Including Cash’s $10,000 tip, I made a total of $11,320 in tips last night. I know I won’t get $10,000 tips every night. In fact, I may never get another one again, especially now that Cash has quit gambling. But I’m confident I can pull in somewhere between $500-1,000 per night on top of my meager hourly wage. Working four nights a week, and taking taxes into account, I should be able to pay off my dad’s gambling debts in… about two years. I get a lump in my throat as I realize my dad will probably be long gone by then.

“You have to eat it, Dad,” I say for the hundredth time since I brought him a bowl of vegetable soup. “You can’t eat bologna and cheese sandwiches all day every day. You need some vitamins and minerals. I bought all these organic groceries and looked up a recipe online. And you know I don’t cook. Please just try it.” I can’t believe I’m resorting to a guilt trip, but if I’m not ready to give up, then he can’t give up either. “Dad, please, just try it. For me.”

He stares at the food tray on top of the rolling cart, looking as if I just asked him to put down his favorite pet. His face is gaunt, his skin is papery-white everywhere except for the red patches on his nose and cheeks. His mouth is set in a hard line as he reaches for the spoon on the tray. I hit the button on the side of the bed to adjust the mattress, so he’s a bit more upright.

Taking a spoon of soup, he lifts it up almost to his lips, then he looks up at me. “For you,” he whispers, in that barely audible rasp.

He takes a spoonful of broth with just one tiny piece of swiss chard. He gulps it down and presses his lips together as he cringes, then he goes in for another spoonful. And another. Until he’s eaten at least a third of the bowl. I actually start crying tears of joy, until he throws it up all over the tray and the front of his T-shirt.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I say, my tears coming fast as I help him out of his shirt. “I won’t make you eat anything else. I’m sorry.”

Jacie, my dad’s caregiver, gently eases me out of the way so she can finish cleaning up. “You go to work, honey. I’ll finish up here.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, addressing my apologies to her now. “I didn’t use any acidic vegetables and I used very little salt. I just wanted—”

She shushes me gently as she takes me by the arms and herds me toward the door. “It’s okay, Kara. This stuff happens. It’s nothing you did. Now, go on to work before you’re late. Go on.”

I wipe the last tears from my face as I walk out to my car. The scorching Vegas sun dries the remaining moisture within seconds. Touching up my makeup as I drive, I arrive at the Billionaire Club eleven minutes before my start time.

I drop my car off with the employee valet, so I don’t have to try to find a parking spot. Then, I race to the locker and change into my uniform in record time. I manage to clock in on the fingerprint time clock just one minute late for my six p.m. shift.

When I get to the table to relieve Bert, he looks annoyed that I’m five minutes late even though there’s no one at his table. But that changes very quickly when a man in a dark gray sweater that clings to his muscles spots me on his way to the craps table. He changes direction and makes a beeline for me.

I try not to look nervous, but I can see by the hungry look in his eyes that he’s not coming because he suddenly got a craving to play blackjack. He has a craving for something else, something that is decidedly off limits.

“Good evening, sir,” I say when he’s just a few feet away.

He smiles at me, but he doesn’t take a seat. “Good evening to you,” he replies, his gaze scanning down the length of my torso and slowly returning back to my face. “What is a lady as gorgeous as you doing working a blackjack table in a place like this? Surely, you should be the one being serviced.”

Oh, please. Is this guy for real?

I flash him a tight smile. “This is my second day on the job, and I love it already. I have a passion for dealing. And the tips aren’t half-bad. Do you play blackjack? I can teach you.”

He lets out an amused chuckle. “I don’t need your spiel, honey. If I wanted to talk to an automaton, I’d go to Caesar’s Palace. And no I don’t need you to teach me how to play blackjack. I need you to treat me like a fucking paying customer.”

I glance over my shoulder, but I don’t see any floormen nearby. “Sir, I apologize if I’ve offended you. I meant no disrespect.”

He glares at me as he makes his way around the table toward me. “Honey, a piece of trash like you couldn’t offend me if you tried.” He towers over me and I hold his gaze as I try to ignore his bulging muscles threatening to rip through his wool sweater. “And you can’t teach me anything I didn’t learn in second grade, unless you want to teach me what the back of your throat feels like on my cock.”

“I think the lady would much rather teach you what her closed fist feels like on your face.”

Muscle-man and I both whip our heads toward the seats in front of my table and I’ve never been more relieved to see a former one-night-stand in my life. Cash is standing with one hand in his pocket and a cheeky grin on his gorgeous face.

“Westbrook,” muscle-man says with utter disdain.

“Osborne,” Cash replies. “I thought you were into bullying foreigners. I really didn’t take you for the woman-hating type.”

Two floormen show up and I manage not to blurt out, It’s about time!

Osborne glances at the floormen, rolls his eyes as he turns away from me, and heads toward Cash. “I don’t hate women, just trashy skanks.” He flashes me a bright smile of pearly white veneers. “Right, sweetheart?”

Cash’s left hook comes out of nowhere and stuns Osborne. His square jaw is set as his face contorts with anger, but the floormen grab him before he can retaliate. Cash takes a seat on the stool, grinning as Osborne is hauled away.

Cash shakes his head as he watches them disappear through a door labeled Security. “He also hunts endangered species,” he says, turning to me. “In case you couldn’t tell by the word douche tattooed across his forehead.”

I nod. “I’ve heard he also sprinkles genuine Sierra Leone diamond dust on his oatmeal and will only let his girlfriend fuck him in the ass with ivory elephant tusks.”

“Well, I’ve heard you’re the smartest fucking dealer in this place,” he continues. “So, excuse me if I felt the need to destroy him for being a prick to you.”

“Thank you,” I reply, my voice thick with emotion. “Sorry, I’ve had a rough night. Do you want to play?”

“You’re not going to call me out on the fact that I said yesterday was my last day gambling?”

I smile. “That’s not my place. You know your limits better than anyone, especially me.”

“Well, that’s debatable,” he replies with a shrug, then he pulls something out of his pocket and places it on the table. “I meant what I said. Yesterday was my last night gambling. But it turns out I have one more bet to make…with you.”

He slides the chip across the table and I’m speechless. Mick showed me every denomination of chip they have at the Billionaire Club. And I knew eventually some whale would come in here with a million-dollar chip, but I didn’t expect it to happen on my second night. And I certainly didn’t expect it to be under these circumstances.

“What is that?” I whisper, though I know damn well what it is.

“It’s one million dollars,” he replies.

My gaze snaps up to meet his. “I know what it is. But what is it doing on my table?”

“Settle down, Kara. It’s just a friendly proposition.”

“A what? Are you trying to pay me one million dollars to sleep with you?” I whisper as my eyes frantically scan the area for any sign of the floormen who just dragged Osborne away.

“Here,” he says, picking up the chip and tucking it inside his breast pocket. “I’ll put it away so it doesn’t make you nervous. Now, can I tell you why I came here?”

I stand up straight and take a deep breath. “Make it quick. The pit boss is coming this way.”

He nods. “Okay… Will you pretend to be my fiancée for one million dollars?”

My gaze snaps back to Cash. “Your what? Are you out of your mind?”

“Kara, is there a problem here?” Victor says, his eyebrow cocked.

“No, there’s no problem,” I reply quickly. “Cash—I mean, Mr. Westbrook was just telling me how he’s quitting gambling.”

Cash smiles at my attempt to get rid of him. “That’s right. But I also told her that I had just one final bet to make.” Oh, God. Please don’t let him say something stupid. “I told Kara I wanted to make a bet with her. I bet her that I could go without gambling for at least three weeks and that if she sees me in here in the next three weeks, she gets one million dollars.”

Victor’s eyes flit back and forth between Cash and me, trying to determine which one of us is more of a lying sack of shit. “Well, you can’t make personal bets in here. You know the rules. Other than that, I’m going to have to ask you to come with me. We’ve got a situation with Leo Osborne.”

“He’s not going to sue me for giving him an owie, is he?”

Victor breaks decorum and smiles, but only for a second before he’s back to his usual “all business” face. “No, he, uh… He wants to file a police report, unless you apologize.”

Cash lets out a hearty guffaw. “Oh, I swear that guy just gets better with age. When we were both at Stanford, I stole his orgasm-deprived girlfriend. And ever since then, every time our paths cross, he just gets bigger and douchier than the last time we met. I suspect the next time I see him, he’ll be bench pressing a freshly killed rhino with one hand while his other hand is holding a cell phone and taking a skirt pic of an unsuspecting stranger.” He turns to me and winks. “Think about that bet.”

Victor glares at me as they turn to leave. My heart races as I watch Cash and Victor disappear into the crowd of billionaires and their gracious company. Gracious. Is that what I’m supposed to be? Gracious to be in the presence of a billionaire? Mick never said anything about groveling. I don’t care how in debt I am, I refuse to grovel for anyone.

Oh, who am I kidding. I can’t afford to lose this job. And judging by the look that Victor just gave me, it seems I’m well on my way there, unless I fall in line and start showing people like Leo Osborne some respect. Just the thought of kissing up to a jerk like that makes me queasy.

I sigh as a man in a business suit approaches the table. I could always take Cash up on his bet. Of course, I have no idea what pretending to be his fiancée means. But if it’s anywhere in the realm of possible, it’s probably a better bet than my being able to keep this job for the next two years.

Despite the debacle at the beginning of my shift, I leave the club at a quarter past midnight with $860 in tips. I could get used to this.

Mick was out of the club tonight, away at some convention somewhere, so I wasn’t reprimanded for the way I handled Osborne. But I’ll probably get a good talking to when he gets back.

As soon as I pull my car out of the parking garage, I turn on my phone and find a text message from a number I don’t recognize with a local area code. When I come to a stop at a red light, I check the message and smile.

I look in my rearview mirror and the shiny black car behind me flashes its lights. The light turns green and I take off down Flamingo for a couple of blocks before the next text message comes through. When I come to a stop again, I check the message.

When the light turns green, I head down Flamingo another couple of blocks until I come upon a well-lit Terrible gas station, which is owned by Texaco, one of Westbrook Oil’s largest competitors. I pull in and park next to a pump. By the time I get my debit card out of my wallet, Cash is at my door.

He motions for me to roll the window down. “Stay in the car. I’ll take care of it.”

As he rounds the back of the car toward the pump, I realize that this will look really bad if a paparazzo catches a photo of him pumping Texaco gas. No doubt that kind of picture would go viral and the board of directors at Westbrook Oil would not appreciate the negative publicity.

I press the button to roll down the window on the other side of my car, where he’s sliding his credit card into the pump machine. “Wait! I don’t need gas. Get in the car.”

He bends down to look through the open window. “Are you sure? I don’t mind doing it. I do pump my own gas occasionally.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Just get in the car.”

He smiles as he tucks his credit card back into his wallet then slips it into his back pocket. “You seem jumpy. Are you afraid of being seen with me?” he says as he slides into the passenger seat of my SUV.

“More like I’m afraid of you being seen here. This station is owned by one of your competitors.”

He laughs. “Kara, I’m not going to get fired for buying products from my competitors.”

“Yeah, well, it sounds like you’re going to be fired whether you like it or not. So, I’m sure it won’t help your case any to be seen here.”

A serious expression comes over his face and he stares straight ahead for a moment before he responds. “You’re right. The situation with the board is pretty dire.” He turns to me with a gleam in his eye. “Which is exactly where you come in. I need you to pretend to be my fiancée at the Labor Day corporate retreat on Lake Las Vegas in three weeks. If I can convince the board that I’m ready to settle down, I’m almost certain they won’t push me out.”

I laugh. “Yeah, right. Like anyone’s going to believe you’re engaged to someone you just met at the Billionaire Club last night.”

“They don’t have to know that. We can tell them we met months ago.”

“And I just allowed you to keep whoring around with all those other women while we were together?”

He sighs as he leans back in the seat. “You’re right that won’t work.” He’s quiet for a moment, then his eyes widen as he turns to me. “Maybe we’ve been in an on-again off-again relationship, and you refuse to be seen in public with me because you hate the spotlight.”

“Does that mean that you love the spotlight?”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t have a choice anymore. There was a point where I could have turned away, but those days are long gone. I belong to the public now, whether I like it or not.”

“That’s not true.”

He shrugs. “Well, if you agree to this bet, you’ll find out soon enough.”

I shake my head. “I still don’t understand how this is a bet. How does it work? If I pretend to be your fiancée, I get one million dollars. Just like that?”

“No, you have to play the part well enough to convince the board not to fire me.”

“And if they still fire you, I lose the bet? What do you get if I lose?”

He smiles. “Whatever you’re willing to give.”

My stomach flutters. “What if I don’t have anything to give?”

His gaze slides down to my lips. “My experience with you has lead me to believe otherwise.” He reaches across the console between us and holds my face as he brushes his thumb over my jaw. “I think you have a lot to give.”

My chest heaves as I reach up and grab his hand to pull it away from my face. “I have to think about this.”

“I agree,” he replies, his gaze still locked on my mouth. “Think about it and call me tomorrow with your answer.”

I can hardly breathe as he slowly leans toward me. “I may need more than a day or two.”

His eyes snap up to meet mine. “I can’t give you longer than a day. If we’re going to do this, we need to start training you immediately.”

“Training?”

He smiles. “If we’re going to pass you off as my fiancée, you’re going to have to know everything about me.” He leans in a bit closer until our noses are just inches apart. “We’re going to have to spend a lot of time together, getting very…up close and personal.”

I swallow hard as I reach up, laying my hand flat against his solid chest to push him back a bit. “I’ll have my answer for you by tomorrow night.”

Somehow, I’ve managed to get myself into the best and worst possible situation of my life. This is all I can think as I drive down Flamingo Rd. If I didn’t work at the Billionaire Club, I’d take Cash up on his bet in a heartbeat.

But I do work at the Billionaire Club. And if I have to pretend to be his fiancée at a two-day corporate retreat, that means I’ll be seen with Cash by hundreds, possibly thousands or millions of people if pictures from the retreat leak to the press. I’ll lose my job at the Billionaire Club faster than Cash can make me come.

This thought makes me smile, then I immediately stop when I realize this is not about sex. This is about pretending to be in a loving, monogamous relationship with the hottest playboy in Las Vegas. In fact, to make this work, there can be no sex. This has to be about business. Because that’s what he’s trying to achieve.

Cash’s goal is not to be pushed out of the family business. My goal is to pay off my father’s gambling debts and medical bills. Can we merge our goals for the greater good?

I pull into the driveway at 4456 Sunset Lane and let out a deep sigh. I wish I could call Suzie and ask her what I should do, but I don’t know if she’d even believe me. And if she did somehow believe I had a one-night-stand with Cash Westbrook and now he’s dangling the possibility of a one million dollar payday in front of me in exchange for pretending to be his fiancée, I don’t know how she’d react.

Part of me thinks she’d tell me to go for it. Another part of me fears she’d tell me to play it safe and focus on keeping my job at the Billionaire Club—the job she helped me get.

I wish I could talk to my dad about it. I wish my dad could talk to me about anything.

I step out of the car and I’m surprised to see the TV light flickering through the curtains in the front window. Jacie usually goes to bed at the same time as my dad. Then, I see it.

My heart stops as I stare at the Polaroid picture taped over the peephole on the front door. I glance over my shoulder, looking up and down the street, but I don’t see any unusual cars. Taking a deep breath, I pull open the steel security screen door. Either Jacie forgot to lock it or someone picked the lock. More likely it was the latter, which is supposed to spook me. It’s worked.

My hand trembles as I peel off the tape securing the photo over the peephole. It’s a picture of my father and Jacie lying peacefully asleep. The picture was obviously taken from inside the house. My hand trembles as I turn the photo over in my hand and I see two words scrawled on the back in red marker: 60 DAYS.

Blood rushes like thunder in my ears as I try to open the door and it’s locked. I fumble with the key, my heart pounding in my skull, spots appearing in front of my eyes as I try unsuccessfully to slip it into the lock. It’s too dark out here. Someone turned off the porch light.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” I whisper frantically as I slip my phone out of my pocket and tap the flashlight icon to illuminate the doorknob.

Finally, I slip the key in and burst through the front door, panting and shaking with adrenaline. Jacie stirs and lifts her head from the pillow where she’s lying on the sofa. I clutch my chest as I let out a deep sigh of relief.

“Kara, are you okay? You look like something spooked you,” she asks as she sits upright.

I watch the gentle rise and fall of my father’s chest for a moment before I reply. “I’m fine. I just… I saw a bad car accident happen right in front of me on the way here. I’m just a little shaken up.”

She glances at the photo in my hand and I quickly tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans. “Do you need something? Some tea or warm milk to settle your nerves?”

I shake my head as I make my way to the hallway. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get some sleep.” And $140,000 in the next 60 days. That’s all. “Goodnight, Jacie.”

“Goodnight, hun.”