by Max Monroe
Yet it’s that same enthusiasm that has your mouth curving up into a distinct smile…
“Yes! Yes! Yessssss!” Her long, wild curls bounce against her back as she dances in her chair. The big screen lights up, and the speakers begin to sing out the word “Buffalo!” while the sounds of a running stampede add to the ambiance.
When I hear the man sitting a few seats away from me say, “Hit me,” I quickly switch my focus to the felt. I calculate the dealer’s card, my cards, and the rest of my table’s cards, but my attention is quickly pulled back to that damn slot machine when the woman shouts something, jumps out of her seat, and fist-pumps the air.
The big screen in front of her flashes with some kind of bonus round, and early risers in the casino begin to stop near her slot machine just to watch the show.
A show that has you completely riveted.
She’s over the top, but I can’t deny her continued excited reactions don’t disappoint. Hell, I’m pretty sure I’m laughing—on the inside, at the very least.
The woman’s mane of curls bounces against her back as she twirls and cheers and even gives high fives to random passersby and casino staff.
“Sir?” The blackjack dealer grabs my attention, and I look back to my table to see he’s waiting on my next move. I assess my cards quickly—a king of hearts and another ten—and then see that a nine shows for the house.
“Stay,” I decide, and the play moves to Remy.
But my eyes veer back to that stupid-ass slot machine where the happiest woman in Vegas is still bouncing around in joy. In the foreground, Ty flits his eyes over to mine and they catch, and then he turns to look where I am.
I barely register the rest of my blackjack hand, let alone my brothers hooting and hollering, only noting that I beat the house when the dealer slides more chips my way.
Knowing full well that, unless you want to lose money, distraction and blackjack don’t mix, I know I need to start the process of exiting the table.
“Dayuuum, she’s pretty,” Ty mutters loudly. I presume he meant to keep that comment to himself, but the amount of booze he’s had is not at all conducive to volume control. Remy’s head turns slowly to match his gaze, and Jude covers his eyes dramatically, crooning, “Oh no, no, no… Me no lookie at the cookie.”
Without warning, Ty jumps up, bumping the table awkwardly, and practically wags his tail as he scoots across the casino floor toward the woman at the buffalo slot machine.
Oh, here we go…
Remy glances at me with a goofy grin, and I nod with a sigh, scooping Jude off his chair as I move from mine and follow Chipper Chuck toward a wild head of curls.
God help me because I can only imagine how this is going to go.
Daisy
I think I’m in love with Vegas.
Sure, I’ve only just arrived in Sin City, haven’t even checked in to my room, but Lady Luck is smiling down on me. Flashing her pearly whites and shaking her tits and telling me I’m the best little slot girl in the whole wide world.
“Buffalo! Bonus round!” my slot machine chants, and I watch the screen flash with excitement as the big wheel spins around and more money is added to my bankroll.
Technically, I’m here for work not pleasure, but holy shit, this is fantastic!
I don’t even like gambling, and I sure as shit don’t know what made me stop at this slot machine before heading up to my room, but damn, I’m glad I did.
The sounds of a running stampede fill my ears when I manage some kind of triple bonus with a screen full of buffalo. Truthfully, I don’t have a clue about this game. I don’t know what any of it means or why I’m winning, but when I look down at my bankroll, I see the numbers keep going up, up, up.
“Woo-hoo!” I cheer and do a little two-step dance beside my chair. When I glance over my shoulder, I force one of the casino staff who’s emptying out the trash cans to give me a high five.
Considering I’m the crazy woman jumping around like a banshee, he mostly looks confused, but eventually, a little grin spreads across his lips.
“Good luck, ma’am,” he says and moves across the casino floor, in the opposite direction from me and my lucky slot machine.
“Holy hell, I can’t believe this,” I whisper to myself and force my ass back into my chair as my bonus spins finish up and my winnings are calculated.
$135.13 Fantastic Win! sits front and center on the screen.
Somehow, after only putting a twenty-dollar bill into this machine, I’m up over a hundred bucks.
Viva Las Vegas, baby!
The rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins makes me understand why people love Vegas so much. I mean, I’ve just barely gotten off my plane from LAX, and I’m an official winner.
But now, the big question remains. Do I stay or do I go?
Do I keep playing? Or do I cash out my winnings and head up to my room to take a shower and a nap before I have to get ready for my work party?
I mean, you did just get off an early morning flight from LAX and probably smell like sweat and stale pretzels…
“Don’t get too cocky,” a man says from over my shoulder, making me whip my head around. He’s cute in a seriously obvious way with his playful light brown-blond hair and big smile, but the glaze in his eyes makes it equally apparent how drunk he is. “Trusts me, Lady Luck loves to hit cocky shits in the balls. I know because I’m one of ’em.”
Raucous laughter follows him in the form of two more almost heinously attractive men, one of whom is curiously holding a hand over his eyes.
“Ty,” the dark-haired one says, “stop bothering people.”
“Who’s he bothering?” the one covering his eyes asks, earning a smack to the back of the head from his dark-haired counterpart.
“Just uncover your eyes, Jude. I’m pretty sure Sophie knew you were going to have vision when you came here. You’re not cheating, for fuck’s sake.”
“Sophie is a goddess,” the man recites then, making me smile big for the first time during this interaction. They’re all drunk, which can be intimidating for a woman on her own, but they’re funny too, and I take that as a good sign.
Maybe my relaxed state is why I’m so caught off guard when a fourth man approaches, but perhaps it’s because he immediately strikes me as different.
Given his strong jaw, swirling ocean-blue eyes, perfectly messy dark hair, and a body that looks fit and trim beneath his jeans and white shirt, there isn’t a single cell inside me that’s upset by his presence.
I quirk an amused eyebrow in his direction as I address the first man, the playful one I now know is named Ty. “So…you’re saying I should cash out before this slot machine can eat up all my winnings?”
Mr. Reserved doesn’t say anything, but I swear his mouth almost hitches up at the corners.
“Yep,” Ty answers, a little too loudly for our close proximity. “But no matter what you decide,” he continues and places one single black casino chip in my hand. “It’s my patriotic duty to make you leave here a winner.”
“Patriotic duty?” I question, and he just winks. The other two drunk companions burst into laughter, but my eyes, they jump to the fourth man—the one who’s yet to say anything.
I glance down at the chip in my palm. Holy shit. Five hundred dollars? It sure seems like Lady Luck likes my balls just as they are.
“Wow. Thank you. This is beyond generous, and I’m not sure I can acc—”
“Yeah, you can,” the man interrupts me with a sway and a smile. “I’m not paying you for sex or nothin’. Just doin’ my patriotic duty.” He punctuates that statement by saluting me as if I’m a soldier in uniform, and it spurs a giggle to jump from my lips.
“Jesus,” the dark-haired one chastises, grabbing Ty by the shoulder and pulling him farther away from me. An apologetic smile crests his lips when he meets my eyes. “I wish I could say he’s never like this, but I’d be lying.”
“Remy’s right,” Ty agrees with a lazy grin. “I am,
in fact, always this charming and resistible.”
“Resistible?” Jude, the man who is still covering his eyes, bursts into laughter. “I might be blitzed, but I think that’s the wrong word, my man.”
“Nah, I think it’s the perfect word,” Remy, the tallest and not-quite-as-drunk one, comments with a big grin.
So far, through this crazy conversation that I’m only half involved in, I’ve gathered three out of the four men’s names—Ty, Jude, and Remy.
Which only makes me more curious about the most reserved one of their group. He has yet to say a word, but somehow, his presence is the most undeniable. He’s confident without uttering a word or showing any sort of obvious expression. And for some reason, that only makes me more intrigued.
I almost open my mouth to ask him his name, but the raucous ringleader and the gifter of my chip performs a deep bow, saying, “My lady, I bid you adieu.”
The other two start to laugh, but after a silent command from the fourth stalwart companion, they turn away and leave, stumbling slightly as they walk.
Without another word or explanation, Mr. Mysterious and the gang are just…gone.
I don’t know what in the hell just happened. But seeing as it ended in me being five hundred dollars richer, maybe I need to come to Vegas more often.
Daisy
“Daisy girl!” my boss Damien greets me with a huge smile on his handsome face and walks straight over to place two European-style air kisses to my cheeks. “How was the flight in?”
“It was fine,” I remark, smoothing the satin of my blouse with a delicate hand. I swear, I just put it on five minutes ago, but the damn thing is already threatening to wrinkle.
“Fine?” he repeats with derision in his tone. “Girl, you flew commercial out of LAX. Unless you consider the pits of hell fine, I know it wasn’t anywhere close to that.”
Damien Ellis is rich, sophisticated, and one-hundred-percent spoiled to the point of not understanding what life is like for most folks. I honestly think when people reach a certain level of success and income, they lose sight of what the day-to-day is like for those without eight-figure bank accounts and investment portfolios.
“You act like flying commercial is some kind of atrocity.” I roll my eyes. “We’re not all living the luxury lifestyle, you know. Plus, you sign my paychecks and pay for my flights and accommodations…”
I mean, I can’t deny that flying commercial isn’t what it used to be. Every airline gives you the minimum amount of space and makes you pay a fortune for bags, even though they overbook their flights to the point of having to stuff carry-ons in the cargo.
Not to mention, the snacks and drinks are a thing of the past. You want a Coca-Cola on your flight? Prepare to cough up ten bucks.
But still, that flight saved me several hours of driving, so I’m not going to complain.
“Whatever, sis.” He just smirks and sassily shrugs his shoulder. “How did the setup go in Malibu?”
“You mean the ten-million-dollar beachfront home with a master walk-in closet bigger than my apartment?” I tease. “Oh, it went just fine and dandy. Didn’t make me want to move in or anything.”
He chuckles. “I can’t wait to see what you did with it.”
“Frederick was already there getting pictures before I left for the airport, so I’m sure come Monday morning, he’ll have them ready for you to look at.”
“Fantastic,” he comments. “Forcing you to emigrate from Canada and join my team was the best decision I’ve ever made. I’m never letting you go.”
Forcing me? Ha. Working on Damien Ellis’s team was the epitome of career goals. I would’ve sold both my kidneys on the black market and offered up my firstborn just to be a part of one of the most successful real estate firms in the US.
“Well, that’s good news because you’re stuck with me.”
Los Angeles, New York, Las Vegas, Miami, EllisGrey is the top name in the real estate game. If you’re not a part of Damien Ellis and Thomas Grey’s team, you want to be on their team. And if you have a small obsession with Patrick Dempsey like I do, you fantasize about having the company’s name on your business card a little more. Seriously, though, for someone like me, who specializes in interior design and staging homes for the market, unless I manage to start my own firm and skyrocket to success, there isn’t any higher achievement.
It’s the whole reason I moved from Vancouver to LA and the whole purpose I was seeking when I started Daisy Designs’s social media presence.
Though never in a million years did I think my Instagram following and popularity would get me on a guy like Damien’s radar. To this day, I still feel like there’s been some sort of mistake.
“What time did you end up getting in?”
“A little before noon.”
“Doll, you’ve practically been here all day. What in the hell have you been doing? You should’ve called me.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I know how to keep myself busy.” I waggle my brows. “Shower, nap, slot machines, and a delicious room service lunch, to be specific. Though not in that order.”
“Slot machines? For real?” he questions on a laugh. “And how did that treat you?”
“I’m up five hundred.”
He jolts his head back. “You’re up five hundred on fucking slot machines?”
“Well, technically, I broke even on this addictive buffalo game, but apparently, I was so entertaining while playing, a random stranger gave me a five-hundred-dollar chip.”
“A random stranger?” he questions. “Girl, tell me he’s tall, dark, and handsome with a big cock and you got his number.”
“Technically, he was tall, medium-brown, and handsome. His hair was a little on the lighter side.”
“And the cock?”
“Shoot.” I snap my fingers. “I knew I forgot something. It totally slipped my mind to have him drop his pants so I could take a look.”
Damien grins. “Did you at least get his number? Any man who’s willing to cough up money because he thinks you’re entertaining shows some serious sugar-daddy potential.”
“Oh my God!” I exclaim on a giggle. “I don’t want a sugar daddy.”
“I do.”
“Damien, I hate to break it to you, but you are the sugar daddy.”
“You think Mateo is just using me for my money?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Dame, you’re handsome. But your boyfriend is a twenty-five-year-old Brazilian model with the prettiest face and tightest ass I’ve ever seen.”
He winks. “He has a big cock too.”
“TMI!” I cough on my own saliva. “TMI!”
“Don’t be such a prude, Dais.” Damien just laughs and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “Now go get yourself a drink and enjoy the party.”
And then he’s off, doing his usual Damien-thing of schmoozing and impressing everyone in the room. I swear, I’ve never met anyone like him. Successful, hilarious, insanely fashionable, and sophisticated, yet he’s unapologetically himself.
It’s the kind of confidence and contentment that only come with age and wisdom and experience. I wish I could bottle it up and add it to my daily vitamin regimen.
The bar in my sights, I head on over and snag a glass of the complimentary champagne that sits out for everyone in attendance. Glass to my lips, I take a sip and enjoy the odd sensation of bubbles tickling my throat as it slides down into my belly.
“Daisy Diaz.” A familiar male voice fills my ears, and I turn to find Duncan Jones striding toward me with his signature smile etched across his lips. “I was wondering when you’d get here.”
I lift my glass in the air and offer a neutral smile. “Well, I’m here.”
“And I’m glad.” He pulls me into a friendly hug, and it lingers about five seconds longer than I would deem appropriate. “I’m hoping you’ll finally let me take you to dinner this weekend.”
“Considering it’s already Saturday night, and Damien and Thomas have plenty planned for this
evening and all day tomorrow, I’m thinking you’re going to have to take a rain check.”
Ever since Damien hired me, one of his most successful agents, Duncan Jones, has been heavy on the flirtation and charm in an attempt to get me to go out with him.
He’s not bad-looking or anything. Blond hair, blue eyes, and an attractive face, Duncan is incredibly eligible in his bachelordom, but dating isn’t something I’m focused on at the moment.
I’m open to the idea, but I’m not looking for just any guy to fill the time. I’m waiting for the guy who makes me make the time.
Some might say I’m too picky, but personally, I think it’s more about timing. And now isn’t the right time. I’m only twenty-nine, and my career goals are far more important to me than finding someone to settle down with.
Not to mention, several of my female coworkers let me know from day one that Duncan Jones is like this with all the women in the firm. Which, to me, only gives off red flags and stay-away vibes.
“Really? A rain check?” His lips crest into a confident smirk. “And when do I get to cash in my rain check?”
I shrug cheekily. “I don’t know.”
He grins and reaches out to slide a rogue piece of my hair behind my ear. “One day soon, you’re going to let me take you to dinner. And I promise, you won’t be dis—” He pauses midsentence when the sound of his cell ringing urges him to pull it out of his jacket pocket. One finger in the air toward me, he says, “Hold that thought. I need to take this real quick.”
I kind of want to roll my eyes at the obnoxiously oblivious contradiction between his rabid pursuit and his inability to finish even a sentence without prioritizing me behind his call, but I just offer a small smile and nod as Duncan steps away to a quieter spot in the crowd. Frankly, it’s a relief to be rid of him for a little while.
I make a point to wander away inconspicuously while he’s busy talking LA real estate with whoever is on the other end of the line, but I only get a few steps toward the table filled with appetizers when my phone vibrates in my purse and grabs my attention.