not the kind of girl who falls for that shit.”

I smile as I realize she is the smart girl I thought she was. “No promises. Just a good, clean fuck,” I reply. “And trust me, sweetheart, I won’t just make you want it. I’ll make you need it.”

“We’ll see about that.” She takes one more glance over her shoulder, as if she’s starting to get paranoid. “Well, make that three conditions. First, you have to make me want it. Second, you cannot tell anyone even remotely associated with the club about this. And third, you have to agree that there are no expectations afterward. You don’t expect me to call you and the same goes for me. Do we have a deal?”

I cock an eyebrow. “Do we need to put this in writing? Should I get my lawyer on the phone?”

She rolls her eyes and begins to turn around, but I grab both her arms and press her up against the back of her SUV.

“Looks like you’re calling the shots on the terms of this deal,” I whisper, my face inches from hers. “But first, we need to get something crystal clear. I call the shots in the bedroom. Because when I fuck you, I’m not just going to fuck that sweet little pussy of yours. I’m going to take every inch of you, and true to my word, you’re going to beg me for it. Understood?”