Chapter 2

Finn

Even in the daylight, the bright lights of Las Vegas bounce off the lush red of the Ferrari California T convertible that I’ve been wanting for the past few years, and now I’m finally taking the plunge. This is as close to a long-term commitment as I’m going to get. The salesman drones on, citing facts about the car that he thinks I don’t already know. I don’t even pretend to acknowledge that I’m listening to him when I open the driver’s side door and slide in, my body molding to the Italian leather. The seat and I fit each other like a glove. She’s perfect for me.

The salesman puts his hand on the side of the car, smearing his oily fingerprints all over the paint. I’m tempted to walk away or choose another color, but I want red. And I want this car. My eyes cast toward him, letting him know that I’m not impressed with his closeness. Glancing down quickly at the speedometer, it reads two miles. That’s enough to get it on and off the truck and into the storeroom.

“I’ll take it.” I open the door, effectively pushing him out of the way.

“Great, Mr….”

“McCormick.” I hand him my business card and watch the recognition dawn on his face as he recognizes my name. He’s shocked, surprised and likely embarrassed. By all accounts he should’ve known who I was when I walked in, but he’s young and probably new and when he goes to speak to his manager, he’ll realize he should’ve been kissing my ass from the minute I walked in the door. And now, as much as he’s trying to hide it, the grin on his face speaks volumes. He’s calculating his commission on this sale.

“I’ll go start the paperwork, Mr. McCormick. It shouldn’t take too long to get approval from the bank.”

“Cash sale,” I tell him, turning away from him to focus on the car again. He stammers behind me before scampering away, the footsteps on the marble floor sounding more distant. My phone vibrates in my pocket. A quick look at the screen shows me it’s Brandy. She wants one of two things, neither of which I’m interested in providing her right now: sex and a commitment.

I’ve known her since college; we dated for about a year until I realized that I enjoyed being a bachelor far more than being a boyfriend. The shitty part is that Brandy is the twin sister of one of my best friends, Brady, and I knew better than to get involved with her. By the time I realized I had made a mistake, I was in too deep and she was head over heels in love.

“Mr. McCormick.” A large, thundering man comes barreling toward me, giving me hardly enough time to slip my phone back into my pocket before he’s thrusting his hand forward, leaving me no option but to shake it. As soon as he releases my hand, I’m pushing it into my pocket. “It’s a pleasure to do business with you. I have your contract right here.” He grips the papers as if he’s going to hold them hostage. I quickly survey the room and spot my sales guy in the corner looking at us sullenly.

I nod in his direction. “Why isn’t he handling my paperwork?” The manager looks over his shoulder and smirks.

“I’m the manager.”

I shrug, not caring. The kid did all the work and should get to close the deal. “And so that means you get the commission, I’m assuming?”

He laughs it off, hemming and hawing before finally answering me. “Of course Scott will get a portion.”

“Right.” In my line of business, I don’t cut corners and I give credit where it’s due. If one of my staff members has an idea for something that’s going to make one of our casinos run better, I listen and work to implement the change if it’s what’s best for the business. I have no respect for people who try to take what they didn’t earn.

“You know who I am, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

I lean over slightly so I can get another look at Scott. The kid looks pissed and upset. I don’t fucking blame him. Commission on a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car probably pays his tuition or rent for the year. This sale would be huge for him.

“I want this car—”

“Alex Jones.”

Smirking, I shake my head and rub my hand over my mouth. “Didn’t ask for your name and I don’t appreciate being interrupted. As I was saying, I want this car and Scott over there is going to get the commission or I’m walking out that door and everyone will know exactly how bad the service is here.”

“Yes, Mr. McCormick.”

It’s underhanded of me and I don’t care. I know what it’s like to get that big paycheck. It’s powerful and exhilarating. And I have a serious problem with people taking shit that isn’t theirs.

Scott walks back over with his shoulders squared and a look of pride on his face. “Mr. McCormick, please forgive me for not recognizing you when you walked in. I recently transferred to UNLV and this is my first week on the job.”

My name speaks for who I am and how successful I’ve become since graduating from UNLV. I chose to stay in the area and help the city that I fell in love with prosper and grow instead of taking my knowledge elsewhere. Plus, I love the hot desert heat and the fact that I am never cold.

“Where are you from?”

“Wisconsin.”

“Pretty big cultural change between here and there.”

He smiles and I remember being new to Vegas. The fucking strip joints were my best friends and the constant access to all the tits and ass I wanted to look at couldn’t be beaten.

“Yes, sir, but I’m enjoying it. Let’s sign your papers.”

Following him over to the empty desk, he sits across from me and shows me where to sign and, as I’m writing the check, he calls for someone to open the showroom windows so I can drive my new baby home.

We shake hands after I hand him the check and tell him if he ever needs anything to give me a call. I have a feeling he won’t be long with this job and simply out of spite I’d hire him. The pay wouldn’t be the same, but it’d be a job where he’s respected.

Climbing back into my new car, I close my eyes and press the ignition button, listening to her come to life. She purrs, reminding of a woman who is about to climax. With the gas pedal slightly depressed, her moans become louder until I ease up, bringing her down from her high. Thinking about driving her out on the open road through the valleys is making me hard.

When the coast is clear, I pull out slowly and drop my aviators over my eyes. My Benz is sitting there, reminding me that I need to have someone come and pick it up. Later. Right now I want to see what this beauty can do. As soon as I hit Route 159 and I’m out of town, I press the gas pedal and shift until I’m pushing the speedometer, driving in and out of each corner, the car never slipping off her base. With the top down, the wind pushes her fingers through my already-messed-up hair and a quick glance in the rearview mirror confirms that I’m still a hot-ass motherfucker.

All too soon I’m back near the Strip and back to fucking reality. The sun is down and the nightlife is starting to rise. As I troll down the Strip, I consciously make eye contact with as many beautiful women as I can. The action makes me look like a douche in the eyes of the men they are with, but it has me wondering if the women stop and ponder what it’d be like to be with me, as they sit in the backseat of the idle cab, looking at my car and finally realizing that I’m eyeing them. The subtlest of moves has me guessing that they’re crossing their legs and imagining the ride I could give them, completely forgetting about the man sitting next to them. It’s never my intention to touch another man’s chick, but that doesn’t mean they don’t try and that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. With the nice suits and cars like this, coupled with my dark hair and light blue eyes, women gravitate toward me. And once they figure out that I have the cash to back it up, they fucking flock to me like moths to flame and bring their friends with them. The men they were with quickly and easily forgotten without a second glance once the money starts talking.

Turning in to the hotel garage, I flash my ID at the attendant.

“Nice car, Mr. McCormick.”

“Thanks,” I say, driving forward until I enter the private section that is meant solely for me. I let my friends park here when they come to the casino, but other than that, this space is exclusively for my Benz, Wrangler and now my Ferrari.

I live in my hotel in a custom two-story penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows giving me a view of the city whenever I want it. With the marble floors and counters, my home is everything the quintessential Vegas suites aren’t. I opted for black, grays and the industrial look with a gold staircase. The gold was for my mother. She had always wanted one in our house, but my father never put one in, until it was too late for her to enjoy it.

Pressing the button that automatically opens the glass doors to my balcony, I step out onto my deck and lean over the rail. From this high up the cars below look like those Matchbox cars I had when I was a kid and the people look like ants. My deck is my favorite place. It’s wide, welcoming and the perfect place to party or relax.

Inside, I take the steps one at a time, in no hurry to get to my room. By the time I’m at the top of the stairs, my tie is undone, my cufflinks unsnapped and my shirt pulled from my pants. My walk-in closet is full of labels, all designer and all custom tailored to my body. I change quickly, setting today’s suit on the table in the middle for my housekeeper to deal with and head into the gym.

With the music on and the dumbbells in my hands, I stand there looking at myself in the mirror. Muscles aren’t my thing but being toned is. My friend Seth is one of those bodybuilders whose skin looks like it’s about to pull apart if he sneezes. I don’t get it, but he loves it. The bigger the muscles, the happier he is. I want to be fit, with no flab but with some abs. There’s nothing hotter than watching the chick you’re with lick her way down your torso, over the ridges of your stomach, through the smattering of your hair until her lips wrap around the head of your dick. That thought alone makes me horny, but not enough to call Brandy.

No, tonight when the Strip comes alive, I’ll hit a club or two, find someone from out of town who doesn’t know me and wants only one thing, mind-blowing sex. That’s about all I can offer someone right now, or ever. I saw what my mother’s death did to my father and his subsequent marriage to Stepmommy dearest cemented the fact that I’m perfectly happy living the single life. No attachments. No strings. Straight-up pleasure is the most sinful kind in Sin City.

After my workout, which concludes with a five-mile treadmill run, I’m standing in my shower, letting the warm spray drip over my head, creating the illusion that I’m caught in a rainstorm. My interior designer told me that women love this feeling. I have yet to ask a single one of them if they love getting fucked in the rain. My only thought when I have them in there is putting my dick between their wet folds. If they want to feel like it’s raining, so be it.

Once I’m out, dried and dressed I text my best buds, Seth, Brady and Cory, and offer up a plan for the night. It’s pushing midnight and time for the party to get started. All three respond, letting me know that they’re ready.

Game on.